Online and Anonymous - Part 7

[sunmontue]

Title: Online and Anonymous

Pairing: Kurt Hummel/David Karofsky
Rating: PG17
Word count: ~2,700/>75,000 words
Warnings: None. 
Summary: By day Dave is a quiet attentive school student, but by night he's a smut-writing fanfic-writer who ships Johnlock. Kurt's never heard of fanfiction before Blaine tells him about it but he's about to be exposed to a whole new world.

PART ONE   PART TWO   PART THREE   PART FOUR   PART FIVE   PART SIX

He’s exhausted. He’s been trying to ignore the little clock in the corner of his screen. He knows it’s almost three am, a time he previously thought existed only for sleep, and if his dad asks he’s going to say he was up just past midnight when he went to bed. They’ve been talking about really stupid things, deliberately staying away from personal information or asking questions, sharing funny clips on youtube. He now knows the most idiotic thing HookedonHope has ever done was shove three peas up his nose, convinced he could shoot them out one after the other when one of his friends dared him. It’s not that he did it, but that he was fourteen which makes it so humiliating. He’d teased him, saying he’s clearly improved his personal skills and intelligence since then.

HookedonHope is currently silent. Well. He’s is taking longer than usual to answer and he’d worried that he’s somehow insulted him.

Nah. I always tend to do dumb shit in real life. Screw things up in a big way. Hopefully it’ll wear off sooner rather than later, I mean, I’ve got to catch a break sometime right?

Do you think it’s more awkward because you’re also always on guard making sure your secret is safe?

Probably. Yeah. Definitely. But I seem to fuck things up with the people that -do- know I’m gay just as much. Anyway man, I’ve got to hit the sack. As much as I want to keep talking to you I’ve got to get some sleep. Night.

Of course. It’s a bit of a Catch 22 situation for me. I enjoy our chats but I want to read more from you. Imagine if you could do this full time. For a job. Anyway, sleep sounds blissful. I admit that I need my beauty sleep. And probably a gallon of coffee to make it through tomorrow. Night.

Sleep tight.

You too.

He kind of wants to send some virtual hugs or something, make him feel… something. He’s not sure. He’s not sure about any of it except that in the space of a week he’s vested a considerable amount of time and energy in this guy who… he’s come to really like. He wants to ask more questions, get past this whole stupid one piece of information every new chapter shit because that means it’s a trickle of information and he wants a flood.

When he wakes on Sunday morning, late, his throat is scratchy and he drinks warm water with a little lemon and honey mixed in, trying to sooth the ache. He does the rest of his homework but cancels his coffee date with Rachel and Mercedes and instead goes and has a short nap. His dad wakes him three hours later for dinner. He’s clearly been more tired than he thought, and his dad is looking concerned and he waves a hand, dismissing his concerns. He’ll be fine with a good night’s sleep. He wants to stay awake for the next chapter, but he can’t, and his body feels heavy and he’s dragged into sleep.

OAA

He’d been disappointed last night when FruitLover hadn’t immediately reviewed, more disappointed this morning when he’d checked his e-mail like an addict. Still nothing. He heads to school in a bit of a funk, wondering if he’s somehow done something wrong. Again. Even online he seems to screw things up sometimes, although he has more time to think things over, and he’s found he’s far better at expressing himself with words. After first period he checks his phone again and grins when he sees FruitLover’s moniker among the others. More than once. Huh.

I’m home sick so I’m going to re-read all your stories and review them all. Apparently I am terrible with late nights. Or I had already come down with something and staying up until three just exacerbated it. Anyway, I tired staying awake to read this, but instead it was waiting for me this morning when I woke. Your writing is what I compare all other writing to, and let me tell you, everything else pales in comparison. Do you have a favorite author? Published in a book I mean? 34 more questions to go!

He frowns. Thirty-four more questions? And then he realizes that he’s going to review them all, clearly only once, rather than every single chapter, and… they’re going to exchange more information. He grins wider, feeling a bit lighter, then feels someone jostle his arm and he turns to find Nick, standing there, looking at him with narrowed eyes. Crap. He quickly shoves his phone in his pocket and jerks his head in greeting.

“Hey man.”

“Hey. You coming to English or just going to block up the hallway?”

“Uh. English. For sure. Yeah.”

“Come on.”

He walks beside Nick, and God, he’s nervous as fuck. He’s not said anything about seeing him with Kurt on Valentines, but it’s the same-sick-fear that he felt just after he kissed Kurt in the locker room. One of his many numerous screw-ups. He’s trying to play it cool now, like it’s no big deal, but he has no idea if Nick’s buying it or not, because he just looks confused when he looks at him, and he knows Nick isn’t stupid, they share AP English and AP Calculus, and he’s just waiting for the ball to drop, for him to say something. Until then he’s going to act like it doesn’t bother him. He’s getting pretty good at acting.

When he gets home he has twelve more review alerts from FruitLover, and he’s been saving them up all day, wants to read them in the quiet of his room, be able to think up answers to the questions and then think up questions of his own. This is a more serious exchange of information. The reviews he’s left list his favorite line, or something that made him laugh out loud, or a particularly hot paragraph. It’s nice reading reviews on his older stuff, and FruitLover seems to get his slightly odd sense of humor, which he likes. There are so many questions so he opens up a word document to type his answer.

Wow dude. That’s a lot of reviews and questions. You must be -really- bored. Sorry that you’re sick though. My favorite author should be obvious. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Followed by Ian Fleming I suppose. Then there’s some modern fiction which I like, but I don’t read much anymore, just what I need to.

I have read the Harry Potter books. I’m a secret Drarry shipper. That’s Harry and Draco Malfoy together. Just pretend they’re gay okay? There’s something about their relationship that I can relate to. And the actors are kind of hot.

