Love is Madness

Title: The Dreams We Leave Behind

Genre: Angst / Romance

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Dave/Kurt, future!fic

Summary:  When Love is not madness it is not love.

Every time he met with Dave he did this. Kurt went to the mirror.





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The rumble of a 1998 Chevy with slight structural damage to it's tail pipe rumbled off into the distance. Kurt Hummel, sole owner of Hummel Tire and Lube, lay curled as if asleep. He never slept these nights. The touch and low ache of the actions of the night never allowed his sleep. Slowly his lean form rose. He slowly made his way, bare and covered in the sweat of he and the man who had driven off, dry and tacky against his pale skin. He dressed, not bothering to fix himself as he made his way to the Mercury Milan Hybrid he'd saved from the dump. Most times he would just drive with his radio blasting, not caring for the hateful glances of the Lima city residents for a man in a headscarf blasting Lady Gaga. He usually could care less. 



These evenings he placed on dark glasses and a hoodie. He felt like an illicit wife having a jaded affair on her rich but absent husband. Of course if he was on an episode of "Desperate Housewives" he would have a much prettier and younger man to sleep with. As he pulled into his house he placed the hoodie into the laundry basket, unwilling to look at it.



Every time he met with Dave he did this. Kurt went to the mirror. He never did move out of the basement, never had desired to. He was trapped in Lima, he might as well keep what he loved near to him. His mirror touched both ceiling and floor and spanned half of the east wall. The east wall was the smallest of walls and was usually where his video camera rested on it's tripod. 



He began the ritual, slowly taking off each piece of clothing that had been touched by the man, slowly revealing his body. The first he noticed were always the marks on his neck. They were blatantly sexual, horribly claiming. The next were the circles that pressed a small red chain of circles along his collar like a painted string of pearls a 50's TV mother would wear. They were the closest he would ever get to a semblance of domesticity.



He traced his long thin hand down to his chest. His pale pink nipples were softly perked in the slight cool of the basement. The delicate skin around them was darkened to nearly purple from the ardor of Karofsky's mouth. He always spent such time there, commanding Kurt's body to respond. His hand strayed down to the most painful of bruises. He hissed as the marks on his thighs clearly outlined the thick fingers. He placed his hands on his hips, mirroring the marks. The darkened flesh was easily seen around his thin delicate digits. It always struck him at this moment how much power lay in Karofsky's massive arms. He could break Kurt's thin body in half at the slightest inclination. He took in a breath, tracing his hand down his pelvis, where another line of red circles dusted the bone and stomach. Kurt resisted the urge to suck in the slight pudge he saw in his thin body. He was 35, there was going to be a small bit of sag, not that the object of his affair ever seemed to mind. He always murmured into Kurt's skin at his stomach the words that Kurt didn't allow him to say. Kurt always pretended not to hear them.



Lovely, perfect, beautiful, mine, I love you, thank you: all those words he whispered like prayers against Kurt's pale skin. Kurt's hand petted over the skin, conjuring the words forward, letting the echoes fill the room. He was adored, loved. He wrapped his left hand around his semi-erect manhood. Dave's hands were rough from his life, larger then Kurt's and so warm. He would always touch Kurt's manhood like it was some exotic fragile creature. He mimicked those actions. In their time together Kurt would bat his hands away, demand he get in already, demand their interaction not change beyond what Kurt could handle. But here in Kurt's house, here where he was safe he could imagine Dave's hands staying there, staying gentle.



Kurt's free hand petted up to his shoulder. He could still feel the gentle heat of Dave's final kiss. It was gentle and sweet, like a promise. The countertenor traced each of the circular bruises, using the heat of abused skin to conjure more gentle presses of Dave's kiss in place of the marks. A small gasp from Kurt's mouth and Dave would gasp deeply against the skin of Kurt's collarbone. He would then press gentle kisses to the rosebud of each of Kurt's nipples. Each mark was replaced with gentleness of a man who loved him, who would stay with him, cherish him. Kurt's strangled cry was lost in the huge basement turned living space. His mirror obscured with his seed. Kurt slowly opened his eyes, tears streaking down his face.



Every time he was with Dave this happened. Dave would only show his gentleness when he thought Kurt was asleep. Kurt sighed, stepping into the shower, determined to rid himself of the sick want for the man who had tormented him in high school.



Kurt had been a star, well somewhat. He'd gone to New York as the glimmering spot of fashion in Ohio to just another pretty twink countertenor. He'd worked 3 jobs just to keep up his tuition. He'd landed a few roles before his big break. He'd landed the role of Mary Sunshine in Chicago and had rocked it to it's core. And after his sudden success.... nothing. Audition after audition not even a chorus part was granted. He'd gotten desperate... disgustingly so. He was so dedicated to being a star that he'd knelt in a dark storage room of the theater looking at his last chance, an older directer who had a taste for young pale men whose voices could pass as women. As he stared at his chance for the future he decided he would only be a star on HIS terms. Somewhere in New York there was an assault charge and a small claims action against him for the state in which his Prada heels had left the old bastard. All is fair on Broadway.



