Archive of Our Own

When Kurt wakes up in the morning, he's got the giddy shakes. His matched designer luggage is packed at the foot of his bed and he's ready to jet off to Las Vegas for McKinley's senior trip. Kurt had lobbied hard for Paris, but had been cruelly shot down because supposedly by the time the seniors sold enough candy bars to afford the airfare, they'd be college sophomores.

He's beyond excited though, because what Las Vegas lacks in history, it makes up for in Circ de Soleil and Celine Dion. He and Mercedes and Rachel had spent hours on the computer, coordinating their activities. "This will be great practice for finding show tickets this fall when we're all at NYU," Rachel had pointed out.

Kurt is definitely excited for college and for New York with his best girls, but there are a lot of things and people he'll miss, and spending several days in Vegas with his closest friends feels like just what he needs.

Kurt gets showered and dressed and hauls all his luggage downstairs. He dumps it in the entryway next to Finn's lone bag. Before he can even grab some semblance of breakfast, it's time to leave.

By the time they arrive at the school, their parents are panicking a little. "Just be careful, okay? I gotta bad feeling about you kids going off to Vegas all by yourselves."

"Relax, Dad," Kurt says, giving his father his best innocent face. "Mr. Schuester's here, and Miss Pillsbury. We'll be supervised. And I'm not even going to gamble! You know I already spent all the mad money you gave me on show tickets."

"Yeah, I know. Just... Be careful. And watch out for your brother. He's not as... sophisticated as you are about big cities and all that."

Kurt sighs, but he knows if he wants to get on the bus any time in the next century, he should just nod and smile. "Of course, Dad."

"Alright, well... You kids have fun."

"We will," Kurt says, leaning in to peck his dad on the cheek. He turns around to collect Finn from Carole, who has been double-checking the contents of Finn's bag.

"Honey, you didn't even pack deodorant," she says, clucking her tongue.

"I'll borrow some from Kurt. Now I gotta go, Mom. They're gonna leave without me."

Kurt grimaces. "I'll make sure he buys some, Carole." He bends down to kiss Carole's cheek, too. She clings to him for a moment and then presses a twenty into his hand.

"I always played red nineteen. Try it for me," she says.

"I will. Bye, Carole. Bye, Dad." He waves at his parents and gets on the bus, herding Finn in front of him.

"Yo, Finny D!" Puck calls from the back of the bus.

"Senior trip!" Finn yells back, pumping his fist and nearly smacking Kurt with his duffel bag in the process.

Puck shouts, "Vegas, baby!" at an even higher volume, and Kurt winces, dropping into a seat next to Mercedes.

"Tell me again why we're going on a trip with these cretins?" he asks, settling his Vuitton tote carefully on his lap.

Rachel leans across the aisle, her eyes shining with excitement. "The shows, Kurt! Think of the shows!"

"I am, trust me. I wouldn't endure a group travel situation like this for any other reason."

"When are we going?" Mercedes asks, craning her neck to see if there are any stragglers outside. "We're gonna miss the flight if these fools don't hurry up."

Kurt is about to reassure her when he sees a flash of red at the front of the bus. Azimio and Karofsky, along with a couple of their other Neanderthal friends. Kurt suppresses a shiver.

"I didn't know Karofsky was coming," Rachel stage-whispers across the aisle. "Did you?"

Kurt shrugs. He's not scared per se, but he's not exactly thrilled with the prospect of spending five days in Vegas with Karofsky. Not like he has to hang out with him or anything, but still.

They haven't actually spoken since that horrible showdown in the principal's office. When Kurt transferred back to McKinley, he'd been scared shitless, wondering what would happen with Karofsky. However, Karofsky had done an impeccable job of pretending that he hadn't even noticed Kurt's return. There was no more harassment, no more shoves, no more threats. He'd just acted like he couldn't see Kurt at all, which had suited Kurt fine.

Even now, over a year removed from their altercations, Karofsky still maintains his illusions. He does it now as he and his cronies push their way to the back of the bus. His gaze passes right through Kurt and he shows no sign that he even knows Kurt's there.

It's slightly unnerving, but it's such a vast improvement over the creepy abuser routine that Kurt would never think to question it.

"Who cares?" Kurt says, looking back and forth between Rachel and Mercedes. "He doesn't acknowledge my existence and I don't acknowledge his. It's a system that works. He's completely out of my life. Let's not waste another second talking about him."

"Good plan," Mercedes says, bracing herself on the seat as the bus makes a wicked turn out of the parking lot. "Let's do the damn thing. Vegas baby, right?"

"Right," Kurt agrees. He's not going to let a little thing like Karofsky ruin his vacation. "Senior trip!" he says, mimicking his brother with a little air punch.

He's not going to let anything ruin his fun, in fact. It's not like he's going to have anything to do with Karofsky. Their roommate assignments are already set in stone – and he's with Finn, Puck, and Mike – and there are no mandatory group activities. He's just going to chill with his friends, go to the theater as often as possible, and continue ignoring David Karofsky like he's been doing for over a year.

Business as usual. He can handle that.

By the last day of their trip, Kurt is already depressed about going home. Vegas is fabulous. Everything is clean and new – even the things that are actually old – and every inch of it sparkles. It's not like he hasn't seen pictures of The Strip, but seeing it in person is unreal, and no one ever told him that the whole thing is set against a backdrop of literal purple mountain's majesty. And the shows!

He kind of wants to stay forever.

But it's not to be, and he gets rather maudlin as he dresses for the theater. Mike's out to dinner with Tina, and Puck is... somewhere. It's just him and Finn and it reminds him of home.

Kurt putters around, tightening his suspenders and fussing with his bowtie, until it's time to go get Rachel. They're going to see Chess by themselves. They were the only two who were big enough musical theater fans to want to spend their last night in Vegas seeing Chess, of all things, but a quiet night suits Kurt fine.

He says goodbye to Finn and walks a few doors down to the room that Rachel's sharing with Mercedes, Tina, and Quinn. She opens the door and grins at him. "Ready?"

"Yes, and you look smashing!" he tells her, pulling her into a little twirl. Her purple dress swirls around her and her hair bounces against her shoulders. She giggles and puts her hand through his proffered arm.

The other girls are already out somewhere, so they don't linger in the room.

The show is amazing, as all the shows they've seen have been, and when they file out into the lobby, they're both grinning. "I'm so glad we did that!" Rachel exclaims, taking Kurt's hand. "I can't believe no one else wanted to come!"

"I know! It might not be Evita, but it's still Tim Rice," Kurt says.

They push through the doors into the balmy desert night, and Kurt breathes deep. It's barely eleven and he's seesawing between a post-musical high and depression about leaving tomorrow. The last thing he wants is to want to go back to the hotel. "Want to do something else?"

"Yes," Rachel says instantly, and Kurt smiles, knowing she's feeling it too. She's humming "One Night in Bangkok" under her breath and suddenly he has a wicked idea. "Let's try out these IDs that Puck got us. I could use a drink. You?"

Rachel sniffs. "None of the casinos will serve us. We both look like we're twelve."

"Where's your sense of adventure, Rachel? Let's find some dive off The Strip. Someplace that caters to a less... savory clientele."

"Do we really want to go somewhere that caters to an unsavory clientele? Besides, I swore I was never drinking again after that horrible debacle with Blaine last year."

Kurt sighs and grabs her hand, pulling her down the street. "We're leaving in the morning. This is our last chance to have a Vegas adventure!" He pointedly ignores her comment about Blaine. Even though his relationship with Blaine fizzled after a few months, some things can just never be fully forgiven.

She follows him dutifully despite her protests, because she always goes along with Kurt's plans if he badgers her enough. But after they get rejected at the door of the third bar, Rachel's complaints are back.

"I told Noah these IDs were horrible! I mean, 'Fiona LeClerc?' He couldn't find one with a more realistic name?"

"Come along, Fiona. I see a good bet up ahead."

"No. No. A thousand times no! I'm not going to a strip club," Rachel says, digging in her heels and pulling at Kurt's hand.

"It's perfect," Kurt insists. He drags Rachel to the door and presents his ID to the bouncer. The guy barely glances at it before he opens the door.

Kurt grins at Rachel in triumph. However, once they're inside, he reconsiders the wisdom of his plan. The place is dark with flashing lights everywhere. It's full of skeevy-looking men, a few couples who look uncomfortable, and some nervous young guys. There are topless women everywhere, some carrying drinks on trays and some sitting on men's laps.

It's creepy, but it's sort of exciting. He grips Rachel's hand harder. She's looking everywhere, her eyes owl-big, and he grins at her. "Nice, right?"

She gapes at him for a second before she giggles. "Oh, yes, lovely." She leans closer and says conspiratorially, "This is actually rather interesting. Do you think so, too?"

"I do, actually," he says, and it's the truth. He might not be attracted to women, but there's still an intense thrill to have so much nudity right here in front of him.

They find a table toward the back where they can be unobtrusive, and a topless girl approaches them moments later. "What can I get you to drink?" she asks.

Kurt forces himself to look her in the eyes as he says, "Rum and Coke, please. And a cosmopolitan for the lady."

The waitress smiles. "Aren't you a cute couple!"

"Thank you," Kurt says, putting his arm around Rachel.

"Well, enjoy yourselves. I'll be right back with your drinks."

Rachel leans into Kurt and says, "You're not having any lap dances, mister. I should be good enough for you."

"But you don't have a tattoo on your ass," Kurt complains, letting her follow his gaze to the girl writhing on the stage, who does in fact have a tattoo on her ass.

"I have to admire their self-confidence," Rachel says. "I certainly couldn't do anything like this."

"You don't say."

"Shut up! I'm not as much of a prude as I used to be. But that kind of body confidence? It's admirable."

Kurt's about to reply when the waitress sets down their drinks. Kurt pulls out his wallet and hands her two twenties. "Can we start a tab?"

"Of course, sir," she says, and Kurt feels terribly sophisticated.

He watches her walk away and something draws his eye to the door. "Oh shit," he says.

Rachel looks over and she grimaces. "Is that Karofsky and those other animals?"

"It's hard to tell without the hideous red jackets, but I'm fairly certain." They've all ditched their letterman jackets, undoubtedly in an attempt to seem older, but Kurt would recognize Dave Karofsky anywhere.

"Should we just go?" Rachel asks, rolling the stem of her glass between her fingers nervously.

"We were here first," Kurt says, making the mature argument. He picks up his drink and drains it in two long swallows. He watches as Azimio and Karofsky and their cronies drop into seats right at the stage. Azimio sets a dollar bill on the stage in front of Karofsky, slapping his back as he does it.

Moments later, the dancer appears in front of Karofsky, and as the guys all whoop and holler, she does some kind of flip right off the edge of the stage, putting her ass right in his face. He grabs it lustily while his teammates cheer. Kurt looks away, disgusted. He's not the type to tell anyone they have to come out, but there's something gross, something hollow, about Karofsky's shows of sham heterosexuality.

He doesn't know why it makes him angry, but it does. The waitress brings him another drink and he says, "I'll need two more right away, please." She doesn't even bat an eye, which says something about this place.

Rachel's keeping a decent pace with him, pretty much one drink for every two of Kurt's, so they're both completely smashed in just a half an hour or so, especially after they switch to shots. Miraculously, Karofsky hasn't spotted him, or if he has, he hasn't let on. Unfortunately, though, Kurt has to go to the bathroom, and leaving their out-of-the-way booth will definitely cause him to risk exposure.

He can't put it off, though. "Bathroom," he says to Rachel, sliding out of the booth. When he stands up, the room goes diagonal for a second. "Whoa, head rush," he tells her, grinning like a drunken idiot. Which he sort of is. He makes his way unsteadily to the bathroom and manages to pee without injuring himself.

When he comes out, though, Karofsky is standing in the hall. "It's not a one-seater; you didn't have to wait," Kurt says, snickering at himself.

"What the hell are you doing here, Hummel? And are you drunk?"

"I'm here to get drunk, obviously. Which I am. Drunk, that is."

Karofsky looks a little unsteady too, and his face is flushed. Judging by the number of pitchers that Karofsky and his friends have gone through, he's one to talk about underage drinking. "No, I mean, this is a strip club. There are no naked dudes here. Why do you even want to be here?"

Kurt snorts. "Why do you want to be here? You're gay too, if you've forgotten." Kurt hasn't forgotten. He still thinks about it sometimes, that time Karofsky kissed him. It had scared him so much at the time, but now that he's older, farther away from the epicenter of the memory, he wishes he remembered what it had felt like.

"Shut up, Hummel."

Kurt tries to say something scathing, a pithy retort that will lay Karofsky bare and flood his feeble brain with shame and despair. But he's had seven rum and Cokes and a number of shots and he's been staring at naked women for almost an hour and he's sad and drunk and feeling suddenly nostalgic, so what comes out is, "Why don't you ever pay attention to me any more?"

He doesn't even say it in a bitchy, demanding way. He says it in the completely pathetic manner of a first-grader who can't understand why his friend won't play with him.

For his part, Karofsky looks completely bemused. He schools his features, though, and tips his chin up defiantly. "I thought you didn't like it when I paid attention to you."

"I didn't," Kurt says, but it sounds unconvincing even to his own ears, and he's hammered beyond the telling of it.

He clears his throat and tries again. "I didn't like it. You were an asshole. But now you... You act like I don't exist." He wobbles a little, and Karofsky puts a hand on his arm to steady him.

"I had to," he says, sounding tortured about it, which makes Kurt quite happy.

"Why?" Kurt asks, even though he sort of already knows, judging by the way Karofsky's hand is a little too tight around his forearm and the way his eyes are a little too intense.

Karofsky doesn't answer, not in words anyway, but he looms over Kurt, leaning in until his mouth is millimeters from Kurt's.

They stay there for a heated second, breathing in each other's air, until Kurt can't take it anymore. He arches against Karofsky, closing the miniscule distance between them.

Karofsky grunts like Kurt's gut-punched him, but he attacks Kurt's mouth with determination. Kurt's very much afraid that he swoons a little then, but he can't really help that. He just focuses on kissing back, worried about his rum-breath and his lack of expertise and whether anyone will catch them.

Then Karofsky runs his tongue along Kurt's bottom lip, and Kurt forgets all his worries. The room is spinning maddeningly, and at this point, Kurt isn't actually sure what's causing that.

"What the fuck are we doing, Hummel?" Karofsky whispers against Kurt's mouth.

"I don't know, but if we do it here, someone's going to see."

Kurt immediately realizes that injecting reality was a bad move, as Karofsky pulls away like he's been burned.

"You know what? Fuck this. You're drunk and... confused. You... You don't even like me."

"I like kissing," Kurt says, although that doesn't seem to help the situation.

"Whatever. I'm just gonna go, okay?" Karofsky says, slow and pissy, like Kurt's a mental patient who won't leave him alone.

He leaves the hall and Kurt stares after him for a few minutes, sagging dizzily against the wall before he goes back into the bathroom and pees again, bracing his hand on the wall. He feels like he's going to pass out. He's never been this drunk before, which is really the only excuse he has for acting like a complete idiot in front of Karofsky.

He's not so drunk that he doesn't realize that kissing Karofsky was a poor idea. It's too late to do anything about it, though, save for going back into the garish club and tipping back another shot. Rachel is slumped against the table, propping her chin on one hand. She looks like she's going to fall asleep any second, so Kurt grabs the glass in front of her and drains it.

Across the stage, he can see Karofsky leaning over, a dollar bill between his lips. Kurt turns away.

"Want to make out?" Rachel asks, shifting enough that she's leaning more towards Kurt.

"Yeah, I got here just in time," a voice says from behind Kurt and he startles. He turns around to see Puck looking sort of amused.

"Why are you here?" Kurt asks.

"Fulton texted me," Puck says, gesturing across the stage to where Karofsky and the other football players are sitting. "He said two of my ladyfriends were getting themselves in trouble and I should come take them home."

Kurt scowls. "I'm not a lady."

"No shit. I'm taking Rachel, who is a lady, back to the hotel. You can come with me or you can hang out at the titty bar all night. Your call, dude."

"I want to hang out at the titty bar," Kurt says, purely to be obtuse. He's not a lady and he can damn well take care of himself.

"Whatever. I'm taking Rachel before she hurls on me. You better be back by like two or I'm sending Finn to get you."

Kurt waves his hand dismissively. "I'll be back."

Puck rolls his eyes, but he hoists Rachel out of the chair and leads her out of the club. The minute they're gone, Kurt regrets trying to be a man. There's nothing more depressing in this world than being a gay man alone at a strip club.

He sees the waitress and holds up two fingers. Just a couple more drinks and then he's going to go back to the hotel before his brother shows up to collect him. He's not drinking to cut loose anymore. Now he's drinking because he's mad at fucking Karofsky, who's sitting at the stage with his hands all over some stripper. She's grinding against him and he's doing a damn good job of pretending he likes it.

The waitress sets two double shots of something on his table and he puts one back before he even looks at her. "Where do I go to get a lapdance?" he asks, far too loudly.

"Um, the VIP room?" she says, pointing to a neon sign. Kurt nods and drains the other shot.

That's the last thing he remembers of that night.

When he wakes up in the morning, the first thing he realizes is that he's still drunk.

The second is that someone is holding him. And the arm is big and has a lot of hair on it, so it's not Rachel. "Finn," he hisses, nudging the arm. "You're spooning me again."

Kurt tries to shimmy away, but he realizes that the body behind him is kind of... aroused. Finn might be a little over-cuddly and prone to accidental spooning, but he's highly unlikely to become excited from holding Kurt, no matter how fabulous Kurt's ass might be.

He pushes the body back enough that he can roll away. And he promptly screams like a woman, scrambling off the bed and landing on his ass on the floor.

Karofsky groans and pulls the pillow over his face. "Shut up," he mumbles. "Tryin' a'sleep."

"Oh no. Oh no. Oh no no no we did not," Kurt babbles, willing himself to wake up from this horrible dream.