I don’t have any pets. My mom is allergic, although I’m moving in with my dad permanently, so I could now I suppose. Except for the fact I’m leaving for college in like five months.

If I could only eat one type of food for the rest of my life? That would be a form of torture. I don’t know how long I’d want to live for. But if I just said Asian food would you let me get away with that? I mean, that covers sushi and curries and Chinese… yeah. I could live with that I think.

I have an older sister who I see like once a year. Twice if I’m lucky. Her and my mom don’t get on. Well, it’s more my stepdad, who is a complete asshole, but yeah. She’s cool. Well, she tries to be.

I don’t wear cologne. I have some though. My sister got me some for Christmas. I feel totally gay when I put it on though, so I don’t wear it. Smells okay I guess?

Perfect date? Dude. I don’t need perfect. I’ll just settle for -a- date. I know what I’d want to do to make it romantic, but I don’t know, I wouldn’t ever expect it back. Is that weird?

I don’t know what I want to do with my life. That’s a HUGE question. One I don’t know the answer to yet. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.

I play sports in my spare time. I enjoy it, it gives me some level of activity so my ass doesn’t start resembling my computer chair. Everything else I do in my spare time you’re currently reading.

I take my coffee with as much milk and sugar needed to hide the taste of the coffee. I’m not a huge fan of coffee, but with the number of late nights I sometimes have coffee is my friend. As is the amount of sugar I put in it probably.

Uh, this is kind of already answered. Yeah. Both my parents are alive. Divorced. Mom remarried.

My biggest fear? Being outed at high school. Makes me break out in a cold sweat and want to run to the nearest bathroom. That or my parents disowning me when I come out. They’re both up there.

Finally a juicy question. Which I don’t know the answer to. I mean, I’m pretty sure touching myself and having someone else touch me would result in a completely different response. You would know better than me, actually having had sex. I think about it all the time though, another guy touching me, seeking out where I’m the most responsive, taking his time to explore every inch of me. That’s what I want to do, run my fingers all over, find every little mole, freckle and scar, kiss them, find out the stories behind them, leave a few marks of my own.

I’d want time. Lots and lots of time. I don’t want to have to rush. We’d both need to jerk off first, get rid of that really tight high level of tension and arousal you know. But watching a guy get off, having him watch me, knowing that afterwards we’re going to do it all over again but by touching each other. I’d want to lick his come off him, learn what it tastes like. We wouldn’t even be planning to have sex, just hand jobs, or blowjobs for our first time together and I just like the idea of this level of honesty, lying naked with someone, watching them, learning what they like to do to themselves.

It’s because it’s all new that I want to take my time. I might find out that I really have a thing for toes, or fingers, or ears. Because while I’m discovering all this about his body, I’m learning all these things about myself at the same time. Like I’m pretty sure that a guy’s hipbone has got to be one of the sexiest things ever, and I really want to lick along the ridge and bump, nibble on it, see how sensitive the guy beneath me is, but it’s… academic knowledge. Like, I know the sun is hot. But I haven’t -felt- that heat, just some watered down weaker version over millions of miles. And sometimes I want to feel that heat so badly it just consumes me.

He’s hard. He’s had to adjust himself while typing, and now he can feel his erection pushing against the fabric of his underwear and he rereads his own words, tries to imagine a guy that would want to be with him like that. Doesn’t matter. He can have whoever he wants in the privacy of his own head, and while he has no idea what FruitLover looks like, he pulls images from every guy he thinks is hot, because he imagines the guy is hot. He comes across as a guy not unashamed of his looks anyway.

He moves to his bed, unbuttoning and pulling down his jeans, palming his cock, his mind filling with images of doing this with someone else, watching them. Having them watch him. He knows realistically that his first time will probably most likely be drunken fumblings when he can’t stop and thinking about it, but what he’s written is what he wants. The likelihood of it happening is slim to none, but it doesn’t stop him from hoping. He closes his eyes, ears straining to make sure that if the front door opens he can move painfully, but necessarily, fast.

Fingers dry and warm, curled around himself, starting off with a fairly gentle grip that he increases every few strokes. He reaches out to his bedside table, hand scrambling for the middle draw and close around the small pump bottle. Best invention ever. He squeezes out a small amount, this stuff is his favorite, with a little going a long way. The lube warms quickly, and the slick slide of it feels good. He lets the top half of his body fall back onto his bed and he imagines what it would sound like having a guy doing this beside him, whether it would be high breathy moans or deeper gasps and grunts like his own. The sounds of flesh against flesh would be intensified, and he hopes if this ever does happen for him there will be whispered words as well.

He moves his hand faster, feels all his previously relaxed muscles tensing. He doesn’t want to draw this out, he can do that tonight, when there’s no chance of interruptions, and his mind provides image after image, naked guys, guys he’s seen in the porn he watches, his imagination of what Kurt looks like naked, and Blaine and even Sebastian from the club. All three of them together. On his bed with him and all jerking themselves off. He’d never want it in reality (at least he doesn’t think so), but the sheer thought of it has him coming, panting as his orgasm rolls through his body and he shudders, letting himself relax again. Fuck it feels good. He cleans up, has to change his shirt and wash his hands before he goes to use his computer again.

Fuck. I just had to jerk off. Felt amazing.

SEND

Oh fuck. He really hadn’t meant to do that. Fuckity fuck fuck. God he wishes there was an undo button for life. He wants to take it back, rewind and not click on send. He lets his head hit his desk and groans in annoyance. He’s so stupid sometimes. He looks at the screen and knows that’s nothing for it.

Shit. Sorry. That’s probably TMI for a Monday afternoon. Didn’t mean to embarrass you or anything. Sorry again.

PART EIGHT