He'd come home finally to another heart attack of his father. Somehow in Kurt's mind, Burt would always last forever as his wonderful strong dad. As the heart failed and he spent years nursing him gently through his death, he knew that all people break, all people fall and all people leave you. He hadn't the will to leave again. He couldn't blame Carole for leaving. Her second love was dead and her son had settled in New York with a first child on the way. He had promised himself he would fly out to see them when the child was a bit bigger, but every time Christmas rolled around he would get a card of the happy perfect family with mother father and Baby and decided the shop hadn't made enough to afford the ticket. He spent the holiday alone, drinking. What chance did Kurt Hummel, the only fag in Ohio, have for a family? He'd never even realized he'd wanted one until he'd lost his.



Drinking... never his best of states. It was how this situation with Karofsky had happened. He'd knocked over his little Rolodex of business cards and had picked them all up. The last one was that of David Karofsky, handyman. The man had come to fix a leaking pipe years ago. He hadn't made a single comment and if Kurt remembered properly, he'd fueled a frustrated week of very naughty dreams of handymen and what they could help unplug. So on impulse he contacted his old tormentor.



He's set out ground rules because it was a necessary sating of his loneliness, that was all. He was drunk and horny and needed a fuck. The very concept of bringing a cheap fuck into the home he'd shared with his father disgusted him so he put the meeting in it's proper place, a rat trap motel where no one cared who you were and who you fucked. For a few heart-wrenching minutes he'd been sure the other man would not come.



Once he stood before Kurt he couldn't help but notice the time that had worn lines of smiles into the corners of Dave's eyes and around his mouth. They were faint, but still there. He'd always imagined Karofsky would transform into a hideous monster by 30. Look... still not balding. One point for the ex-footballer. He also noticed with annoyance that though he'd also gained a bit of pudge, the man obviously kept himself in shape. He pushed that out of his mind, this was not about attraction. This was about getting what he needed no matter how sick it was. He was doing Karofsky a favor to even touch him. Briefly as he set down his rules he wondered if the man would simply walk away. Sure Kurt had make up on to hide his own wrinkles and flaws, but he wasn't 16 anymore. If Karofsky walked out... he never finished that thought.



The sex had been.... a necessary release. He couldn't stand the small tenderness that the other man offered. He couldn't stand that. He didn't want to have tenderness or caring. He didn't want to know anything about Karofsky other then he was gay and could fill his need. He kept the only defense he had left, his imperious ice princess demeanor.



Slowly against his will he started to learn things. For example that Karofsky had a cat. He'd mumbled about needing to pick up her Fancy Feast as he dressed going out. His mind had been filled with images of a long haired Persian twining itself around the huge man's lap. It softened the image of Karofsky down to his first name, David.



He then learned that David was out. He'd received a call right before they'd had sex one night from his mother. The look of desolation on his face had been nearly enough to break Kurt's walls. 'Yes I'm still gay. I'm not rebelling! I'm thirty fucking four mom!' He'd gone still as David listened to the woman on the other line. 'No... I never expected anything from you... good to know the paper's official!' Kurt had been about to reach out when David was suddenly on him. He'd buried himself in Kurt, tears spilling over his lower-back as they fell from the large man behind him. He'd allowed Dave to hold him for a few moments after he'd finished. He'd no longer thought of him as David after that day, he'd become Dave. A nickname, achingly intimate in it's simplicity. As the roar of the old chevy drove off, Kurt's voice had spoken into the room. "Sleep well Dave."



Something had to give. He'd hoped Dave would cross the barrier, push something, refuse to see him again, ask him out, pull out a ring... something. Another two years and he gave up on Dave ever growing a spine. So instead he had kisses he pretended to be asleep for, touches he'd conjured up after his skin was cold and Dave was long gone. Dave was a fucking fool.



He raged at the man as he worked in his father's shop the next week. Where was his sense of romance? He should be making a grand gesture for Kurt's affection. He should drive up in that old Chevy, take Kurt out of the shop... and of course Kurt would have just happened to dress fashionably that day... He'd bring him to the grassy hill and in the sky in smoke would be 'Marry Me Kurt'. He's turn to Dave with his eyes shining with delicate almost tears and Dave would be on his knee. He'd hold up a ring and would slip it on Kurt's finger. They would be married in June and I'd be the most enviable wedding Ohio had ever seen. Dave would look so handsome in his dove gray tux with a white cravat. Kurt would wear a long white asymmetrical tailcoat with a tasteful veil. They would live in bliss... happy ever after...



Kurt sighed as he closed the shop a week after his latest night with Dave. He was an idiot. No his life was not a rom-com, it was much closer to a drama, one of those depressing pieces that made you appreciate your life and want to go call your parents and remind them how much you loved them before it was too late. As the time rolled around for him to call Dave, he left the message with the date.... He needed to change his life now. He put on his best outfit, a romantically whimsical combination of flowing schemes and pale blues that made his eyes pop. One chance Dave Karofsky.. this is it.