Then Karofsky sits bolt upright, appearing to go from sleeping to panic in under a second. "Hummel? What... What the fuck did you do to me?"

"Me?" Kurt gasps, getting to his feet, highly affronted. "I didn't do anything! What did you do to me?"

Karofsky lifts the blankets and looks down at himself. Kurt realizes at the same moment that he's got his underwear on and nothing else. "Please tell me you have something on under there," Kurt begs, coming close to prayer.

With a scowl, Karofsky flips the covers back. He's wearing tacky-ass boxers emblazoned with the logo of some superhero or another, but in that moment, they're the most beautiful garment Kurt's ever seen. "Oh, thank fuck," he says with feeling.

Karofsky rolls off the bed and makes a dash for the adjoining bathroom and seconds later, Kurt hears the sound of retching. He takes advantage of his solitude to do a quick did-I-have-sex check. He's never had sex, but he's pretty sure he knows what to look for. There's no evidence in his underwear – front or back – and an examination in the mirror over the dresser doesn't turn up any hickies or scratches down his back.

Kurt hears the toilet flush and Karofsky comes out of the bathroom, pressing a wet washcloth to his face. He looks like shit and Kurt feels sadistically pleased by that. However, he can't really help noticing the way water droplets are sliding down Karofsky's chest. He might not remember a lot of last night, but he does remember kissing Karofsky. And liking it.

With a delicate shudder, he turns away to look for his shirt. "I don't think anything happened," he says, just to make conversation.

"So your asshole's not sore?" Karofsky asks, smirking like a tool.

"Why would it be my asshole?" Kurt protests, not mentioning the fact that he'd done a check for just such a possibility. "It could just as easily be your asshole."

Karofsky lifts one eyebrow, clearly indicating what he thinks of that idea.

Kurt finishes buttoning his shirt and glares at Karofsky. "As flattered as I am that you want to have your way with me, this is pretty much a not-even-if-you-were-the-last-man-on-earth scenario," he growls, locating his pants over by the air conditioner.

"That's not what you were saying last night," Karofsky says, pretty smug for a guy who just hurled everywhere. "'Why don't you liiiiiike me?'" he trills, pressing a hand to his heart.

"Go to hell, Karofsky," Kurt snaps. The dig hurts his feelings, even though he'd never admit it. He sits on the edge of the other bed to put his shoes on. The spread is still neat and it looks like no one slept in it. "Is this your room?" Kurt asks, realizing that his location probably should have been his first priority. "Where are your friends?"

"It's not my room. No one's stuff is in it," Karofsky points out. "I think it's a new room."

Kurt's stomach sinks a little. If he put the room on his 'for emergencies only' credit card, his dad is going to end his life. He fumbles for his phone and sees that it's only nine in the morning. "At least we didn't miss our flight," he comments. He's got eighteen unread texts and seven missed calls. Awesome.

He's just about to call Finn to let him know that he's not missing when he sees a glint of gold on his finger. The ring is turned around because it's too big on his finger, but when he spins it, he sees a football and a hockey stick engraved on either side of a blue stone. It's a class ring and it's decidedly not his. He pulls it off his finger – his left ring finger – and holds it up like it's a grenade. "What is this?"

Karofsky steps closer to take it from Kurt, his hard, hairy chest way too close to Kurt's face. "That's my class ring," he says, sliding it back on his own finger. "Wait..."

They look at each other for a few beats before Kurt says, "No. Absolutely no."

"No fucking way, dude," Karofsky agrees, and Kurt is pleased that they're on the same page for once.

"We did not..."

"No. There's no way, dude. I was drunk as shit, but there's no way I was that drunk. I'd believe I got drunk enough to fuck you, but I couldn't have been drunk enough to..."

"Oh, thanks," Kurt says, pushing up off the bed and storming to the dresser to grab the hotel information packet.

"Oh sorry for insulting you. What the fuck, Hummel? Do you want me to want to..." He trails off, clearly unable to even say the words.

"Of course not," Kurt snaps. "But I'm a bit concerned, here! Why the hell was I wearing your ring?"

"Maybe this is someone's idea of a joke?" Karofsky suggests, twisting the ring nervously.

"Whose? No one knows about us." As soon as Kurt says it, he blanches. "Not that there's an us of course, but..." He coughs a little, trying to regroup. "Do any of your friends even know you're gay?"

"Why would I tell them? It's not their business. I'm not like you where everyone can tell."

Kurt glares at him again. "Whatever. We're in our own hotel, at least," Kurt says, ignoring Karofsky's bullshit for now. "Let's just get out of here, go back to our respective rooms, fly back to Lima, and never speak of this again."

"Should we try to, like, make sure...?" Karofsky twists the ring again, looking a little discomfited for once. It does Kurt's heart good to see him being unsure.

"There's no paperwork or anything. No receipts from a... a chapel. No flowers or tacky Elvis-themed souvenirs. Check your pockets," Kurt says, double-checking his own.

Karofsky pulls his jeans off the floor and looks in all the pockets and in his wallet. "Nothing," he says, pulling out his phone and fiddling with it. "No texts; no pictures."

Kurt checks his own phone for such evidence and finds nothing. "Me either," he says, pointedly looking away as Karofsky pulls his pants on. "I think we're safe."

"Maybe we were just fucking around," Karofsky says, putting his t-shirt back on. When his head pops through, he says, "Maybe you thought it was your ring or something."

The odds that Kurt thought a tacky, too-large, sports-themed ring was his own are pretty low, even for the amount of alcohol he consumed, but he nods anyway. "Maybe. Listen, I'm gonna go, okay. I'm... I'm sorry. For last night. At the club, I mean."

Karofsky waves his hand. "Whatever. I thought you wanted me to leave you alone, but if you don't..."

"Let's just... Can't we just not be friends without being openly hostile?"

That doesn't make sense, but Karofsky nods like it does. "Okay. Let's not be friends, then." He holds out his hand and Kurt shakes it. He manages a small smile that Karofsky returns just as tentatively.

"Well, I guess I'll see you downstairs later," Kurt says, going to the door. "And... We're not going to tell anyone about this, right?"

"Dude, no way," Karofsky says, shoving on one of his shoes without bothering to unlace it. "Wait... Do you remember leaving the strip club? Did we, like, leave together?"

He looks a little freaked out, and Kurt racks his brain but he can't find the answer. "I can't remember. But if we did, you have my permission to make up whatever story you need to in order to satisfy your friends. Except telling them we had sex," he adds as an afterthought. "If you decide to come out, you're not going to ruin my reputation in the process."

Karofsky rolls his eyes, but he does look sort of grateful. "Yeah, thanks, man. And I'm sorry too. For, like, everything."

Kurt laughs a little, because after their long and storied past, it's a little silly to boil it down to this, but he's feeling expansive after this near-miss. "Alright, I accept your apology. Now let's get out of here, because I really need a shower and like eighty-five aspirin."

"No shit," Karofsky says, opening the door for Kurt in a gentlemanly fashion. Kurt peeks out cautiously, but there's no one in the hall. He turns to look at Karofsky, but he waves Kurt forward. "Go ahead. I gotta piss again."

Kurt wonders if Karofsky wants to leave separately because he's embarrassed about being seen with Kurt, but since he doesn't really want to be seen with Karofsky either, it's not like he can be mad about it. "'Kay, see you," he says, escaping into the hall and making for the elevator.

His official room is on the fourth floor and he's currently on the tenth. He rides down in the elevator and pulls his room key out, grateful that he hadn't managed to lose it.

It's kind of ridiculous, actually. He'd been so thrilled, so triumphant, when the national gay marriage bill had finally passed at the end of last year, but he'd never thought it would come back to bite him in the butt. That's real equality, he figures – when everyone has to worry about potentially marrying someone in Vegas while they're blacked-out drunk. Progress.

As soon as he opens the door to his room, Finn pounces on him. "Dude, where the hell have you been? I had to beg Mr. Schue not to call dad! Hey, Mike, call Mr. Schue and let him know Kurt's back, would you?" Mike nods and pulls out his phone.

Finn drags him over to the bed and sits him down. "What happened? Are you okay?"

Kurt swallows hard, unsure if he should try to lie. He knows they'll know he wasn't in Rachel and Mercedes's room – that will have been the first place they checked – and if Mr. Schuester knows, they'll probably have looked in all the rooms. Kurt's just catching up to what that means when Finn leans in. "Dude, Karofsky didn't come back last night either. Was he... Did you get hurt, or...?"

Kurt almost laughs at the idea that Karofsky might have abducted him and kept him trapped all night, but it's not actually funny.

He's saved from having to respond by Mike. "Hey, I'm gonna go over to the girls' room and let them know you're okay. I texted Tina, but she didn't respond."

"Thanks, Mike. Tell Rachel I'm really sorry and I'll come talk to her in a minute, okay?"

"I will," Mike says, heading out. Kurt's pretty sure he's leaving to give him privacy to speak to his brother, and Kurt appreciates it.

"Where's Puck?" Kurt asks, belatedly realizing he's not in the room.

"He went over earlier to make sure Rachel didn't choke on her own puke or something." Finn scowls as he says this, and Kurt gets the idea that he doesn't like Puck taking over Rachel-duties. But since Finn and Rachel are off-again, it's not like Puck doesn't have the right.

"How are things going with your little love triangle?" Kurt asks, and Finn's scowl deepens.

"Don't change the subject, Kurt. What the hell happened?"

Kurt sighs. "Fine. I spent the night with Karofsky in another room here at the hotel. I don't know how we ended up there, but we did. And nothing happened."

He can practically see the little wheels turning in Finn's head. "You spent the night with Karofsky?"

"Not like you're implying. I don't know what happened, honestly. I was out with Rachel and I had a bit too much to drink, and the next thing I know, I was waking up in bed with him. But nothing happened."

"You were in bed with him?"

"Finn, don't be obtuse. I shared a bed with you for four nights straight and nothing happened."

"We're brothers!" Finn protests.

"Is that the only thing that was keeping you from making passionate love to me?" Kurt asks, trying to raise an eyebrow as effectively as Karofsky can. "Familial connections?"

"No! Kurt, shut up... Wait, is Karofsky gay?"

"You'd have to ask him about that," Kurt says, evading the question. It's true, though. He's not going to tell Finn anything. Let Finn talk to Karofsky about it if he's so curious. "Honestly, we were just really drunk and we passed out. He didn't harm a hair on my head. He wasn't even rude. Well, any more than usual. It was just an accident. Period, end of story."

Kurt feels bad about that little fib, but there's really nothing else he can say about what happened without freaking Finn out completely, so he just leaves it at that.

He has a sinking feeling that he hasn't heard the last of this situation, though.

What Kurt had expected was that rumors would start flying or that Karofsky would start being a cretin again. However, what happens is... nothing. Karofsky starts looking at him again, but it's never more than a passing glance. Sometimes he gets a nigh-imperceptible nod. But other than that, nothing.

That is until two weeks later when Kurt and Finn come home from school to find a strange car in the driveway. "Why are mom and dad home?" Finn asks.

Kurt shrugs, fighting the fear that something terrible has happened. Even with a slight mental preparedness, he's not at all ready for the sight of Dave Karofsky sitting in his living room with his parents and Kurt's parents, all looking somber.

"Dad? Carole?" Kurt asks, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

His dad hands him a thick envelope emblazoned with 'The State of Nevada.' Kurt's pulse leaps so hard that he feels it in his jugular. This is bad. He glances at Karofsky, but he's studiously examining the floor. Kurt slides the paperwork out of the envelope just enough to see the words 'marriage license' in fancy script and his own name written alongside 'David Paul Karofsky.'

Kurt blows out a breath. "Dad, I'm..."

"I'm not going to ask what you were thinking. I can tell you weren't thinking at all," his dad says, looking disappointed, which hurts most of all.

Finn takes the envelope out of Kurt's hands and Kurt sinks onto the nearest chair, his shaking legs no longer able to hold him up.

"I thought you boys didn't like each other," Carole says, spinning her own wedding band on her finger absently.

"We don't," Kurt says. Karofsky sneers at that, but Kurt isn't going to try to put a pretty face on this. "I was drunk. Very, very drunk, which I know you'll probably want to punish me for later, but that's really my only excuse."

"Me too," Karofsky says, making his first contribution to the conversation.

"We'll talk about that later," Mr. Karofsky says, shaking his head sadly. "I'm more interested in what we do now. How do we take care of this? An annulment?"

"You boys aren't... together, are you?" Mrs. Karofsky says, and Kurt nearly breaks his neck shaking his head.

"No. Absolutely not together," he insists.

"I just wondered if there would be a chance that you boys wouldn't want to dissolve the marriage," Mrs. Karofsky says, and Kurt's blood runs cold.

"Mom!" Karofsky protests, looking completely humiliated.

"Angela, please. We talked about this," Mr. Karofsky says, putting his hand on his wife's knee. He looks back at Kurt's parents, a sad sort of look on his face. "We're Catholic. She doesn't like the idea of divorce."

"Divorce?" Kurt squeaks. "I can not be a divorcee at eighteen!"

"Relax, Kurt," his dad says. "We shouldn't have a problem with an annulment. You boys didn't..?" He coughs, looking red in the face.

"Was the marriage consummated?" Carole asks gently, and Kurt fights down a wave of nausea. Finn snorts from somewhere behind Kurt and Kurt turns to glare at him. "Finn, why don't you go make a sandwich," Carole says pointedly.

"There was no consummating," Kurt snaps.

"Are you sure?" Kurt's dad asks, looking like he wishes he were doing anything in the world but this. "If you were drunk enough to not remember getting married..."

He lets the sentence dangle there, and Kurt waves his arms. "Absolutely no. There was no evidence whatsoever, and there would have had to have been evidence. And that's all I'm going to say on the matter, even under torture."

Karofsky snorts out what might be a laugh except for the fact that no sane person should be laughing at a time like this.

Carole clears her throat. "According to what I read online, an annulment should be simple, then. The only issue is that both boys have to appear at the courthouse in the county where the marriage took place. Which means Clark County. Nevada."

"I could take them, but I can't do it until the weekend. I gotta work this week." Kurt's father says.

Mr. Karofsky nods. "We'll pay for half the expenses, of course. Let us know the total. Airfare, hotel, all of it."

Kurt's dad stands up then, as if everything is settled. He holds out his hand to Mr. Karofsky, who stands, too, taking it to shake. "Thanks," his dad says.

"It's my pleasure. Thank you for handling this. And I'm sorry for David's part in all of it."

Mrs. Karofsky smiles sort of sadly at Kurt. Kurt tries to return the smile, but he can't quite lift both corners of his mouth. He feels like he's dangerously close to bursting into tears.

Carole escorts everyone to the door, and as they pass, Karofsky looks at Kurt like he wants to say something, but Kurt looks away. Whatever it is, he doesn't want to know. The fact that it's Monday just makes the whole thing worse. He's got to spend almost an entire week married to Karofsky. He's definitely going to cry. Or throw up. Or both.

As soon as the door closes behind the Karofskys, Kurt makes a dash for the hall bathroom and pukes up the remainder of his lunch. He doesn't cry, though, so that's something.

When he comes out, his dad and Carole are both waiting for him. "No punishment you can give me is worse than having to spend a week married to that asshole, just so you know."

Carole sighs and opens her arms. He falls into them, embarrassed at how badly he needed a hug. His dad doesn't look moved, though.

"How did you even get drunk, Kurt? Who would serve you?"

"Fake ID," Kurt mutters. His dad holds out his hand, and Kurt sighs, pulling away from Carole and getting out his wallet. He hands it over and his dad goes into the kitchen, grumbling something about the scissors.

"I'm so sorry, Carole. And so embarrassed," he admits, telling himself he's made it this far without crying and he's not going to start now.

"Mistakes happen," she says, patting his cheek. "Granted, this is a pretty big one, but..."

He tries to return her smile, but he can't. "Will you talk to Finn? I don't want anyone to know about this. Preferably ever. I do plan to get married for real someday, and I don't want that to be tainted because I accidentally married my worst enemy in Vegas. It's completely ludicrous!" he says, throwing his hands up in disgust.

"I'll talk to Finn," she promises. "And your dad. Just concentrate on getting through the week, okay, honey?"

"I will. Thanks, Carole."

Kurt wanders up to his room, his head swimming. He's a married man. Funny, he doesn't feel different. Except for the nausea.

His plan is just to struggle through the rest of the week, fly to Vegas, tell a judge that he fucked up in the grand tradition of Vegas fuck-ups, sign some paperwork, and start trying to forget about all of this unpleasantness.

That plan derails almost immediately, however, when he gets to school and realizes people are staring at him. This isn't the kind of is-that-a-girl's-shirt staring that he's used to by now. No, this is a new animal. This is did-you-hear-what-happened-to-Kurt-oh-em-gee staring, and there's really only thing that could cause that kind of staring.

The horrible feeling of dread starts in his stomach and wicks its way throughout his body as he walks down the hall to his first period class. The stares get worse and worse until he hears someone humming Wagner's Bridal Chorus and then the giggles start. The nausea returns full-force, and the dread has made it to his extremities; his fingers tingle with it. This is not happening. It can not be happening.

He changes direction on a dime, hurrying toward Finn's first class. He gets there seconds before the bell rings and he marches into the room and grabs Finn by the collar. "Hall. Now."

"What the hell, man? The bell's about to ring!"

Kurt pulls harder. He's not that butch, but he's not a little weakling either, and he's fully committed to yanking Finn right out of the seat if he has to.

Finn scrambles out of the desk then, and follows Kurt into the hall. He already looks guilt-ridden and Kurt has his answer. "How could you do this to me?" Kurt asks, trying for angry, but getting stuck at 'betrayed.'

"How do you know it was me? Maybe it was Karofsky," Finn protests, but considering he clearly knows to what Kurt is referring, the jig is pretty much up.

"Karofsky? Finn, be serious! Don't you realize what this is going to do to him? You've caused me to become a laughingstock, which I do not appreciate in the least, but at least people already know I'm gay. Karofsky... Well, I'm sure you can imagine what his so-called friends are going to say to him!"

Finn looks stricken and Kurt can tell he hadn't put that whole thing together. "I didn't mean to, Kurt. You know I wouldn't do that to you. After mom made me go in the kitchen, I texted Rachel. I thought it was funny. I'm sorry, I just didn't think about it before I did it. And then later when mom said not to say anything, I told Rachel to keep it to herself, but I guess she'd already told someone."

"Apparently she told everyone," Kurt mutters. "Listen, I know you didn't mean to do this, but this is bad, Finn. Really, really bad."

"Mr. Hudson, are you joining us or do I need to write up a tardy slip?" Finn's teacher is standing in the doorway, tapping her foot.

"Sorry, Ms. Carmichael," Finn says. "Kurt, I..."

Kurt waves him away. "Whatever. I don't think you can do anything now. But if anything happens to him, it's going to be on your head."

He feels like that's perhaps too dramatic, because Finn looks sort of like he might cry. Then he straightens up a little and says, "I thought you hated Karofsky."

"I do," Kurt sniffs. "But that doesn't mean I want him to be hurt – or worse – because you don't understand the meaning of discretion."

"Fine, I'm sorry. I'll... I'll take care of it."

"How?"

"I don't know! I'll do something, okay?"

Kurt sighs and turns on his heel, heading down the hall to his class. He's going to get a tardy, but maybe he can protest it due to extenuating and really shitty circumstances. He hopes Karofsky's doing alright. He might be a sadistic bastard, but Kurt can only begin to imagine what he's dealing with right now. A small amount of karmic retribution might be in order, but this is a shitstorm of epic proportions.

He walks into his classroom and even though the teacher is well into a lecture about supply-side economics, three different people stand up and throw rice at Kurt.

The entire classroom bursts into raucous applause and cheering.

Kurt spits out a few grains of rice and says, clearly and firmly, "I hate every single one of you," before walking back out again. He goes directly to Principal Figgins's office and blurts out the whole tale, ending with, "And I need to be excused from school for this entire week because if I see even one more grain of rice, I'm going to maim someone in an irreversible way."

"I admit this is a... unique situation, Mr. Hummel, but I simply cannot excuse you from school because you have embarrassed yourself. If I excused every student who was teased by his peers for his questionable behavior, I'd have no students in this school! I am not unsympathetic to your predicament, but I'm afraid my hands are tied."

Kurt snorts. He'd expected no less, honestly, but nothing comes from not trying. "What do you suggest then?"

"Ignore them? I'm sure some other juicy gossip will distract them soon enough."

"I admire your optimism," Kurt says, more rudely than he'd intended, but Figgins doesn't call him on it. Apparently he is sympathetic. To a degree.

Kurt strides out into the hall and looks around, unsure what to do. First hour is still going on, so no one is around. He walks toward his locker, double-stepping past each classroom door so he can't catch anyone's stares. When he rounds the corner, Karofsky is standing by Kurt's locker, his face murderous.

"They did mine, too," Karofsky says when Kurt approaches him, jerking his thumb at Kurt's locker door. There are a couple of crudely cut out wedding bells and a piece of tape with a jagged scrap of paper still stuck to it where it looks like someone's ripped something down.

Taking a guess, Kurt asks, "Should I be happy you removed whatever that was before I saw it?"

Karofsky looks away like he's embarrassed to have been caught doing something thoughtful. He nods though, not denying it.

Kurt gives him a small smile. "How have things been going today?" he asks.

"How do you think? I hope your stepmom won't be mad, but I'm going to kill Hudson. I've been thinking about how I'll do it. I think strangling him with my bare hands would be the most fun."

"He didn't mean to do this," Kurt says, but Karofsky snorts, cutting him off before he can say any more.

"Do you think that makes it okay? My life is ruined," Karofsky snaps, hitting the locker with his palm hard enough that Kurt jumps. "It's fucking over for me! How much do they charge at that fruity boys' school you went to, because I'm going to have to go there. I'm sure I'll fit right in."

"It's not a gay school," Kurt says, mostly out of habit.

Karofsky opens his mouth, undoubtedly to start another tirade, when the bell rings. Kids flood out of the classrooms, and every single one of them stares. Kurt feels like he's standing in a museum display: Still Life Diorama of the Homosexual American Teen and His Meathead Husband. It would be funny if it weren't so tragic.

"Let's get out of here," Karofsky says, turning on his heel. Kurt follows him, but they can't outrun the stares and the laughing. People are all around, and Kurt can't even scan the crowd for a friendly face because he can't risk meeting anyone's eyes. He just follows Karofsky blindly, keeping his eyes on the back of his red jacket.

They're close to the door when Karofsky stops short. Kurt stumbles to a stop, nearly running into Karofsky. Azimio is standing in front of Karofsky, his arms crossed and a sour look on his face. "What the hell, man?"

"What the hell, what?" Karofsky asks, clenching his fists.

"What do you think what, fool? You're standing here with your wife and you're asking me what?"

"I'm not his wife," Kurt snaps at the same time Karofsky says, "He's not my wife."

"That's not what I hear. I'm startin' to think you've been lying to me, man, and that just don't fly with me. What went down in Las Vegas, Hummel?" Azimio asks, looking at Kurt. There are a bunch of people standing around watching with amused expressions, and Kurt dearly wishes the floor would open up. Or that Karofsky would just start punching people. Create a diversion.

"I told you, man, we left – "

"Not from you. I want to hear it from Mrs. Karofsky. I think it's time to see if your stories match up."

"Do not call me that," Kurt hisses. "And I don't owe you any explanation at all. Of anything. Please get out of my way."

"You owe me something for faggin' up my boy!" Azimio snaps. "Or maybe I owe you something," he amends, taking a threatening step toward Kurt.

Karofsky sidesteps in front of Kurt. "This isn't his fault."

"The hell it's not!" Azimio shouts, and Kurt can see the confusion, the betrayal, on his face. Kurt would feel for him if he weren't being such a prick.

"It's not!" Karofsky insists, putting an arm in front of Kurt protectively. "I was already a fag before I even knew him," he says, low and ashamed. Then he lifts his head defiantly. "I've always been a fag. It's not his fault." He turns to their audience, brandishing a fist. "And if anyone has a fucking problem with it, they can take it up with me. It's my fault. Mine! He's not my fucking wife. He's not my fucking boyfriend. He's not even my friend. But this happened because we were together and we were drunk and we were drunk together because we're both fags. And if any of you don't like it, you can suck my dick!"

With that, he grabs Kurt by the upper arm and drags him past Azimio, through the crowd that seems evenly divided between shock and amusement, and out the front door of the school. He doesn't stop dragging until they get to the parking lot. "I hope you have a fucking car because I got mine taken away over all this shit and if I have to stay here for another second, I'm going to burn this place to the ground."

"I have a car," Kurt says, leading the way to his Navigator. They both climb in and Kurt peels out of the parking lot, only making it a block before the shakes get him and he has to pull over. He buries his head in his arms, leaning against the steering wheel, battling between tears and laughter. Finally he decides on laughing. Because really.

"Jesus, Hummel, are you fucking crying?" Karofsky sounds disgusted at the thought and it just makes Kurt laugh harder.

When he can finally draw a breath, he gasps, "That was amazing."

Karofsky looks at him like he's completely insane for a few seconds and then he starts laughing too. His laughter fades quickly, though, and he says, "Shit, what did I just do?"

"You told everyone they could suck your dick," Kurt says helpfully, still laughing. "Honestly, that was glorious."

"Oh my god," Karofsky says, pressing his hands to his face. "I'm a dead man."

"Don't be a drama queen. Being out isn't going to kill you. It didn't kill me. Although you certainly gave it the old college try."

"Don't start with me, Hummel. I'm not in the mood."

It's such a gross understatement that Kurt starts laughing again. When he gets himself under control, he asks, "Do you want me to take you home?"

"No, my mom might be there. She's already freaking out over all of this shit. I don't want her to know I'm skipping school."

"Is she...? I mean, I know she said...."

"Yeah. Catholic guilt. It's awesome. Polish Catholics aren't usually too big on guilt, but my mom is making an exception."

"She really thought there was a possibility we'd just... go with this? I mean, personal feelings aside, we're in high school."

"Yeah, I don't know. She's weird about stuff like this."

Kurt sighs. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I looked it up and no one needs to know about... consummation. We can just claim 'want of understanding' which basically means we were drunk. In other words, our parents just wanted to know if we... you know."

"Oh, gross. Thanks for getting me into this, Fancy."

"Shut up! It could have just as easily been your fault."

"Well, it was your brilliant idea to get married in the first place," Karofsky says, sneering at Kurt.

He might be joking, but he says it like he knows, and Kurt's breathing goes shallow. "How do you know it was my idea? I thought neither of us remembered what happened that night."

"It wouldn't have been my idea," Karofsky says, but he doesn't meet Kurt's eyes when he says it.

"So help me, Karofsky, if you remember what happened and you aren't telling me..."

"Dude, I don't remember. There are a couple of things I sort of remember. But nothing important."

Kurt tightens his hands on the steering wheel. He doesn't believe Karofsky as far as he could throw him. There's clearly a lot more he's not saying. "I need you to tell me," Kurt says. He feels almost betrayed knowing that there are things Karofsky remembers that he doesn't.

"Dude, I said I don't know anything," Karofsky snaps. "I'm just gonna go walk back to school."

Before Kurt can even say anything, Karofsky's out the door and striding down the sidewalk. Kurt watches him walk away for a moment. He looks tired, defeated. His shoulders are slumped and he's trudging like something's weighing him down.

Kurt shakes his head. He's not going to feel sorry for Karofsky. One dramatic rescue doesn't make up for years of offensive behavior or for lying now. The guy is a jerk. His husband is a jerk.

He puts his head down on the steering wheel again. What is his life, seriously?

Kurt doesn't go back to school on Tuesday. That night, both Mercedes and Rachel call to grill him, but he gives them one word answers and is borderline rude. He just doesn't want to talk about it, especially since they're both culpable for spreading the word and really should have known better. He'll forgive them one day soon, he knows, because he's too soft-hearted by half, and they're his best girlfriends.

But Tuesday is not that day. Neither is Wednesday, he decides, when he wakes up in the morning with a horrible headache.

He pleads with his parents to let him stay home, and they do, which is nothing short of a miracle. He must look like complete and utter shit for them to acquiesce, but he refuses to look at himself in the mirror for verification purposes. He crawls back into bed with the intention of just sleeping until Saturday.

Unfortunately, his brain is buzzing too hard for him to sleep much. He tosses and turns, his mind constantly playing through nightmare scenarios in which he's unable to obtain an annulment and ends up being married to Karofsky forever.

Groaning, he rolls out of bed and goes into the bathroom to shower. It perks him up some, but it doesn't really help the bags under his eyes. He throws on a pair of workout shorts and a t-shirt that is way too big, which means it's probably Finn's. He's just about to flop back on the bed when someone pounds on the front door.

He trudges down the stairs and opens it without looking out the window, which proves to be a serious miscalculation.

"What are you doing here?"

Karofsky shifts a little nervously. "You didn't come to school."

"I'm aware."

Karofsky makes a frustrated huff. "Can I come in?"

"Why?" Kurt asks, crossing one bare foot over the other, suddenly embarrassed about his lack of put-togetherness.

"To talk to you," Karofsky says in a tone that implies he was barely able to refrain from adding a 'duh' at the end of that sentence.

Kurt sighs. "Are you actually going to talk? Honestly?"

Karofsky nods, and Kurt pulls the door open. "Ten minutes. That's all I can spare."

"Yeah, you look real busy," Karofsky says, apparently deciding that he can cop an attitude now that he's in the house.

"I'm sick."

"You're not sick," Karofsky says, going into the living room like he owns the place. "You just didn't want to go to school."

"I feel like shit and it's getting worse by the second," Kurt says, folding himself onto the couch and tucking his feet under his butt.

"Funny," Karofsky says, sitting in the same chair he'd sat in last time he'd been in Kurt's living room. "You look weird. Like a dude."

"Are you saying I usually look like a girl?" Kurt asks, bristling.

"No, I didn't mean that. I mean you usually look like a man, but like, a fashion designer or something. Not like a regular guy."

"I think there's a compliment in there somewhere, so thank you, I guess," he says, pacified for the time being. "Is that what you wanted to talk about? My wardrobe?"

Karofsky rolls his eyes. "I guess I just wanted to say I'm sorry about everything. I remember a few things that happened, but it's all kind of hazy. That's all I meant. I remember you... You said we should get married." He blushes and looks away.

Kurt's face is a little hot, too, but he's curious. "What prompted me to say that?"

"I don't remember," Karofsky says, looking away.

"You're a terrible liar. How did you manage to stay in the closet all this time?"

"By being a dick." He says it with a smirk and it startles a laugh from Kurt. "It's true."

"Trust me, I believe you. Although the 'closeted jock who pretends to be a homophobe' act is so played out, I'm surprised even your meatheaded friends bought it. But anyway, you know you remember. Tell me. I want to know."

"You really don't. And I'm glad you don't remember some of the things I said."

Kurt shakes his head, wincing when it aggravates his headache. He can just imagine some of the things Karofsky would have said to him. 'Being a dick' is a mild descriptor of his usual behavior. "Fine, don't tell me. And hang on, I need another aspirin."

He goes into the kitchen and rummages in the cabinet where Carole keeps medicine. When he closes the cabinet door, Karofsky is there, leaning in the kitchen doorway. Kurt jumps about a foot in the air. "Lurk much?"

Karofsky just stands there, creepily watching him while he gets some water and takes his aspirin. Kurt moves to go back in the living room, but Karofsky remains in the doorway. Kurt isn't going to squeeze past him, so he crosses his arms impatiently. "What?"

"You know, you started all this. You kissed me."

Kurt takes a step back. "You kissed me first."

"No, you – oh. You mean that time."

"Yes. You started all of this! I only wanted to kiss you because I know you're gay and it was a strip club and it pissed me off seeing you pretending with your hetero friends..."

"Now who's lying?" Karofsky asks, looking entirely too full of himself. There's something there, though. Uncertainty. Kurt can just see it simmering under the surface.

Honestly, he doesn't really remember why he wanted to kiss Karofsky. "I was drunk and it seemed like a good idea," he says lamely. "I'm sober now, and it's the last thing on my mind."

That's a lie, too, because talking about it and thinking about it is making him remember how it felt. And it had felt pretty damn good. But he hates Karofsky, and Karofsky hates him. It's a formula that works. Being accidentally married doesn't have to change anything.

"What did you want, Karofsky? I don't want to talk about this with you. I don't want to do anything except get through this week until we can get the annulment and then we can pretend this never happened. Isn't that all you want?"

Karofsky looks away. "Yeah. That's all I want, too."

Kurt can see it's a lie, but he doesn't know what Karofsky's hiding. He's not sure he wants to know. "Maybe you should go," Kurt ventures, feeling suddenly uneasy. "I really do have a horrible headache."

"I'm sorry," Karofsky says, surprisingly gently. "I just wanted to... check on you, I guess. Make sure you were okay."

Kurt would be touched if it were anyone else. "I'm depressed. I'm not suicidal."

"Good, cuz I think if you offed yourself before we got annulled or whatever, I'd probably be like a widow or something."

"Please, you're making me feel so much worse," Kurt says, but he can't hold back a little smile. Karofsky smiles back and then turns, heading for the door.

Before Kurt can open the door, though, Karofsky stops him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You wanted to get married because you were lonely," he says in a rush, like he's trying to rip a bandage off.

"What?"

"You said you were lonely. And I said... I said I was too. And you said we should just get married and then we'd have each other. Something like that. I don't remember the exact words, but... Yeah."

Kurt's surprised by that. He doesn't think of himself as being lonely. Before he can comment, though, Karofsky continues. "Maybe it was the whole naked-chicks thing. I think we both felt kind of weird there."

Kurt nods. That makes some kind of sense. Sort of. He can't imagine that looking at strippers made him want to marry Karofsky, though. "I guess. Maybe."

Karofsky nods. "Okay. Well... Are you gonna be at school tomorrow?"

"I don't know," Kurt says, honestly not sure if he can face that place ever again. "Was it any better today?"

"No," Karofsky says, shrugging. "But you can't just hide from shit."

"Says the guy who was in the closet for almost all of high school."

"Whatever, Hummel. I'll see you, okay?" He doesn't seem upset, so Kurt opens the door for him and lets him go with a small wave.

He feels more confused than he did before Karofsky arrived. And his head is pounding, so he doesn't want to ponder it. Any of it. He goes upstairs and climbs back into bed, pulling the pillow over his face.

After that, he's able to sleep.

The next day, he still feels horrible, but he realizes it's mental. Before he even gets out of bed, his dad yells up the stairs, "Don't even think about tryin' to stay home again. I get that you're feelin' sorry for yourself, but unless you're gonna drop out and join the circus, you better get your butt to school."

Kurt wants to point out that he's already been accepted to college and graduation is barely more than a month away. It probably doesn't matter at this point, but if he stays away too long, the rumor mill will just create some horrible story to explain his absence. Honestly, he'd rather have some say in the gossip.

While Kurt is standing in front of his closet, trying to decide on appropriate battle gear, Finn pushes the door open and hurls himself onto Kurt's bed, the mattress squeaking in protest. "Dude, put on some pants. I don't want to see that."

Kurt refrains from pointing out that Finn is the one who waltzed into someone's bedroom unannounced and that he's lucky Kurt has underwear on, because it's not like he hasn't said it all before. If it hasn't sunk in by now, it's probably not going to.

"Can I help you with something?" Kurt asks, selecting a pair of purple skinny jeans.

"Mom and dad are going out tonight, so I'm having some people over to hang out. Mike and Tina, Mercedes..."

"Rachel," Kurt says, because his brother is nothing if not transparent.

Finn looks away. "Yeah, Rachel, too. Just to like, watch TV or maybe play Apples to Apples or something."

"Sounds good," Kurt says, buttoning his shirt.

"Oh, and don't say anything to our parents. I... uh... didn't really ask."

Kurt laughs. He'd expected no less. "Did you invite Puck?" That's pretty much slang in their group for 'is there going to be alcohol/other illicit substances?'

Finn grins, rolling off the bed and onto his feet in a graceful move that would indicate he ought to have better dancing skills. "You know it, bro."

Kurt follows Finn down the stairs, shaking his head a little. Considering what happened the last time he got drunk, he probably ought to avoid alcohol all together. But then again, considering what this week has been, he really needs a drink. Ah, paradox.

He doesn't have much time to ponder the wisdom of drinking, though, because school is sort of a nightmare. He'd hoped that perhaps people would have, if not forgotten, at least calmed down about the whole thing. However, he hears not one but five different and increasingly tasteless jokes about whether or not he wore white, all before lunch.

He sits down with Rachel, Mercedes, Artie, and Brittany in the cafeteria. Rachel immediately grabs his arm. "Are you still mad at us?"

Kurt shakes his head. "I'm over it."

"I'm really hurt," Brittany says, shredding a crust from her pb&j. "I don't understand why you didn't invite me. We used to go out."

He groans. "Maybe I'm not over it."

Mercedes pats his back and says, "He didn't really get married. It was a mistake, remember?" She says it like it's not the first time she's had to explain it.

"Are you guys coming over tonight?" Kurt asks, trying to distract Brittany.

"Nope, we've got tickets to the Ice Capades," Artie says, looking kind of embarrassed.

Brittany claps her hands. "It's like really gay hockey."

Rachel covers her mouth to stifle her giggles. "Sounds great, Brittany," Kurt says, patting her arm.

"We'll be there," Mercedes says. "I miss you, Kurt. This whole thing has been..."

"Stressful?" Rachel suggests.

"You think it's been stressful for you?" Kurt asks, boggling.

Pushing away from the table abruptly, Artie says, "Britt and I have to go."

"I want to see the fight," Brittany whines, but she dutifully follows behind Artie as he flees the cafeteria.

"I don't want to fight," Kurt says.

"Let's not, then. We're really sorry. Both of us. We thought if Finn was telling us that it was, like... news," Mercedes says, for once looking genuinely sorry.

"Me too," Rachel says. "And Finn feels terrible, too... You... You've forgiven him." She puts on the puppy eyes and he groans.

"I expect Finn to do stupid things. And I do forgive you. But can we just make a pact that if you ever hear any more rumors about me, you'll at least ask for my side of the story before you tell everyone you've ever met?"

"Promise," Rachel says, holding out her hand. Mercedes puts her hand on top of Rachel's, so Kurt sticks his on top like they're in a football huddle.

"Should we say go team?" Mercedes asks.

"I vote no," Kurt tells her, pulling his hand back. He's about to say something else, but he forgets what when he sees Karofsky walk into his field of vision. He's carrying a tray and for a second, Kurt thinks he means to sit with them. However, he merely gives Kurt a nod and a tiny smile. Kurt waggles his fingers a little, waving without thinking about it, and Karofsky moves on, over to his football friends.

Kurt notices that no one harasses him or anything, but he's sitting at the end of the table and no one seems to be speaking directly to him. He wonders how okay Karofsky's friends are with him being out.

"So you two are being... civil to each other?" Rachel asks. She's trying for innocent, but he can tell she's dying for gossip.

Kurt shrugs. "He hasn't been that horrible about this whole thing. And I feel bad about him being dragged out of the closet against his will. I knew he wasn't ready..."

Mercedes gives him a strange look. "What do you mean you 'knew?' You knew he was gay before this?"

Rachel gasps dramatically. "Details!"

"No," Kurt says, crossing his arms over his chest. "There aren't any details."

They don't press him, but he can tell they want to. "I have to go. I have to make up a quiz that I missed yesterday," he says, pushing away from the table. It's a lie, but he can't really handle people right now.

He grabs his bag and walks toward the door. Unfortunately, he has to pass right by the football players' table to get there, unless he wants to take a long, obvious detour like a weirdo. As he walks by, he hears one of the guys say, "Hey, Karofsky, it's the little woman."

Kurt wants to sail past with his nose in the air, but he makes the mistake of looking at Karofsky. He looks like he's about to punch someone, and as much as Kurt wants to see that happen, he also doesn't really want Karofsky to get expelled over this.

He stops short at the head of the table and smiles winningly at the assembled Neanderthals. "I'm a little concerned at the way you keep referring to me as a woman, when you purport to be attracted to women. One can't help but extrapolate that you all find me attractive. As flattered as I am by that, I assure you that I'm very much a male. In fact, if any of you would like to whip them out and compare, I'd be happy to participate. I'm quite confident that I'd beat a majority of you."

They're all staring at him like they have no idea what he just said, including Karofsky, but he feels accomplished nonetheless. "Try not to stare at my ass on the way out," he says, turning and stomping out of the cafeteria, his irritation down to a manageable level.

A day and a half left. He can make it through a day and a half. After that, well, it's not going to stop anyone from referring to him as Karofsky's wife, but at least it won't have that pesky ring of truth anymore. He has to believe that'll make it easier.

That night, people start arriving literally minutes after Kurt's parents leave. It's like Finn's sent up the Bat Signal or something.

An hour into the festivities, Kurt's got a good buzz on – he'd decided against teetotaling – and he's leaning over the coffee table trying to decide which qualifies as more 'disgusting,' worms or corndogs. He's finally feeling relaxed for the first time since he'd opened that envelope from the State of Nevada.

So naturally, that's when it all goes to shit. The doorbell rings, and Finn goes to answer it. He hears Finn say, "Hey, man, what's up? Glad you decided to come." He sounds more formal than he'd be with one of their regular group, so Kurt looks up curiously, just in time to see Dave Karofsky come into the room. Kurt stands up a little too quickly and he sways a bit.

He drops his cards on the coffee table. "Finn, can I talk to you?"

He doesn't care how rude he's being. The fact that Finn has clearly invited Karofsky here without checking with Kurt, well... It's an ambush, pure and simple, and Kurt doesn't appreciate it.

Finn follows him into the kitchen, docile as ever. "What's wrong?" he asks, like it isn't obvious.

"How could you do this to me? I'm trying to pretend this whole disaster isn't happening, but you've made that impossible by inviting the only other person in the world who's responsible for it! What were you thinking?"

Finn sighs. "Look, I feel bad for the guy, okay? I kind of messed up his life, you know? So I was trying to make it up to him."

"Why would that involve inviting him into our home? With our friends?"

"He wanted a chance to hang out with you," Finn says, shuffling his feet. "I think he feels bad too. About all of this."

"Whatever," Kurt says, not at all in the mood to be charitable about this. "I'm not going to go out there and spend time with him like he's my friend. He's a jerk. That's all I need to know."

Finn looks at him like he's the one behaving badly, and Kurt storms out before Finn can lecture him on charity or kindness or forgiveness or anything else lame like that. Kurt's a victim here. Perpetually. He doesn't know why Karofsky keeps trying to make this into an excuse for socialization. They don't need to do anything together except dissolve the farce of their marriage. That's the extent of their need for interaction.

He stamps through the living room petulantly, not even caring that his friends are seeing him act like a child. Karofsky is standing uncomfortably near the doorway. It doesn't look like anyone's speaking to him, which gives Kurt a nice feeling of satisfaction. His friends have his back.

Kurt knows he's probably overreacting, especially since Karofsky's actually trying to be nice to him, but he's drunk and overwhelmed and he just can't right now.

He goes up to his room and flops on the bed, seething. He's barely up there long enough to contemplate an iPod playlist when he hears knocking. "Go away," he snaps, figuring it's Mercedes or Finn.

The door swings open a little and Karofsky steps in. Kurt digs his fingers angrily into the comforter. He feels gross about Karofsky being here, in his inner sanctum. Violated.

"Please leave," Kurt says. It's not like Karofsky hasn't been decent to him lately, but Kurt really doesn't want to deal with him now, and he really doesn't want to deal with him in his bedroom.

"I figured out what your problem is," Karofsky says, looking smug.

"Oh really? Is it that I accidentally married a complete asshole?"

To Kurt's surprise, Karofsky actually laughs at that. "Well, I guess that's one of your problems. Here's what I think, though. I think you're freaked out because of what you said to me in the strip club."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Kurt says, even though the moment Karofsky says it, he feels his heart start hammering. He can hear it in his mind, Why don't you pay attention to me anymore? all whiny and plaintive.

That's not why he's freaked out, though. He's freaked out because his drunken admission that he somehow wanted Karofsky in his life has caused Karofsky to be in his life and that's turned out not to be what he wanted at all. It's just too much. He can't take Karofsky's pathetic, bumbling attempts to be nice. It's creepy and it reminds him simultaneously of their combative altercations back in the day, and also what could have been if things had been different.

But they weren't different. Karofsky chose to be an asshole to him, so that sealed it. No matter what else Kurt might think or feel, drunk or sober, there's nothing to discuss.

Realizing Karofsky still hasn't said anything, Kurt stands up, whirls around and flings a pillow at his head. It's juvenile and stupid, but it smacks Karofsky right in his smug face which is just awesome.

"None of this is cute! None of it is funny! You ruined my life. All of this is sad and tragic and humiliating! You started ruining my life back in sophomore year, pushing me and insulting me. Then you started stalking me, which was far worse. Then you treated me like I was nothing; like I was invisible. And now you've gotten me into this predicament. Is there anything else you want to do?"

Kurt's out of breath and just so angry. He doesn't know why he's so, so fucking mad right now. Why he's always so mad lately, especially when it comes to Karofsky. So frustrated.

"Yes. There's something else I want to do," Karofsky says, crossing the room in a couple of big strides. Kurt knows what he's going to do before he even gets into his personal space. Honestly, he'd known what was going to happen the moment Karofsky came through the door. He knew what was going to happen the moment he admitted that Karofsky ignoring him pissed him right off. And maybe that's why he's so angry, because he knew it and he wanted it.

He feels weak and dirty, wanting this, wanting him, even as he hates him.

Kurt doesn't have time to feel much, though, other than Karofsky picking him up around the waist and depositing him back on the bed. Karofsky's on top of him then, pressing down against him as he leans in to kiss Kurt, and maybe it's the fact that they hate each other that makes it so good. Because Kurt's not exactly experienced, but he's made out with a couple of guys, and it wasn't ever intense like this, especially not right out the gate.

He's painfully hard and he can tell Karofsky is too, and he has the startling realization that he's probably about to lose his virginity. And the fact that he can tell that just from the way Karofsky's kissing him should probably be scary. But he's not scared. He's still angry as hell and hitting Karofsky with a pillow didn't satisfy him at all. Maybe scratching the living shit out of his back will help.

Karofsky's pulling at Kurt's shirt, his lack of finesse bordering on animalistic, and Kurt jams his hands in between their bodies to take care of the buttons himself. As soon as the shirt is unbuttoned, Karofsky shifts down, mouthing his way across Kurt's collarbone and biting the soft flesh near his armpit. It's not a gentle bite, either, and Kurt hisses, pushing against Karofsky with his leg. "Don't bite me, you fucker," he growls.

Karofsky doesn't respond because he's worked his way down to Kurt's nipple, and just to prove he's completely obtuse, he bites that too. This time when Kurt lifts his leg, trying to push Karofsky away, he just ends up sliding his thigh in between Karofsky's legs, bringing their bodies even closer together.

"I said don't bite me," Kurt says again, twisting his hand into Karofsky's hair until he can pull his head away.

"Can't help it. You taste good," Karofsky says, sounding eerily like a zombie or a vampire or something. He straightens up, sitting back on his heels, and yanks open Kurt's fly with one rough hand movement.

"If you bite my dick, I'll kill you," Kurt pants, belatedly realizing that he's not only giving permission for Karofsky to put his mouth down there, he's sort of demanding it.

Karofsky just grins at him, feral and pleased. "No promises," he says, scooting down Kurt's body and dragging Kurt's pants with him as he goes.

Kurt's never gotten past the frottage portion of sex before, and he's a little bit scared, honestly, but this feels like it's what needs to happen. It's the next logical step. Then Karofsky grips his cock and licks the head, experimentally, like he's still testing his gay, and Kurt whimpers.

Karofsky grins like he's particularly pleased with himself and closes his lips around it, sliding up and down a little. Kurt goes rigid, unable to think of anything other than ohmygodsogood. When he arches up, Karofsky gags, pulling back. "Sorry, I..."

Kurt pets his head, trying to convey both comfort and a need for him to get the show on the road. "No, my fault, I... I'll be careful. I don't know how to do this."

"Me either," Karofsky says, stroking Kurt's cock against his lips as he says it, which makes it really hard not to arch up again. He tries to be polite, but it's hard because fucking David Karofsky is giving him a blowjob.

He'd have to be water-boarded before he'd admit to it, but he's thought about the reverse before. There's just something about jocks and locker rooms, and he doesn't know that many other guys who are gay, so yeah, he's thought about going in while Karofsky's changing, getting on his knees and sucking him off. But he'd never thought about this. About Karofsky being gentle and tentative, obviously trying to please him, obviously trying to make him feel good.

And he does feel good. He never wants it to stop, but unfortunately, what Karofsky lacks in technical skills, he makes up for in enthusiasm, and especially if he keeps doing that little twisting thing with his hand, Kurt's not going to last long enough for there to be anything more. And he wants there to be something more.

He has a meddlesome thought in the back of his mind that maybe he feels like it's okay because they're married. Which is creepy and just fucking stupid, but that's just sort of how it is, and he finds himself pulling Karofsky's head away and panting, "Do you have a condom?"

Karofsky shakes his head. "Do you?"

"Why would I? I've never had sex."

"I haven't either. Do we even need one, then?"

Kurt ponders that for a second. "Not with anyone? No girls?" At Karofsky's eye-roll, Kurt says, "Well, you were in the closet."

"No, I'm a completely fucking pathetic virgin. I kissed a couple of girls at parties, but this is... I've never done anything before. Go on and laugh, whatever."

He wants to of course, because despite the situation, he's still clinging to that grudge and a chance to hit Karofsky where it obviously hurts is tempting. However, he's also a completely fucking pathetic virgin, which means they probably don't actually need a condom since Kurt's highly unlikely to get pregnant. And he does want to have sex. Because even though it's Karofsky, he's really doing it for Kurt for some reason. Maybe it's just blowjob gratitude, but Kurt wants him. And he's not going to have him unless he not only doesn't laugh, but also comes clean about the complete impossibility that he could have an STD.

So he shakes his head. "I can't laugh. Me too. I've kissed a few people, but that's it. Which, as far as I'm concerned, makes a condom a moot point."

"Well, is it okay with you? I mean... Do you want to...?" Karofsky lets the question hang there for a second before leaning down again and licking a path up the length of Kurt's dick.

"Yes," he says, because he's damn sure he'd take anything Karofsky offered right now. And boy, isn't that a complete one-eighty from last year? Hell, it's a complete one-eighty from ten minutes ago.

Karofsky makes a pleased little noise and sits up again, pulling Kurt's pants off his ankles. Now Kurt's spread out on the bed, naked except for an unbuttoned shirt and socks – which cannot be a good look – and Karofsky is looking at him like he wants to do some more biting. Like he's hungry for Kurt, which is just priceless. Kurt feels for once like he's in charge. Like he's the one with the power.

He leans down and strips off his socks before shrugging his shirt off his shoulders and dropping it onto the floor. Karofsky's still devouring him with his eyes and Kurt smiles a little. He'd been ready to apologize for being too skinny, too pale, but now he feels like he doesn't have anything to be ashamed of. The way Karofsky's staring at him, he feels sort of like Brad Pitt.

That's when he realizes what it is that Karofsky can give him – adoration. Karofsky may have once been creepily obsessed with Kurt, true. He might still even be, for all Kurt knows. It seems likely, actually, the way he's staring. And apparently, it's what Kurt needs in his life. A need to be adored. Must be a diva thing.

But now isn't the time for self-analysis. Things are already progressing far too slowly, and clearly Karofsky isn't going to speed up without a little reassurance that Kurt's actually in this. That he actually wants it.

He lies back down on the bed in what he hopes is a tantalizing pose. "You're overdressed," he says, putting on his best sultry voice. He almost laughs at how quickly Karofsky pulls his shirt over his head. Then he has to take a moment because he's not faced with a pasty, flabby gut like he'd always sort of suspected. Karofsky doesn't have chiseled abs or anything – although neither does Kurt, so he's got no room to talk – but he's broad and flat and hard all over, with acres of golden skin and thick chest hair. He looks like he spends all day outside chopping wood or something, and Kurt's mouth is a little dry.

He'd seen Karofsky with his shirt off before, that morning in the hotel, but he'd been so busy freaking the hell out that he hadn't really looked. Now that he's given himself permission to stare, well. He likes what he's seeing.

Karofsky is busy with his fly, so he doesn't notice Kurt's reaction. He stands up to pull down his pants and underwear, and Kurt has to swallow hard. There's a glaring tan line at his waist, but instead of looking silly, it only highlights the rugged masculinity of his chest. And speaking of masculinity, Kurt is suddenly glad that he's made regular use of the toy Mercedes bought him for his last birthday, because there'd be no way he could take Karofsky's cock otherwise.

Karofsky steps out of his pants and looks at Kurt. He suddenly seems a little shy, and Kurt is filled with the need to make Karofsky feel as attractive and desirable as he made Kurt feel – even though he's probably not even aware of what his stares meant to Kurt's inner diva. He wants to say something poetic and elegant, but instead he says, "Why didn't I know you were this hot?"

It's not poetry, but it works since Karofsky grins – and he looks even more handsome with a real smile on his face – and climbs back on the bed with Kurt. "M'not hot," Karofsky protests anyway, despite his clear pleasure. "You're hot." He reaches out his hand, tentatively like he's still scared that Kurt will push him away at some point, and strokes Kurt all the way from his throat down to his cock, wrapping a hand around his erection and stroking gently.

"I... How should we do this?" Karofsky asks, looking uneasy. It's not like Kurt's some expert in sex or anything, so he doesn't really know how to answer that.

"Um... I have lube," Kurt says, rolling over and reaching into his bedside drawer.

"Should I, like... with my fingers...?"

"Yeah. Yeah, is that okay?" Kurt asks, suddenly very scared about his cleanliness.

Karofsky laughs. "Uh, yeah, it's okay. Not like I haven't jerked it like a million times thinking about... this."

"I... I took a shower earlier, so... I think there won't be any... issues or whatever," Kurt stammers, unable to have this discussion in a suave manner.

Karofsky grabs the lube. "Dude, I so don't care. I've wanted to do this for... for a long time, okay? Just lie down and stop talking so I can enjoy this. Wait, that came out wrong."

They both laugh a little bit and Kurt waves his hand. "Whatever, you're right. Let's just... I mean, should we even be laughing right now? Shouldn't this be more serious?"

Karofsky laughs again. "It's you and it's me, and we're going to have sex. With each other. I'm taking it dead fucking serious. But I'm pretty sure being able to laugh about it is a good sign. Especially for us."

"When did you get all insightful?" Kurt asks, stretching out on the bed again and peeking up at Karofsky through his lashes. There's something sort of pleasant about Karofsky thinking of them as an 'us.'

"Therapy," Karofsky says, and his tone leaves Kurt unable to tell if he's being truthful or not. "And hey, I like talking to you, especially when you're not being a bitch to me, but I was really hoping to get laid tonight." He sticks his tongue between his teeth after he says this, leering at Kurt in a way that's half infuriating and half adorable.

"Oh, that's why you came over?" Kurt asks, arching an eyebrow.

"No!" Karofsky says, a little too loudly.

"I was joking," Kurt says, before Karofsky can get upset.

"I don't want you to think..."

"I don't. I believe our mutual surprise at this situation is genuine. Anyway, it's your lucky night. I put out," Kurt tells him. Karofsky grins again and grabs Kurt's hip, rolling him over.

Karofsky starts kissing his way down Kurt's spine, making Kurt squirm and sigh. He doesn't stop when he gets to Kurt's ass, either, kissing the soft flesh right where his crack starts. Kurt shivers, wondering if Karofsky is going to do what he thinks he might do, but just when Kurt is distracted by that thought, Karofsky bites him hard on the fullest part of his cheek.

"Ow!" Kurt squeaks. "I said enough with the biting!"

"Sorry," Karofsky murmurs, licking the abused flesh before sucking hard like he's trying to give Kurt an ass-hickey.

"Orally fixated much?" Kurt says, probably more bitchily than necessary, but Karofsky just grunts an assent and proceeds to spread Kurt's cheeks apart and lick his hole with one authoritative swipe of his tongue. "Oh fuck," Kurt breathes, digging his fingernails into the bed.

He wants to say something, protest that he doesn't have to do that, or apologize for something, but Karofsky keeps licking and Kurt can't do anything except writhe in a wholly pathetic manner. It's not like he didn't know this was a done thing – he's overcome his hang-ups about porn, thank you – but he didn't know it would feel like this.

The sensation is amazing, tickly and squirm-inducing, but it's the emotional aspect that's really getting to him. He's not sure whether he's submitting or being submitted to, but it doesn't really matter. He doesn't want it to stop, but Karofsky pulls back after a few minutes, breathing deeply against Kurt's cheek, and presses his fingertip gently against Kurt's hole, not really pushing in yet, but making it clear he's going to.

"Please," Kurt pants, before he'd even realized he was going to say anything. Obviously Karofsky had only been waiting for permission as he twists his finger a little until it slides right in. Kurt makes a very unmanly squeaking noise and he's vaguely aware of Karofsky chuckling at him. He should be pissed, but then there's a drizzle of lube and the finger goes deeper and Kurt forgets what he was angry about.

Kurt's intimately familiar with putting things in his own ass. He has some toys and fingers of his own, of course, but even though it prepared him for this, it didn't really prepare him for this. Having someone else touching him, pressing inside him, is a little scary – after all, he's not the one in control of how deep, how fast, how gentle – but it feels so much better. Not having to be in control frees him up to really feel.

"Harder," he begs – so much for not being in control – but Karofsky does the opposite, pulling his fingers away. When Kurt whines, Karofsky tugs his hip, rolling him back over.

"This is cool and all, but I don't want to do it all night," Karofsky explains, stroking his cock pointedly.

Kurt feels a little embarrassed at his thoughtlessness, but he figures he can make it up. He leans forward, touching Karofsky's cock with tentative fingers. "What should I...?"

"There's a lot of stuff I'd like you to do, but I'm not gonna last very long as it is," Karofsky says, looking a little sheepish.

Kurt knows the feeling. "Can I at least...?" He's not sure how to phrase the question so he scoots down until his mouth is hovering over Karofsky's dick. "I just really want to..."

"Oh, god," Karofsky says with feeling, sliding his hand into Kurt's hair. "Yeah, me too... I want..."

Kurt summons his courage and gets a good grip on Karofsky's cock, bringing it to his lips. He slides his tongue across the head, licking the clear liquid that's smeared there. Karofsky groans and Kurt looks up to find Karofsky looking down at him like he's the most beautiful, perfect thing in the world. Kurt preens a little, flicking his tongue delicately a few more times before he opens his mouth and sucks the head, still peeking up at Karofsky through his bangs.

It takes him a minute to get the hang of it, but pretty soon he's sliding it in and out of his mouth, his lips a tight circle, stroking his hand up to meet his mouth. He tries incorporating his tongue into the mix and Karofsky moans a little and pulls back. "You gotta... Oh, god... Are you sure you've never done that before?"

Kurt smirks. The ultimate compliment. "I've thought about it a lot."

Karofsky takes a deep breath like he's trying to center himself. "So... Can I fuck you now?"

The blunt phrasing makes Kurt's breath catch. "Okay. I mean... yes. Please." He bites his lip to stop himself from stammering out more stupid words.

"Are you sure you're ready? Do you need more...?" He waggles his fingers a little self-consciously. "I mean, first times are supposed to be..."

Kurt sits up and wipes the spit off his chin. "No, I'll be fine. Just... Go slow, okay? Because I've done this with toys, but I don't have any as big as yours."

Karofsky groans, squeezing himself hard at the base. "Jesus, Kurt."

"What?" Kurt asks, honestly confused. He'd been trying for complementary regarding Karofsky's size, and he'd expected a more pleased reaction.

"You... do that... with toys?" He's got his eyes closed and his nostrils are flared, like he's seeing Kurt in his mind's eye, spread out and fucking himself with a dildo. Kurt preens again.

"If you play your cards right, maybe I'll show you sometime," Kurt says, not realizing until after the words are out that he's implying that he'd be in a sexual situation with Karofsky again sometime in the future, and surprisingly, the idea of that isn't bad at all.

Karofsky makes another pained noise, rolling to a sitting position, too, so he can kiss Kurt hard. He keeps going, though, pushing Kurt back on the bed and crawling on top of him. Kurt grabs Karofsky's ass hard with both hands, pulling his lower body down until there can be friction. He's gone through almost every emotion known to man tonight, and he's desperate to feel the final one – relief.

Kurt tears his mouth away long enough to say, "C'mon, do it."

Karofsky rolls off Kurt and sits up. "Okay, how? Like... what... position, or whatever?"

He's heard that doing it on your hands and knees is easier for a beginner, but it's his first time and it should be at least a little bit romantic, even if it is with Karofsky. On second thought, he deserves a little romance especially since it's Karofsky. He owes Kurt for the debacle that was their first kiss - Kurt's first kiss.

Feeling sort of boring and old-fashioned, he moves around until he's lying with his head on the pillow. Then, suddenly shy, he holds out a hand to Karofsky. Karofsky, looking equally shy, slides onto his knees between Kurt's legs. "Are you sure this'll be... comfortable?"

"I'm flexible," Kurt says. Karofsky nods and fumbles for the lube. He squirts a blob onto his fingertips and slides them between Kurt's legs. He watches Kurt's face as he gets him ready and it's strangely disconcerting. The whole thing is surreal and it's giving him that excited feeling that verges on nausea and he's about to have sex. Thankfully he's saved from a fit of the giggles by the erotic sight of Karofsky slicking the remainder of the lube over his cock, making it all shiny and ready.

Karofsky hooks a hand under one of Kurt's knees and lifts his leg, scooting toward Kurt. He's stroking himself with his other hand, and as he gets closer, his knuckles brush against Kurt's ass. He's biting his lip hard enough that it looks like it probably hurts, and sure enough, when he releases it to ask, "Ready?" Kurt can see a red mark.

"Yes," Kurt says, even though he's freaking out a little, because what else can he say, really?"

It's slightly more difficult than a toy because it's... squishier, and Karofsky clearly doesn't know what he's doing. Kurt tilts his hips and says, "A little higher, yes, better," thankful that Karofsky doesn't deride him for offering his help.

"Can you... Can you kind of aim down more? Like... Oh."

Once he's in, Karofsky sort of freezes, breathing heavily and getting a look of intense concentration on his face. It's really kind of cute. Kurt breathes deeply too, because it's big and it burns a little. Karofsky starts to press forward and Kurt gasps. "Shit, am I hurting you?"

"Just a little," Kurt says. "Wait, no, don't move," he orders, as Karofsky shifts like he's going to pull away. "Just let me get used to it, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, okay," Karofsky says, biting his lip again.

Kurt inhales and exhales a couple of times, trying to sort of flex around Karofsky's cock. "Oh my god, what was that?" Karofsky breathes, his face rapturous.

Kurt wants to giggle. "Why, did it feel good?"

"Fuck yeah. Do it again." Grinning, Kurt does. "Can I...?"

"Yes, just... Carefully."

Karofsky nods obediently and starts sliding forward again. The burn is less this time and Kurt arches up against him. He slides his other foot upward, trying to get a better angle, and Karofsky helpfully slides his arm under it so he's got both of Kurt's legs up in the air. The change in position does wonders and Kurt moans a little.

After a few more thrusts, the burning is gone and Kurt can just feel. There's something so primal, so vital about the rhythm of sex. It's something that can't be achieved with a toy, this push-pull of bodies.

Karofsky moves his hands from Kurt's hips to his ankles, rising up on his knees and changing the angle again. Kurt thrashes on the pillow, and he can feel himself talking but he doesn't think he's saying anything that resembles real sentences. He's mostly saying 'yes' a lot, in fact. Karofsky's doing it, too. Things like, "Yeah, baby, just... yeah, fuck yeah," that don't mean anything but make Kurt feel good all the same.

He's been so focused on the whole 'getting fucked' part that he's been neglecting his dick, and as Karofsky's thrusts get more insistent, Kurt reaches down to stroke himself.

Karofsky says, "Yeah, get off for me baby," which Kurt probably should regard as a gross and cheesy line, but he's obviously not thinking clearly, since he shoots off almost immediately. It's like Karofsky's words had been a command.

Kurt's still panting through his orgasm when Karofsky comes, thrusting hard against Kurt and squeezing his ankles almost painfully. When he's finished, he pulls out, trying to be gentle although it still makes Kurt wince a little. "Sorry," he says quietly, and Kurt wonders what he thinks he's apologizing for.

"Bathroom," Kurt says, gesturing at the door. "Lock the other door on Finn's side, just in case."

Karofsky nods and gets off the bed gingerly, padding into the bathroom.

Kurt sits up and winces when he realizes there's a wet spot on his new sheets. Karofsky comes out relatively quickly and Kurt makes a dash for the bathroom, realizing that there are obvious benefits of condoms other than disease prevention. He cleans himself off with a wet washcloth, swiping quickly at his stomach and chest and more carefully at his backside.

He has a recollection of telling his parents that he knows he didn't have sex that night in Vegas because there was no evidence. There's a host of evidence now. He hopes no one will ask, although it has occurred to him that they've been up here quite a while and the house is full of people.

He grabs his robe from the hook on the back of the door, suddenly shy now that everything is over, and goes back into the bedroom. Karofsky's got his underwear and his t-shirt on, and he seems to be searching for his other sock.

"Oh, are you going, or...?"

"Do you want me to?"

"You don't have to, I just..."

Karofsky smiles a little. "I don't want to. I just... Someone could come check on us."

"Yes, I was just thinking that. We've been up here for... a while."

"Right," he says, sitting on the bed to put his socks on.

Kurt shifts from foot to foot, feeling a little nervous. "So..."

"Are you okay?" Karofsky asks. "I mean, was that... good? For you, I mean?"

"Oh. Yes. Definitely. Was... For you, was it?" Kurt stammers, feeling like an idiot.

Karofsky gets up and crosses to Kurt, taking his face in his hands and kissing him. Kurt smiles into the kiss, relieved. "That was awesome. If I'd known how good it would be..."

"What? You'd do things differently?" Kurt asks, smiling a little.

"Yeah. Instead of pushing you around, I would have just asked you out. And if anyone had anything to say about it... Well, I wouldn't have cared because I'd be too fucked out."

Kurt laughs, leaning up to kiss him again. He's not sure where things stand, but he's feeling pretty expansive right now. The kiss is just getting interesting when someone knocks on the door far too insistently.

"Kurt?"

"It's Finn," Kurt hisses and Karofsky makes a lunge for his pants.

"Just a second," Kurt calls, well aware that he's in his bathrobe and there's no chance Finn will wait to barge in long enough for Kurt to get dressed.

"You locked my bathroom door again and I gotta piss," Finn says, pushing the door open with a blatant disregard for Kurt's words.

"I said wait a second," Kurt says, but Finn's already inside – damn house with bedroom doors that don't lock – and it only takes him a second to see that Kurt's undressed and Karofsky is frantically buttoning his jeans. And Kurt belatedly notices that the bottle of lube is in a prominent place on the nightstand.

Finn's on Karofsky in less than a second, pushing him against the wall even as Karofsky's holding out his hands, palms up, in the international 'I'm not going to fight you' gesture.

"What the fuck are you doing to my brother?" Finn snarls.

"Finn, stop!" Kurt cries, pulling Finn's arm. "I'm fine, stop!"

Finn sighs and drops his hands, looking at Kurt with wounded eyes. "Kurt?"

"What did you think we were doing, Finn? We've been up here for an hour."

"God, I thought you were talking! Working out your issues or whatever! You... You hate him." Finn says the last part in the tone of a child who's just learned the world doesn't work the way he thinks it should.

"I don't hate him," Kurt says, even though he started this sexual interlude believing he hated Karofsky. "Not anymore, anyway. I don't even really know him." He realizes as soon as he says this that it's a poor word choice for the circumstances.

Finn doesn't let it go, of course. "So you decided you'd get to know him starting with his dick?"

"Hey!" Karofsky snaps, finally speaking up. "Don't talk to him like that!"

"Stay out of this, Karofsky!" Finn yells.

Kurt steps in between them. "Listen, both of you stop. Finn, go to the bathroom. And when you're finished, go out through your room and go back downstairs. I'm going to talk to Karofsky. Talk," he emphasizes when he sees Finn roll his eyes. "You're going to stay out of my business and you're not going to tell one person about any of this, do you understand? You owe both of us that much."

Finn has the decency to look away guiltily. "Fine. But I'm going to come back up. I'm not saying when or anything. Just at any time, I could come in. Remember that." He addresses the last part to Karofsky before he stomps into the bathroom.

Kurt looks at the door. "It doesn't lock from this side. Safety feature or whatever," Kurt says apologetically. "And the bedroom doors don't lock, either."

"Whatever, man," Karofsky says, fastening his belt. "Don't sweat it. You should probably get dressed, though."

From inside the bathroom, Finn snorts loudly, letting them know he can hear them. Kurt ignores him, though. He does, however, go to his dresser and get clean underwear. Once he's dressed and has checked the bathroom to make sure Finn's gone, he faces Karofsky. "Sorry about that."

Karofsky waves his hand. "Not your fault. This shouldn't have happened. Not like this, I mean. Not here."

"Well, what are parties for if not for poor decision-making and ill-timed sex?" Kurt asks flippantly, feeling like he's a bit in over his head.

"I thought that's what Vegas was for," Karofsky says with a smirk.

"Clearly, neither of us should be allowed out of the house."

"You're in your house, though," Karofsky points out, still smirking.

Kurt groans, defeated. "I guess I'm out of luck, then."

Karofsky shrugs. "Yeah, guess so. Hey, I better take off. It's getting late, and things are going to get awkward with Finn if I don't go."

"Things are already awkward with Finn," Kurt says. "Finn is awkward. Don't ever let anyone tell you that obtaining a stepbrother is a good life choice. And I'll walk you out."

Karofsky pauses in his shoe-tying. "You sure? I mean..."

"I'm not going to let you do the walk of shame all by yourself," Kurt tells him, although he's really hoping there's no shame when they get down there.

They go down the stairs and through the living room. Everyone stops talking instantly, like someone hit the mute button. Kurt glares at the assemblage, but the silence persists, heavy and conspicuous.

"David was just leaving," Kurt says, shoving him off the last step.

He stumbles into the living room and waves minutely. "Bye everyone."

There's an obedient chorus of goodbyes, and Kurt continues shoving him until he's in the foyer. Everyone's still staring, so Kurt opens the door and pushes Karofsky outside, joining him on the porch in his socks.

"Well... That was..."

"Worse than expected," Kurt supplies.

"Nah, I expected it to be that bad," Karofsky says with a strained smile.

"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow. In school," Kurt says inanely.

Karofsky leans down, tilting Kurt's face up. "Bye," he murmurs, kissing Kurt gently but thoroughly. Kurt clings to his neck, stretching up on his toes to let the kiss go on and on. Finally, Karofsky untangles himself from Kurt and smiles at him. "Thanks. For, you know... everything."

Kurt isn't sure if he means being nice to him, or sex, or what, but he just says, "You too," so he covers all his bases.

Karofsky goes out to his car then, and Kurt stands on the porch, watching. The cool spring night has made the flagstones chilly under his stocking feet, but he doesn't go back inside until Karofsky's car turns a corner and is out of sight.

As soon as he goes back inside, he realizes that having an extended goodbye on the front porch was probably a miscalculation.

"That was some kiss," Sam says with a grin, still standing at the edge of the foyer and not even making a cursory attempt to act like he hadn't been watching out the window.

"Oh god," Kurt says, feeling slightly ill. "How many of you were spying on me?" Nearly half the people refuse to meet his eyes. "Wow. I have the best friends in the world."

"Hey, I was just joking," Sam says, trying to put his hand on Kurt's arm.

"We think it's sweet, Kurt," Quinn tells him, standing up like she's going to try to comfort him, too.

"Yeah, if you want to date Karofsky, it's cool with us," Puck says. "As long as he stops acting like a dick."

"I'm not dating him, and if I were, I wouldn't need your permission!" Kurt snaps, turning away and going to the stairs. He's confused and upset, and he sort of wishes Karofsky would come back so that he doesn't have to be alone with his evil friends.

He stomps up the stairs and flings himself on his bed melodramatically.

He's disowning the lot of them.

In the morning, Kurt has a tension headache and a slightly sore behind. It's not a pleasant way to wake up, and he wants to blame Karofsky for both, but for some reason, when he thinks about the night before, he can't help smiling a little.

When he and Finn are in the car on the way to school, safely away from parental ears, Finn says, "Hey, man, I'm really sorry about last night. It's not my business what you do. And with who."

"Whom," Kurt corrects automatically. "But thank you. I'm sorry too. It shouldn't have happened like that. Not in our house, especially during a party. I didn't plan on it. It just... happened."

Finn nods sagely. "Yeah, that's how it goes sometimes," he says, like he's some expert, even though Kurt knows he's only had sex a handful of times.

Kurt doesn't want to make a bigger deal of the whole thing, though, so he kindly refrains from pointing that out.

He and Finn part ways in the parking lot. Finn goes to find Rachel and Kurt heads to class. He's nearly there when he's waylaid by a large guy in a letter jacket. It's one of the jocks that had been with Karofsky at the strip club in Vegas.

"Can I help you?" Kurt asks, not liking the way the guy is blocking his path.

"Yeah, you can leave Karofsky alone."

Kurt sniffs. "I haven't been bothering him. If anything, it's been the reverse. Historically, anyway," Kurt amends, feeling a little guilty about accusing Karofsky of bothering him after last night.

"That's not what I hear."

"Well, you hear wrong," Kurt says, trying to step around him. The guy sidesteps, boxing Kurt in and Kurt starts to feel kind of threatened.

"I know what you did in Las Vegas," he tells Kurt.

"I didn't do anything."

The guy rolls his eyes. "Karofsky told all of us how you tried to get him to do you, but he wouldn't. Because he's one of us."

Kurt shivers a little. "One of us? Do you know how creepy that sounds? David is gay. He's said so," Kurt protests, before the guy's words really sink in. "Wait, what did he say happened?"

"I told you. You tried to get with him and he wouldn't let you. But you just kept trying because that's what you gays do, isn't it?"

By this point, Kurt's seeing red. He pushes the guy hard and he stumbles away, surprise giving Kurt the advantage. Kurt shoulders past him and hurries into his homeroom. He's going to kill Karofsky. Make him literally dead. He's so angry at himself that he's practically crying, impotent rage making tears prick at his eyelids. How could he have been so stupid? Of course Karofsky sold him out. He shouldn't be shocked.

It hurts, though, which is stupid. It's like getting mad at your boyfriend or girlfriend for sleeping with someone else before you even met. It's not like either of them thought they'd end up getting along or anything. He shouldn't feel like he's been betrayed like this. But he does anyway.

After class gets out, he strides to Karofsky's locker. He's stewed through all of homeroom and he's spoiling for a fight now. He doesn't care if it's irrational.

Unfortunately, the first person he sees is Azimio. "You waiting for Dave?" Azimio asks, sounding kind of... tentative.

"Yes. I'm going to kill him," Kurt says, trying not to sound hysterical.

Azimio makes a sound halfway between a laugh and a cough. He grabs Kurt's arm and pulls him into an empty classroom across the hall.

"Unhand me!" Kurt insists, trying to pull his jacket from Azimio's fist.

"Simmer down, Princess, I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm tryin' to protect my boy. So what crawled up your ass?"

"Why are you being nice to me?" Kurt spits. "Last I heard, you were mad at me for, what was it? 'Fagging up' your friend?"

Azimio looks away guiltily. "Listen. I know it's not your fault, okay? My problem is I don't like being lied to. Dave should've told me."

"He probably thought you'd react like you reacted."

"It was a shock, man! I got no problem if you guys want to be gay. I don't discriminate. But it just came out of nowhere. And it's not like y'all started dating or some shit. You got married. That's some fucked-up shit."

Kurt snorts. "You don't have to tell me."

"Anyway, what's your deal? Dave came in today lookin' happier than I've seen him look in years. Maybe ever. Dude was whistling. And now you're standin' around lookin' like you swallowed a cactus and sayin' you're gonna kill him. So, start talkin'."

"It's not your business," Kurt starts, but Azimio just gives him a look. "Fine. One of your idiot friends took it upon himself to inform me that David told you all that I... That in Las Vegas, I tried to... seduce him. And that is not acceptable. I protected him! I woke up with him spooning me! Spooning me! And I didn't tell anyone! I was as freaked out as he was – maybe more. But I still protected him. Not because I liked him, but because it was the right thing to do! Little did I know, he was... besmirching my good name to all and sundry!"

"Whoa, slow down, word-a-day calendar. Why are you all pissy about this now? I'd think that's ancient history at this point, but..." Azimio trails off, looking at Kurt calculatingly. "Oh hell no!" he says, sounding distressingly like Mercedes. "You two did the nasty last night!"

"We most certainly did not," Kurt protests, but he can feel how badly he's blushing.

"Don't even try to lie, boy. I already told you how I feel about people not tellin' me the truth. It's the only thing that explains why he looks like he got laid and you look like you got fucked."

"Shut up!"

"So you finally had the wedding night and now you wanna get all up in his face about shit that happened before you were together. Shee-it. You really are his wife."

"Fuck off!" Kurt snaps, blushing harder.

"I'm gonna drop some knowledge on you now, so you best shut your mouth and open your ears. Yeah, okay, he spun us some bullshit story in Vegas, makin' you look like the bad guy. Boo-fuckin'-hoo. What else was he gonna do? We're not exactly the kinda guys who are gonna be marchin' in the happy homo parade. I mean, he coulda told me. I'm his best friend. I would have..."

Azimio trails off, looking kind of sad, and Kurt sighs, his anger deflating.

"Anyway," Azimio continues, "there wasn't nothin' else he coulda done right then, okay? He got back and everyone was flippin' out cuz he'd been missin', and he just said some bullshit real fast. You have to understand that, right?"

"Fine," Kurt says. "I won't kill him. But it's still unconscionable! I just don't see why he couldn't afford me the same courtesy I showed him..."

Even as he says it, Kurt's well aware of the answer, but it still hurts. Azimio straightens his shoulders and takes a deep breath. "So are you going to be... his, like... boyfriend now?" He makes a face like he's sucking on a lemon when he says it, but his voice is carefully neutral. Kurt feels a small rush of affection. Azimio reminds him of his dad – a straight guy who's honestly trying to be casual and accepting, even though it borders on unnatural for him to do so.

"How would you feel about that?" Kurt asks, turning the tables on him.

Azimio cocks his head and looks like he's honestly pondering the implications before he speaks. "I want him to be happy. Before, I thought that's just how he was, you know? A... hardass. But he came in today and he was... happy." Azimio sounds kind of bemused by this, like he didn't even know it was possible for Karofsky to be anything other than angry. "He was whistling," he says again.

"And you think it's because of me?" Kurt asks, flattered in spite of himself.

"What else could it be? It's either you or he hit the lotto."

Kurt smiles a little. "This is just kind of surprising. I mean, you were... You were rather out of line the other day."

"Yeah, well. Your boy gets married – to a dude – and doesn't even tell you, you're gonna get kinda pissed off."

"He didn't remember. Neither of us did."

"I know that now," Azimio says, shuffling his feet. "And I'm sorry, okay? For yelling at you and whatnot. Okay?"

"Fine, apology accepted. And we'll... We'll see what happens. It's Friday. Tomorrow we're going to get our annulment. Maybe I'll feel better about this whole thing when I'm not married to him."

"You're still going to... do that?"

Kurt laughs mirthlessly. "Not you, too! Of course we're going to 'do that.' Even if I did decide to date him, I'm in no way ready to make a permanent commitment! I barely know him!"

Azimio nods. "Well... Well, I know him. And he's a good guy. I think if you give him a chance, he'd be... He'd be good to you."

"Thanks," Kurt says, strangely touched.

"Okay, well, it's way too gay in here now. I'ma get out of here before I end up married to a dude, too. And don't worry about the other guys on the team bothering you. We'll have words."

"I'd appreciate that," Kurt says, trying for prim, but sounding mostly relieved.

"See ya... Kurt."

Kurt nods and watches Azimio leave. He stands there in the classroom for a few more minutes, trying to wrap his head around this new information. He's still contemplating whether he should go to class late or just skip entirely when the door opens.

"There you are," Karofsky says, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

Kurt stares at him for a second, running through several possible responses, but before he can settle on one, Karofsky's got him up against the wall and they're kissing, frantic and painful, like a reunited Jack and Ennis in Brokeback Mountain. Dave has one knee between Kurt's legs, holding him up, and Kurt has both of his hands up the back of Dave's shirt, digging his fingernails into the hard flesh.

Dave pulls back to breathe and whispers, his voice harsh and ragged, "I knew it would be like this. That's why I said yes."

He says it almost like he's talking to himself, but Kurt still asks, "Say yes to what?" leaning down to lick David's neck.

"To marrying you," he says, sucking Kurt's earlobe into his mouth.

The ear thing is so amazing that his words don't register for a minute. "Wait... What?" he asks, struggling to get up to speed. All his blood is in his groin, though, and he feels kind of light-headed.

"Forget it," Karofsky murmurs, pressing his hand on the front of Kurt's pants. That nearly does make Kurt forget, but his brain catches up a moment later.

"Wait, stop... Stop!" he insists, and Karofsky pulls back. "Jesus, just how much do you remember? And you... You said yes because you wanted... Because you wanted to have sex with me?"

Kurt nearly doubles over at that realization, betrayal hitting him sharply in his gut. Karofsky looks stricken, but it does little to help.

"No! I was drunk! I said yes because I thought it was a good idea because I was drunk! And I remember... Almost everything now."

"You weren't that drunk if you remember everything!" Kurt argues.

"So you're punishing me for not blacking out?"

"Why were you...? You looked so surprised. When we woke up, I mean. That was all fake?"

"No! I didn't remember until later. I was as shocked as you were at first, honest! I... I thought I'd dreamed it. It wouldn't be the first time I had a dream like that. About you." He ducks his head, looking embarrassed and kind of angry and Kurt wants to believe him.

Really, he does. But Karofsky hasn't been honest with him even once in this twisted sham of a relationship. He'd lied earlier in the week in the car, telling Kurt he didn't remember. He'd told all his friends a disgusting tale, making Kurt look like the kind of sexual predator that homophobic assholes expect gays to be. He'd come into Kurt's home, into his room, and had sex with him, all the while knowing that their 'accidental' marriage wasn't an accident at all. Kurt had made some offhand comment and Karofsky had run with it just to get in Kurt's pants. And Kurt had let him.

Kurt had played right into his hands.

"It's not like you're thinking," Karofsky protests, his voice pleading.

"You don't know what I'm thinking," Kurt snaps.

"I can tell! And it's not like that!"

"It is like that. You are like that. I should have known better. I should have just stayed away from you until tomorrow. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Kurt, I know you don't trust me because of last year, but you're letting that make you think I'm the bad guy here!"

Kurt straightens his clothes, staring at him with derision. "You are the bad guy. You always have been, and clearly you always will be."

With that, he turns and leaves the room. He wants to pat himself on the back for his stunning verbal victory, but instead, he just feels like lying down somewhere and crying like a baby.

He can't handle these mood swings. It's all Karofsky's fault. It always has been and it always will be.

He walks out the front doors and out to the parking lot. The school's probably going to call his parents if he skips again, but he can't bring himself to care. He drives aimlessly for a while before parking at the Multiplex and buying a ticket for "whatever starts next."

It's some period drama, all big dresses and fabulous hats. It's the kind of thing he usually loves, but he stares through the screen, scarcely following the plot. His own life is a movie already. All he's missing is a bustle.

Kurt doesn't bother getting home until ten minutes before Carole usually arrives. He slips into the house as silently as possible, just in case one or both parents have come home early. Can't be too careful, especially since his truancy has likely been reported.

He takes off his shoes in the foyer and tiptoes toward the stairs. He's about to go up when he hears Finn's voice in the kitchen. "He'll be home any time now, I'm sure. He won't want to get home after my mom."

"This was a bad idea, Hudson. I gotta go." The voice is Karofsky's and Kurt stiffens. Still, he can't help wondering why Karofsky is in his house again. And why Finn seems to be conspiring with him. Kurt sidles closer to the kitchen doorway, unabashedly eavesdropping.

"I don't understand," Finn's saying. "I thought you guys worked stuff out."

"We did, but I fucked it up again. Fuck!" There's the unmistakable sound of someone hitting something.

"What the hell is your problem, Karofsky?" Finn snaps. "Calm down! You can talk to him when he gets here. Just explain whatever it is. Kurt's a logical guy. He'll understand."

Kurt barely restrains a snort.

"No, you don't understand. This is my fault. All of it." Karofsky sounds completely defeated and Kurt wishes he could see his face.

"Did you... I mean, don't punch me dude, but did you do this on purpose? Get married, I mean?"

"No, I didn't like, plan it. I swear. I just..." Karofsky takes a breath deep enough that Kurt can hear it. "Will you promise not to tell him? You're not exactly good at keeping secrets."

"Before – that... that was a mistake. And if you did anything bad to him, I'm gonna tell someone. He's my brother."

"No, god. It's nothing like that. I just... Okay, we were drunk, right? Really, really drunk. But he's a lot littler than me, so he wasn't holding it as well. And he started telling me that he was lonely and that he thought he wasn't going to find anyone, and I said it was the same for me. And he said we should just get married and be together. I... He was more drunk than me, but I was still fucking shitfaced, and even though I knew he didn't really mean it like 'let's get married right now,' it just... It sounded like a good idea."

"So you just said yes and he did it? Just like that?"

"No, I said some other stuff first."

"If you threatened him, I'll – "

"Shut up, Hudson," Karofsky growls. "What I said was... private. But it was nice, okay? And anyway, we went and did it. And then I got us a different room because I wanted to be alone with him. Not, like, in a sex way," he says quickly, probably off Finn's facial expression. "We just... slept. Then when we woke up, we both kind of freaked out. I didn't remember until later what actually happened. It kind of started... coming back to me, you know? But I just... I just wanted something."

"What do you mean?"

"We're all graduating soon. And he's going to New York for college and I'm going to Indiana. I figured I'd never see him again. It's not like we were friends. So I figured... All I'm ever going to have is one night. I had a chance, so I fucking took it, and if that makes me a bad person or, like, a stalker or whatever, I don't care. It was worth it."

"You risked messing up my brother's whole life so you could, what, hold him all night?" Finn's tone is so full of scorn that Kurt winces on Karofsky's behalf.

"Fuck you, Hudson! You don't know what it's like!"

"You think I don't know what it's like to want someone you can't have?"

"This isn't like you and Rachel Berry! You've had shots with her. She liked you back once and she'll probably like you again sometime. Kurt's never going to like me. He's never going to want me. Not now. Not once I tell him the truth. I'm just fucking screwed!"

"Dude, chill! You don't need to –"

"I'm in love with him!" Karofsky yells, loudly enough that Kurt probably would have heard it if he'd gone upstairs. His heart drops down into his stomach. He can hear his pulse rushing in his ears and he dearly wishes there were something in the hallway to sit on.

"Man, I... I'm sorry, okay?" Finn says. "I thought... I thought it was like, a physical thing, or whatever."

Kurt can't hear any more of this. He turns and walks away, his legs shaking. Karofsky doesn't love him. He hardly knows anything about Kurt. And the fact that he let it happen, apparently talked Kurt into it with whispered sweet nothings and declarations of love or whatever. It's disgusting. He feels violated all over again.

What had Karofsky been doing all those weeks before the license came in the mail? Those nods, those glances? Kurt had thought he'd just been practicing civility per Kurt's request, but now every look takes on new meaning. Had Karofsky been thinking, 'Oh, there's my husband' every time he spotted Kurt? What had he thought would happen? Had he thought no one would ever find out?

God, what if he'd thought no one would find out? What if Kurt had gotten engaged, sometime in the distant future, to some nice man, and they'd gone to get a marriage license, only to discover that Kurt was already married! The very idea is vomit-inducing.

The fact that Karofsky has believed himself to be in love this whole time does nothing to excuse his actions.

Throwing himself on the bed, Kurt can't help but remember the way he'd felt last night. Worshiped. Adored. It hadn't been real, though. It can't have been real. The diva in Kurt might want that adoration, but not if it comes at such a price. He's never going to be able to believe anything Karofsky says. Ever.

He curses himself for having thought they could be together, just because Karofsky looked at his naked body like it was made of gold. He's shallow, but he's not that shallow.

And he's not going to let himself get hurt again. He's going to wake up in the morning and catch a plane and then this will all be over. He can go back to business as usual. His friends, glee club, homework, getting ready for college. His life.

He's missed it.

He wakes up in the morning to Finn shaking his shoulder. "Hey, get up. Dad's already downstairs."

Kurt jerks up, glancing at the clock and groaning. "I forgot to set the alarm. I'll be down in a few minutes, okay?"

Finn nods, looking uncharacteristically somber. Kurt remembers with a start that Finn holds the knowledge that Karofsky's in love with Kurt – thinks he's in love with Kurt – and that he thinks it's a secret. Clearly, Finn believes it, as he's looking at Kurt with sadness and a little pity.

Kurt looks away from Finn's puppy eyes. "I have to get dressed."

Finn nods and leaves through the bathroom. Kurt staggers out of bed and gets dressed, thankful he'd laid his clothes out the night before, as well as prepared his overnight bag. He's going to have to skip most of his moisturizing routine, but he'll be ready in time.

He's barely got his hair brushed when he hears his father yelling for him. Kurt gives himself a fast once-over with the hairspray and hurries downstairs, bag in hand. "I'm coming! Don't have another cardiac event, please."

"Show a little respect. I have to do this in the first place because you got drunk and acted like a dumbass," his father says drily, slinging his own bag – a disreputable black duffel – onto his shoulder. "Now let's move."

Kurt follows him to the car and they pass the ride to the airport mostly in silence. At one point, Kurt says, "I'm sorry, Dad."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," his dad replies, changing lanes. Kurt doesn't know what else to say to that, so he leans back in his seat again, trying not to think about... anything.

When they get through security and arrive at their gate, Karofsky's already there, clutching a bag as tacky as Kurt's father's. Kurt sniffs and looks away.

"Can we talk?" Karofsky asks, touching Kurt's sleeve.

Kurt looks at the crowded seating area, at his dad settling himself on a molded plastic chair less than four feet away from them, and says, "No," turning away to sit next to his father. He pulls out his iPod and pushes the earbuds in his ears.

Karofsky looks... hurt. Kurt wishes he didn't feel bad about that, but he sort of does. Karofsky sits down in the row across from Kurt, but he studiously looks everywhere but at Kurt.

It's a shame, honestly. For a few shining moments, Kurt had liked him. He'd believed that Karofsky had changed. He hates that he'd let his guard down. He should have known better.

The thing is, he's relieved, honestly. He keeps letting Karofsky in and he keeps getting hurt. What he needs is for this whole thing to be over, so he won't have this disturbing connection with Karofsky anymore. There won't be a need to talk to him or spend time with him.

There won't be a reason to kiss him or laugh with him, either, but Kurt pushes that traitorous thought away.

When his dad nudges him, letting him know that they've started boarding, Kurt leads the pack, pulling his father behind him so that when they get to their row on the plane, Kurt can slide into the window seat, tugging his father into the middle seat, creating a buffer between himself and Karofsky.

His dad's brow furrows a little, but he dutifully sits in the middle seat and gives Karofsky the aisle.

He's still wiped out from... everything, so as soon as he's able to turn his device back on, or however they phrase it, he pops his earbuds back in and dozes, listening to the soundtrack from Wicked because he knows it so well that it fades into the background, letting him relax.

When he wakes up again, he rolls his head to the side, cracking one eye. He's a little startled to see that his father and Karofsky are deep in conversation. His dad seems agitated, tense against Kurt's shoulder, and Kurt is about to pop up and take Karofsky to task. However, he realizes Karofsky seems just as upset, based on his hand movements. Maybe even more upset.

The Subways are playing now, and it's too loud to hear what they're saying, but Kurt's afraid that if he reaches down to change the volume, they'll notice he's awake. He can't see either of their faces without moving, either, so he just watches his dad's hand tense and relax on the armrest, over and over, until he lets himself believe that they must be talking about sports or something and he drifts off again.

The next time he wakes up, it's his father poking him. "Hey, we're gonna land soon. You hafta turn that off."

Kurt obeys, twisting in his seat, trying to stretch. "We're almost there, already?"

"Yeah, you slept the whole time."

"Sorry. I haven't been sleeping well this week," he says pointedly.

In fact, he's completely silent as they file off the plane and walk to the taxi stand. And Kurt keeps quiet all the way to the hotel, too, so he can't really blame the awkward silence all on Karofsky. He just doesn't know what to say. 'So, ready to get annulled?' seems insensitive, and 'What else have you been lying to me about?' is just combative. And talking about the weather would just be sad.

There's not much time to fret about it, though, as they have just enough time to dump their bags in the room and for Kurt to freshen up his hair and his ensemble before they have to go downstairs and get another cab to the courthouse.

It's all happening so fast, and even though Kurt has been counting the seconds all week, suddenly he wishes he had a moment to just breathe. He doesn't want to be doing this. He doesn't want to have to be doing this.

His dad has had his mouth set in a grim line since they got in the car this morning, and half of the reason for Kurt's silence is embarrassment. He doesn't want his dad to have to be doing this. The whole thing is making him want to put his head down and cry.

He doesn't, of course. He rides to the courthouse, taking in the purple mountains that he'd once thought were so beautiful. Now they just remind him that he's a fool. A drunken, lonely fool who was taken in – more than once – by kind words and hazel eyes. He's such a cliché.

The hearing, if you can call it that, is nothing like Kurt had imagined. No one takes the witness stand and there's no cross-examination. They stand in front of a bored judge unlucky enough to have been stuck with the Saturday shift, who asks them if they both agree that they were incapacitated and not able to act in their best interest and a couple of other things that Kurt agrees to, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

She doesn't even ask them to explain what happened or anything. Kurt had been rehearsing his side of the story in his head, but they don't have the opportunity to say anything more than "Yes." Then she stamps a paper and hands it over, telling them to proceed to the clerk.

And that's it. Before Kurt knows it, he's standing back outside on the steps, the sun beating down on him, and he's a free man.

There are a bunch of palm trees in front of the courthouse and they make a gentle shushing as the wind blows through them. Kurt really wants to put his head between his knees for a minute, but his dad claps his hands abruptly, startling him.

"So, I'm going to go back to the hotel. If you boys want to find something to do, I think the Strip is just a couple blocks thataway."

Kurt stands there helplessly, watching as his father flags down a cab and gets in without even asking Kurt if he wants to go. "What just happened...?" he says aloud, not meaning to initiate conversation with Karofsky, however Karofsky replies as if Kurt had been asking him.

"Um, I sort of asked if he wouldn't mind us hanging out for a little bit."

Karofsky looks sort of sheepish and Kurt feels a hot flash of anger and betrayal. "Oh, I didn't realize you and my father have become some kind of... plotting buddies," Kurt says, sneering at his now-ex-husband. Or does it count as ex in this scenario? More like legally-never-was-husband.

"We're not. I asked him. He wasn't very happy about it, but he agreed to do it. There's nothing more to it."

"Why?" Kurt snaps.

"Why did he...?"

"No, why did you want to hang out with me."

Karofsky sighs. "There's something I think I owe you," he says simply, and starts walking in the direction of the Strip.

Kurt only has a few dollars in his wallet, not enough to take a cab back to the hotel, and he curses himself for not taking money out of his savings account yesterday. He'd assumed he'd be with his father the whole time and wouldn't need to buy anything more than a magazine or some gum. He hadn't foreseen his father abandoning him.

With no other choice available to him than turning tricks for cab fare, Kurt hurries after Karofsky. He refuses a couple of Karofsky's stilted attempts at conversation, but once he starts recognizing his surroundings, Kurt asks, "Where are we going?"

"Just another block," Karofsky says cryptically, and Kurt glares at his back. He wishes he'd worn more comfortable shoes, but of course he hadn't known he was in for a walking tour of the Las Vegas Strip.

After a few more minutes, Karofsky stops suddenly. When Kurt sees where they are, he backs up a few steps. "No," he says, a little too quietly. Clearing his throat, he says, "No," again, a bit more forcefully.

There's a tacky sign covered in pink and red hearts emblazoned with the words, Union of the Heart Wedding Chapel. Kurt's heart is pounding way too hard.

Ignoring his protests, Karofsky grabs the door handle and holds it open, gesturing for Kurt to go in. "No," Kurt says again, but it comes out weak and faint.

Karofsky just stands there, though, face implacable. Kurt sighs and walks in.

The place is worse on the inside, and Kurt can't see how he ever found this acceptable, even wholly intoxicated. The phrase 'blind drunk' can't have ever been more applicable. The reception area is carpeted all in red and the walls are painted in an ode to Pepto-Bismal. Cherubs and hearts festoon every square inch of space.

There are heart-shaped double doors propped open to Kurt's left, and beyond the opening, Kurt can see rows of white pews with large pink bows on the end of each one. Sparkling hearts dangle from the ceiling. Kurt wants to gag.

The urge grows stronger when a birdlike woman who appears to be pushing seventy flits out of an adjoining office and chirps, "A happy couple?"

"A world of no," Kurt manages to say. Her face falls and he feels sort of bad for his rudeness.

Before he can say anything, though, Karofsky steps forward. "Actually, we got married here last month. I was wondering if you guys kept the pictures, like, on file or whatever."

Kurt swallows hard, but he can't say anything else. The very last thing he wants is to see pictures of his... wedding.

"Of course!" the woman says, smiling widely. "We have a policy to keep everything for at least six months, but I hang onto the pictures for as long as I can. You never know when someone will want those memories!"

Karofsky gives her the date and their names, and Kurt sinks onto an overstuffed pink chair, watching her retreat back into the office. Karofsky sits down next to Kurt. "You were right. It's not fair that I remember and you don't. That's why –"

Kurt cuts him off with a snort. "I didn't say that. I said it wasn't fair for you to remember and lie to me about it and tell me you didn't."

Karofsky looks away.

A moment later, the doors open and a man and a woman walk in. The woman is giggling and giddy, her face flushed prettily. The man is clinging to her arm and beaming like he just won an Academy Award. They smile at Kurt and Karofsky and the woman says, "We're getting married! Can you believe it?"

Kurt manages a small smile as Karofsky mutters some congratulations. The proprietress comes back out from her office with a small booklet. She sees the legitimate 'happy couple' and smiles. "Here to get married, are we? Just a moment."

She hands Karofsky the little booklet. "Take your time, dears. There's an order form on the last page if you want to have prints made. I'm just going to start their paperwork," she says, gesturing to the giddy people.

Karofsky nods. "Go ahead. And thanks." She smiles and pulls out a large book and starts talking about wedding packages, leading the couple into her office.

Karofsky nudges him and passes him the book. "I'm not sure I want..."

"Dude, just look at it. I'm gonna go to the bathroom," Karofsky says, gesturing to a small hallway near the heart-shaped doors.

Left alone with the little album, Kurt can't resist opening it. He turns the pages slowly, and for some reason, a lump starts forming in his throat. He flips through each picture, watching himself laughing and clinging to Dave's arm the same way the girl in the office right now was clinging to her husband-to-be. He looks... Honestly, he looks radiant, when he lets himself admit it.

Joy seems to shine out of every pore. He watches himself walking up the aisle to where Dave is waiting, holding Dave's hand so tightly that he swears he can see his white knuckles even in the little four-by-six proof. He sees them speaking vows to each other, and even though he can't really remember the event, pop culture supplies the words they spoke, making him feel like he knows what they said.

He turns another page and they're kissing. Kurt's on his tiptoes with both arms around Dave's neck, and Dave is holding his face tenderly. The looks on both their faces make the lump in Kurt's throat grow until it threatens to choke him.

The final page is them walking back down the aisle, a spray of flower petals raining down on them. Their hands are still clasped tightly and Kurt looks at his own face in the picture. He's never seen himself look like that.

Every day when he looks at himself in the mirror, he feels like he can see the things that pinch his features and tighten him up. Stress over school and his family and his life and relationships and the underlying tension that's always there just from being a gay man in a world that still only accepts him half of the time.

But in this picture, he can't see any of that. All he can see is pleasure and self-satisfaction and unbridled joy to be alive. It hurts. It hurts, because it's all a lie.

A tear runs down his cheek and he hurries to wipe it away. He glances up and Dave is standing near the heart-shaped doors, watching him. He looks like he wants to cry too.

The proprietress comes out of her office, then. "Are you boys interested in purchasing some prints? We have a special package going."

"How about this book?" Kurt finds himself asking. "Do you just sell the proof books?"

"Yes, of course. They're fifty-nine ninety-five and of course, you can still use the form to order pictures whenever you want, up to a year from the event date," she says, smiling.

Kurt can't even explain it, but he feels like he needs to have this. He's weighing the pros and cons of using his for-emergencies-only credit card to buy it when Dave plucks it from his fingers and digs his wallet out of his pocket. Kurt stands there dumbly as he counts out twenties and pays the woman. She hands him a receipt and a little pink bag.

Dave hands the bag to Kurt, muttering a thank you to the woman. He pushes the door open and lets Kurt precede him into the hot desert sun.

"Th-thank you," Kurt stammers quietly.

"Yeah, of course," Dave says. "Do you... Are you hungry, maybe? Or..."

Kurt, who can still barely swallow, shakes his head. "Maybe a drink? Non-alcoholic, of course," he amends, off Dave's odd look.

There's a little diner only a few blocks down and Dave holds the door for Kurt again. They both order Diet Coke and sit in silence while they wait for the waitress to return.

"Can I...?" Dave finally asks, gesturing toward the little bag sitting next to Kurt in the booth. Kurt nods and takes the album out, passing it across the table.

He sits there, playing with a sugar packet, while Dave turns the pages slowly, his face set in hard lines and angles. His eyebrows are so close together that Kurt wonders if it's giving him a headache.

When he reaches the last page, he makes a visible attempt to smooth his face back into normalcy before he hands the book back to Kurt. "You..." He takes a breath, looking away from Kurt. "You look... beautiful. In there, I mean."

Kurt tries to smile, but it feels like his face is brittle and about to crack. "Thank you," he croaks. The waitress comes back and puts two glasses down, asking if they want to order food. Dave says something polite while Kurt takes a large sip of his drink, trying to clear his throat.

"I mean, I know you're supposed to say guys are handsome or whatever. I don't mean you look girly, I just mean... I don't think that's the right word. It's just.... It's not enough, and –"

"I'm sorry," Kurt says, pushing his half-full glass away. "I can't do this. Can we go back?"

Dave nods and holds up his hand for the bill in a gesture that impresses Kurt with its sophistication. Kurt reaches for his wallet, but Dave's already thrown some bills on the table. "I could have –" Kurt starts, but Dave cuts him off.

"No, I'm the one who brought you out here," he says, like that settles it.

They go out and Dave hails a cab, another masculine gesture that makes Kurt feel cared for, despite his inner turmoil.

Kurt sits next to Dave on the cracked back seat and watches the red numbers of their fare flip over as the cab moves through traffic. He's clutching the bag containing the photo album so tightly that the twisted paper handle is cutting into his flesh.

When they get to the hotel, Dave pays the driver and leads Kurt back to their room. When they go inside, Kurt's father is sitting against the headboard of one of the beds, some sporting event on the television. As soon as Kurt sees him, he can feel the day catching up to him in a crashing wave.

"I'm going to take a walk," Dave announces to no one and goes back out into the hall, closing the door.

Kurt kicks off his shoes and goes to the bed, curling against his father's chest like a little boy. "What happened?" his father demands, fists clenching. "Did he do something...?"

"No, it wasn't his fault," Kurt manages through the lump in his throat. "He didn't do anything wrong, I just..." He can't figure out what to say beyond that, so he just leans on his dad's reassuring warmth while his father shouts things at the players on the screen and they both pretend not to notice the wet spot that Kurt's tears are making on his sweatshirt.

Eventually, Dave comes back to the room and they all go down to the attached restaurant for dinner, which consists mostly of Kurt's father telling Dave about the game that had been on that afternoon while Kurt picks at his salad.

After what seems like an interminable time, they go back up to the room and Dave announces that he's going to try out the pool. He looks at Kurt questioningly, but Kurt shakes his head. Dave sighs and goes into the bathroom to put on swim trunks and an old McKinley t-shirt. Kurt tries not to look at his bare legs when he comes out. It only makes him remember.

Once Dave is gone, Kurt tells his father that he's going to take a shower. He gathers all his toiletries and escapes into the bathroom for the better part of an hour. He's pretty sure he deserves a full spa treatment after the week he's had. When he comes out, his father is sitting in the armchair in the corner, holding the little photo album and looking stricken.

"Dad, what...?"

"I'm sorry, Kurt, I thought maybe you bought some snacks or something. I didn't mean to go snooping through your things."

"I see you still looked at it once you ascertained it wasn't a snack," Kurt says acerbically.

His dad looks a little guilty, but he turns the book over in his hands. "You sure looked happy in these. I don't think I've ever seen you look so happy. Not since you were a little kid."

"I was drunk," Kurt snaps. "Everyone looks happy when they're drunk."

"No. No they don't. Kurt... Kurt, it's okay if you love him."

"I don't."

"Listen, I know he was a real asshole to you and there's no excuse for that. But I... I talked to him a little today and he reminds me a little of me when I was a kid. I didn't think things through either."

"You don't know even half of the story, dad," Kurt protests.

"Well, I know his side of the story."

"What did he tell you?" Kurt demands, bristling.

"As far as I know, all of it. More than I wanted to know," he says, twisting his face into a grimace.

"Dad!" Kurt protests, reading between the lines. He's going to kill Karofsky. Kill him.

"I know he sure thinks highly of you," his father continues as if Kurt isn't close to imploding. "I know he realizes he screwed up a buncha times, and I know he wishes he could fix it."

"Dad, stop! I've given him chances to fix things! Every time I let him near me, he ruins everything!"

"Not every time," his dad says quietly, standing up and putting the photo album in Kurt's hands.

"I can't believe you're on his side now!" Kurt shouts, dangerously close to crying again.

His father looks at him, his face as shocked as if Kurt had slapped him. "Kurt, I don't know what you're talkin' about. I'm not on anyone's side but yours and don't you forget it."

With that, he goes out of the room, leaving Kurt alone. Kurt throws the album as hard as he can against the far wall, but it hits the curtain and bounces to the floor unharmed, which is deeply unsatisfying. He flings himself on the bed hard enough that the headboard rattles, despite being bolted to the wall.

He's trying to decide between screeching into a pillow and giving in and just sobbing like a little girl when he hears a keycard in the lock. He rolls into a seated position on the bed in time to see Karofsky come in, his hair wet and slicked back.

"Dude, what's wrong?" he asks, before grimacing like he realizes that's a stupid question.

"Want me to make a list?" Kurt snaps, and Karofsky gives him a small, sad smile.

"Can we talk?"

Kurt sighs. "Maybe eventually, but not now, okay? Want to... watch TV or something?" he offers. He doesn't want to do anything – other than sobbing and/or pillow-screeching – but it would be creepy for them to sit around and stare at the wall.

"Yeah, okay." Karofsky kicks off his flip-flops and goes into the bathroom to change into plaid flannel sleep pants instead of swim trunks. When he emerges, he comes around to sit on the bed next to Kurt, which is a little closer than Kurt had imagined, but he doesn't want to move now and let Karofsky know that he's uncomfortable.

They maneuver until they're both against the headboard, feet stretched out. Kurt examines their bare feet, his own slim and pale with just a light dusting of hair and manicured nails, versus Karofsky's much larger and more masculine ones. His feet are nice, though, not too hairy or with gnarly nails, like some guys' feet. It's hard not to think of his father's heavy-handed suggestion that perhaps he'd be happier if he just gave in and dated Dave.

He doesn't feel like he would be. He feels like Karofsky would just make him miserable at every turn again. He doesn't want to have one of those relationships with the high highs and the low lows. He wants something stable and old-fashioned, with a lovely man who will never make him cry. That can't be too much to ask.

They sit like that for a couple of sitcoms that Kurt only half pays attention to before Kurt's father comes back. He takes in the two of them, sitting on the same bed but carefully not touching, and nods. He looks a little unsteady and Kurt asks, "Dad, have you been... drinking?"

His father snorts and digs his sweatpants out of his overnight bag. "I've been dealing with my teenage son's love life all day. Of course I've been drinking."

Karofsky snickers a little, but covers it with a cough. Kurt's dad snorts again and goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth. When he emerges, he turns off the lights and crawls into the other bed. "Keep th'volume down; m'tryin' t'sleep," he mumbles.

Kurt dutifully lowers the volume. After a bit, he looks over at his father, who is sprawled in the center of the bed, snoring. "I guess I better start trying to move him," Kurt says, keeping his voice low.

"Or you could just stay here," Karofsky says, not meeting Kurt's eyes.

"I..."

"Nothing weird or whatever. Just... sleeping. Like last time."

For a second, he thinks Karofsky means the last time they were in a bed, which was when they'd had sex, and while that hadn't been weird, it was still a very inappropriate suggestion. Then Kurt realizes he means the last time they were in this city. In a hotel. In bed together.

"Appropriate. We can make it a tradition. Any time we start or end a marriage, we'll be sure to sleep together."

It comes out way more bitchy than Kurt intended, and Karofsky shrugs, visibly hurt. "Whatever man. I'm going to sleep."

Kurt turns off the television, plunging the room into almost complete darkness. He makes an attempt to get into the bed next to his dad, but he can't even locate a pillow. With a resigned sigh, he goes back to the other bed. "Is that offer still open?"

Karofsky makes a sleepy grunt that Kurt takes as a yes. He flips back an edge of the blanket and slides in, lying with his back to Dave. "G'night," Dave says quietly.

"'Night," Kurt responds. He doesn't move for a while. He just stays there, listening to Dave's breathing and smelling the faint smell of chlorine. He can feel vague warmth that lets him know there's another body behind him, but otherwise, Karofsky is a perfect gentleman, keeping to his own side of the bed.

Eventually Dave's breathing gets deep and Kurt thinks he's probably asleep. Kurt finally relaxes then, rolling onto his back and letting his wrist graze Dave's side. With a sigh, Kurt lets himself drift off to sleep.

When he comes to the next morning, he sees his father stuffing things into his duffle bag, whistling quietly through his teeth. He shifts and his dad looks over at him.

"About time Cinderella."

"Don't you mean Sleeping Beauty? Cinderella is only apropos if I lose a shoe. Or turn into a pumpkin." Kurt says, stretching his arms wide. They only hit more bed, and Kurt sits up a little abruptly, remembering that he'd shared a bed with Dave last night. Dave is nowhere to be seen, though, and Kurt realizes that he can hear the shower going.

"Yeah, whatever. Better get a move on. We have to leave in less than an hour."

"Why didn't you wake me up?" Kurt asks, getting up and flying to his suitcase. "I'm not going to have time for my full moisturizing routine! I skipped it yesterday! My skin is going to be a mess."

His father rolls his eyes and mutters something about not being an alarm clock and why they invented wake-up calls. Kurt decides to drop the subject, since his father hasn't commented on last night's bed situation.

"I'm gonna go down and pick up some stuff from the continental breakfast," Kurt's father says once he stows the last item in his bag. "Want me to get you a bagel?"

"Yes, that would be nice, thank you," Kurt says absently, lining up his bottles and jars in order on the dresser top.

Kurt's father knocks on the bathroom door and asks if he can bring Dave some breakfast. The shower stops and Kurt can't quite hear the muffled reply. Kurt's father leaves the room and Kurt sits on the bed, waiting for the bathroom to be free.

He has to pee like a racehorse, but Dave is taking his sweet time. Finally, Kurt gets frustrated and gets up to pound on the door. "Almost done? I need the bathroom," Kurt calls through the door.

"You can come in," Dave says, slightly garbled.

Without really thinking it through, Kurt opens the door. He'd assumed Dave would be dressed or something, but he's brushing his teeth over the sink with nothing on but a small, flimsy hotel towel around his hips. That's way, way too much skin to be on display, and Kurt almost backs out the door again, but he's sort of enjoying the view.

"I have to pee, so... Would you mind?"

Dave shakes his head. "No, go ahead," he says through a mouthful of foam, clearly misinterpreting Kurt's words.

"I mean..." Kurt nods his head toward the door, trying to will away his blush.

"Oh. Yeah," Dave says sheepishly, spitting and rinsing. "Sorry. It's not like I haven't seen it before, though," he finishes with a little smirk.

"Ugh, you are not watching me pee. There's 'intimate' and then there's just... no."

Dave smiles again, seeming to be in very good spirits this morning. He also looks way too good standing there in just a towel, so Kurt waves his hand impatiently at the door until Dave vacates the premises.

Kurt turns the lock before he moves to the toilet – just in case. Sleeping with Kurt, even if it was just sleeping, seems to have put Dave in way too good a mood. Kurt's not sure how he should feel about that. His thoughts stray to what Azimio had told him the other day, about Dave smiling and even whistling after their... night together.

It's odd to have a sudden epiphany while peeing, but it happens anyway. Kurt realizes how unnecessarily complicated he's making everything.

He'd always wanted to have a sweet relationship with a kind man where everything would be stable and loving. And utterly boring. He makes Dave happy. Dave makes him happy. Most of the time, anyway. Maybe it's okay that sometimes Dave makes him want to scream and tear at his hair.

It's something to think about anyway, he decides as he starts the shower.

By the time he's finished in the bathroom, though, his dad is back with breakfast and he barely has enough time to eat a bagel while he packs his suitcase. Then they're off to the airport again.

This time, Kurt lets his father go first, taking the window seat and Kurt takes the middle. Dave smiles at him, a real smile that lights up his face, and Kurt wonders how he never noticed just how beautiful Dave's eyes are.

He'd told himself that he was going to think about things, but now he's sort of feeling like his mind is already made up.

He takes out his iPod and turns it on, reaching over to take Dave's hand. Dave smiles again and twines his fingers with Kurt's, dwarfing Kurt's entire hand with his. Kurt rubs his thumb along the side of Dave's hand idly, thinking that it's been way too long since he held someone's hand in a romantic fashion. It's even better than he remembers.

Dave leans close and Kurt pops out an earbud. "What... What does this mean?" he asks, squeezing Kurt's hand a little.

Kurt looks around. "Can we talk about it when we get back? When there aren't so many people around, including my father?" he whispers.

Dave nods, accepting that. Kurt examines the earbud surreptitiously to make sure there's no gross wax or anything, and, finding it clean, he offers it to Dave. Dave takes it with another smile and puts it to his ear.

Kurt's been listening to Adele's latest, which Kurt assumes probably isn't Dave's usual type of music, but he listens in silence, letting the music wash over them both.

When they arrive back in Ohio, Kurt steals a moment while Dave's in the bathroom and asks if he can invite Dave over to their house for a little bit instead of taking him straight home. His father gives him an arch look.

"Yeah, don't think I didn't see that hand-holdin' on the airplane. You can ask him over but you're keepin' the bedroom door open."

"Dad!" Kurt protests. It's not like holding hands is a gateway drug to raucous sex in your parents' house.

"It's the house rule, you know that."

"That's not what I meant! It's not like that." Kurt doesn't have time to explain what it is like, though, because Dave comes back from the bathroom then and Kurt doesn't want to have to tell him what they were talking about.

Dave accepts the invitation a little warily and as soon at they get in the house, Kurt drags him upstairs and away from the prying eyes of his family.

He leaves the door open, but it's more so Finn can't sneak up and eavesdrop than to appease his father.

"So..." Dave says, shuffling his feet and eyeing the bed with an odd expression on his face. Kurt probably should have realized that taking Dave to the place where they had sex was a bad choice for a proper discussion.

Kurt had spent much of the plane ride and subsequent car trip planning a whole speech and bullet points for starting a meaningful dialogue. He'd intended to say how he felt, and ask Dave how he felt. He'd wanted to discuss the issues they might expect to face, and how they could work to build trust. He'd planned to extract promises that Dave wouldn't deceive him again. He'd wanted to talk about how they could start this – should they just go on some casual dates and see how it went?

However, for some reason, it all goes out the window and Kurt elects instead to move into Dave's personal space and stretch up on his toes until he can kiss him.

It's hard to kiss when they're both grinning like idiots at the same time, but they halfway manage, and when the protests of his calf muscles force him back down onto flat feet, Dave hefts him onto the bed and climbs on top of him so that they can continue kissing without either of them sustaining an injury.

Dave's got one leg between Kurt's and both hands in his hair, moving his head wherever he wants it, and Kurt is allowing it because he feels fucking fantastic, when someone coughs and things go from fabulous to horrifying in nanoseconds.

Finn is standing stiffly in the doorway, looking like he can't decide between amusement and nausea. "You know your door's open, right? Anyone could just walk in."

"Or lurk in the hall, spying on me like a pervert," Kurt says, full of false sweetness.

"I wasn't spying! Dad sent me up here to make sure your door was open. Be glad he didn't come himself. He probably would have gotten the hose."

"Well, now you've checked. You can leave," Kurt tells him.

"Yeah, I'll just let you get back to 'getting to know' your boyfriend," he says, making finger quotes. Kurt scowls at his retreating back. He's not quite ready to make jokes about Finn's behavior last time he'd caught them in the act.

"Don't you want to tell him I'm not?" Dave asks, looking away and plucking at a thread on Kurt's duvet.

"Not what?" Kurt asks, his brain still a little muddled from Dave's lips. And tongue.

"Your boyfriend."

"Oh, I thought you were," Kurt says absently, hoping they can get back to making out.

"I am?" Dave asks, looking sort of stunned.

That's when Kurt realizes he hadn't given any of his speech. "I had a bunch of things I was going to say, but I forgot," Kurt explains.

"Like what?"

"Like how I want to be happy. Radiantly happy, all the time, and I think you can make me that happy if I give you a chance," Kurt says, ducking his head shyly.

"You've given me a lot of chances," Dave says, twisting the duvet again.

"Well, I'm giving you one more. But if you ever tell all your friends that I'm some kind of... creepy sex pervert again, that'll be the last straw."

"Kurt, I can't promise I won't do something to piss you off again. I mean, it won't be that, but I just... I'm not good at this like you are."

Kurt sighs. He's so earnest and his eyes are so bright and hopeful that all Kurt can do is say, "I can teach you."

They're just moving to lie back down when Kurt hears his father shout, "Carole, get the hose!"

Kurt groans and sits up. His family is going to give him the worst blue balls known to man. His dad has the nerve to look pleased with himself, too. "So, is this a thing now? Am I gonna have to get used to this knucklehead pawin' you all the time?"

Dave makes a strangled sort of noise and Kurt glares at his dad. "We're dating. And the door's open, per your instructions. We were just kissing."

"I saw at least one hand below the waist, but I'm gonna overlook it this one time. Next time, though, if I see that, something's gettin' amputated."

"I'm sorry, sir," Dave says, scooting farther away from Kurt. "I promise I'll be... respectful."

Kurt's dad nods, but he doesn't look convinced. "Your mom says dinner's in fifteen minutes and your... boyfriend is invited to stay if he wants. Get yourselves... under control before you come down."

Kurt dearly hopes he's referring to their clothing being a little askew and not anything else that might need controlling. "I'm sorry, that was hideously embarrassing," Kurt says, sliding off the bed and stepping to the mirror to pat his hair back into place.

"No problem. We shouldn't have been fooling around here."

"If you want to skip dinner, I'd certainly understand," Kurt says.

"No, I want to stay. I want your dad to know that I'm... I'm serious about this. About you."

Kurt feels a rush of affection and he crosses back to the bed, touching the side of Dave's face, letting his fingers trail over the coarse hair of his sideburn and the prickly stubble along his jaw. "I'm serious too. And I'm sorry for being so... hot and cold this week."

"Well, it's not like I haven't jerked you around. This whole thing has been... crazy."

"Yes, but I've been extra crazy. I suppose I have a... flair for the dramatic."

"You don't say," Dave says, and Kurt feels the smirk before he sees it, Dave's cheek rounding under his palm.

"Hush," Kurt orders, leaning down and kissing the corner of his mouth chastely.

He turns and goes into the bathroom to finish getting himself arranged and he hears Dave on his cell phone. "Mom? I'm gonna stay at Kurt's for dinner. His mother invited me. We're... We're kind of going out now. Mom, stop! Don't freak out. I know. I know. Yeah. Yeah, love you too. Bye."

Kurt grins at himself in the mirror. He's glowing, and since his skincare regimen has been suffering lately, there's only one possible reason for it. He examines himself closely, leaning near to the glass, and he lets himself think about kissing Dave, about just touching him and laughing with him.

His face is radiant. He looks like he did in those pictures in the little album that's tucked away safely in the bottom of his suitcase.

There's no sign of stress or strain or worry. He just looks... happy.

He goes back out to the bedroom and Dave lights up when he sees Kurt. He looks just as happy, joy softening his features and smoothing his brow, making him look younger and brighter and more handsome.

"Ready?"

"Yeah," Dave answers. He takes Kurt's hand and they walk down the stairs together. And Kurt notices that Dave is whistling a little under his breath.

They don't really talk about it, so when Kurt gets to school the next day, he's gripped with panic over how to behave. There was no discussion on whether they'd tell anyone or how they'd act at school.

Kurt spots Dave outside the front doors with a herd of football players and he debates just turning around and heading for the side door. However, Dave spots him and immediately starts walking toward him.

He'd appeared to have been in the middle of a conversation, but he moves away like Kurt is the most important thing in the world and if he doesn't get to him immediately, very, very bad things will happen. Kurt smiles broadly and he hopes he has that happy-glow thing going on and not a scary clown smile.

"Hey," Dave says, getting up in Kurt's personal space.

"Hello." It's all Kurt gets out before Dave is leaning down and Kurt is arching up and they're kissing, right in front of Dave's friends and everyone else who happens to be on the lawn. Oh, so that's how it's going to be.

They finally break apart to breathe and Dave curls his arm around Kurt's shoulders, steering him back over to the group of letter jackets. Azimio gives Kurt a tentative smile before leaning over to punch Dave in the arm. "Get it, boy!"

"You guys seriously need a room. I almost tossed my Pop Tarts," one of the guys says. He's scowling, and Kurt cringes a little.

Azimio gives the guy a cuff to the back of the head. "Watch yourself."

Dave looks sort of freaked out so Kurt moves to diffuse the situation. "Walk me to class?"

"Yeah, course," Dave mutters, tightening his arm around Kurt and pulling him away from the football players, most of whom are either staring at the ground or making disgusted faces.

"Maybe we shouldn't have told anyone we're together," Kurt frets, forcing himself not to look around and assess the stares of their classmates.

Dave shrugs. "I'm not gonna hide. Maybe people are gonna be stupid about it, but whatever. I'm actually happy for once in my life. No one's gonna ruin that."

Kurt smiles, thinking his new boyfriend's expectations are slightly unrealistic. However, he can't help noticing the pride shining on Dave's face. He looks so unbelievably proud and happy. Proud to have Kurt on his arm. It's intoxicating.

Kurt remembers how he'd felt earlier in the week, how his inner diva had been so appeased by Dave's adoration. The feeling is multiplied tenfold in a public setting and Kurt practically floats along on Dave's arm.

He's still not sure about everything, and he definitely doesn't know what the future will hold, but for right now, he feels sort of perfect. And radiantly happy.

~The End