Online and Anonymous - Part 16

[sunmontue]

Title: Online and Anonymous

Pairing: Kurt Hummel/David Karofsky
Rating: PG18
Word count: ~2,700/85,000 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.

Author’s note: Thanks for all the lovely reviews and messages and likes and reblogs. This story started out as very very cracky. I still consider it as crack. But I love writing it, and I’m glad so many people seem to like reading it, because people getting enjoyment is an added bonus to the enjoyment I get from writing it.

Also, I said not too long ago that I wish I could write fic like a pick-a-path book, which would be doable, but only by a person with more technological-nous than me. But for me, this story would have fit into that perfectly, because there have always been so many things that could have just gone wrong at any time, so many different reveals and so many different points in time. And the thing is, I have written or taken notes, of so many (like, hundreds) of different ways this could have gone (because I am a geek like that) and if it’s possible to write AU one-shots of your own fic, then I might one day do that, because it would be fun.

Dave writing

Kurt writing

PART 1   PART 2   PART 3  PART 4   PART 5   PART 6   PART 7   PART 8    PART 9   PART 10   PART 11
PART 12   PART 13  PART 14   PART 15

He hasn’t had a response and he doesn’t know what to do. Has Kurt figured it out? He’s pretty sure he has, because if it’s not Kurt, or if Kurt hadn’t figured it out, he’d have gotten a response pretty quickly. There’s been nothing though, not even a review on his chapter that he posted about an hour ago. And okay sure, it’s almost midnight, and he doesn’t even know if Kurt’s home right now and awake. He can’t sleep, all tight anxious nerves. Before, he’d not known Kurt, not known all the useless facts about him. He’d admired him from afar like a beautiful but completely unaffordable watch. Valentine’s Day had been him trying on the watch, liking it, but having to give it back knowing you’re never going to be able to have it. He can easily admit now that he’s attracted to Kurt, has been for a long time. However now knows what’s inside, all the little inner workings, and he didn’t think it was possible to be more in love with someone. But he is.

He considers FruitLover a friend, would have told him anything, but now that he knows he’s Kurt he feels both a sense of loss but also that he might have possibly gained something. If Kurt is ever going to talk to him. They were kind of friendly with each other earlier, in the bookstore, a bit awkward, but he’d been freaking out because he’d figured it out, and Kurt had seemed… distracted, or embarrassed. God he wishes he could fast-forward, skip to the end and know how it’s going to end, because he doesn’t know if he can handle being in limbo like this.

He logs in to tumblr and posts a simple message ‘Need distracting. Help me out?’ He’s not flooded with replies, but there’s a steady stream, links to porn, fic recs, questions asking if he’s okay, and this is good, it’s nice and comforting and exactly what he needs right now. He keeps the majority of it off his dashboard, because the last thing he needs is for Kurt to see him flailing about online. He feels exposed, knowing that Kurt can see all of him. He chats about it with a couple of friends, and they provide the grounding reassurance he needs. His life isn’t over. There’s no point stressing or worrying over something he has no power to change. He is important, wanted and loved. Even if Kurt wants nothing to do with him, he needs to remember these things. He ends up dropping into bed at three, so exhausted he doesn’t even have time to think about Kurt before falling asleep, and he’s grateful for small mercies, because he’s not sure what his mind would do with that information right now.

Of course, in the morning he wakes up hard, already thrusting against his mattress, and he groans, the images in his mind drifting before reforming. It’s not the first time he’s dreamt of Kurt, and it sure as hell won’t be the last, but fuck, he now knows that he can turn Kurt on with words. That knowledge is heady, and he knows that even if Kurt refuses to ever acknowledge his existence again he’ll have this part of him, this almost secret part, and what he would give to just be able to discover things with Kurt, find out what else could turn him on. Kurt just standing beside him fully dressed turns him on, or sitting opposite him in a coffee shop and licking foam off his upper lip, or, oh holy shit, having cybersex and exchanging mutual blowjobs.

He’s never let himself think about sex and Kurt too much. There’s wishful thinking and then there’s beating yourself into the ground with a baseball bat. Though now he lets himself fill in little details, imagines Kurt’s eyes dark with lust, lips swollen from kissing, naked body pressed against his. He doesn’t know what Kurt looks like naked, but his imagination is vivid and he’s seen Kurt enough to know he’s all toned muscle with skin that feels like warm satin. And that’s what he imagines pressed against him, firm warm flesh, all over. Cocks trapped between them getting harder with the mounting pressure and he moans into his pillow, slips his hand between his body and the bed, giving his cock something firmer to rut against.

With the knowledge of Kurt being FruitLover along with the porn he’d been sent last night which he’d only really glanced at curiously, he’s close. His whole body is tightening, tingling and his hips snap back and forth, and he lets himself go with a muffled grunt, feels the warmth spread and he pants into his pillow. Fuck. He needed that. As much as he’d like to go back to sleep, he can’t. He needs to pee. And check his e-mail. Then if there’s nothing from Kurt he can curl up in bed and pull the covers over his head and pretend like none of this has ever happened.

OAA

He feels terrible. He’d laid in bed last night unable to sleep, trying to figure out the best way forward. He has no idea how to approach David. Not now. He knows how to approach David. Sort of. He knows how to approach HookedonHope. Now that they’re one person he has no clue and his frustration at not being about to work it out eats away at him. He wants to see David in person, talk to him, and try having a conversation, because he knows they have something… and could potentially have something more. He really wants to try for more.

Yesterday he’d found himself admiring Dave. Of course he hadn’t known it was Dave initially, but he had definitely known it was Dave when he’d noticed his arms, with the shirtsleeves of his black uniform shirt rolled up, his glasses making his eyes appear large and quiet. He’d felt uncomfortable then, realizing that he found David attractive. Except he’s not the David Karofsky he’d known. Now he knows that he’s HookedonHope, David’s apparent alter-ego, an alter-ego he wants to get to know a lot better. And he already knows David thinks he’s cute. Or something. That decides him. Just like that. He’s going to go and see him. Except first he needs to make himself presentable, because right now he needs layers, like armor and he’s dressing to go to war. Except it’s nothing like war, although as he heads downstairs to find his dad he feels like he might have a few battles ahead of him.

“Where does he live?”

“What? Who?”

“David. Karofsky. Where do they live?”

“Uh. What are you going to do?”

“I just… want to talk to him.”

“Can’t you just talk to him through your computer doo-dakky thing?”

“The internet dad. I know you know what it is. You’re not that stupid. And I want to see him in person. Do you know his address?”

His dad is clearly torn over not being called stupid and the tone of his voice, which he knows is bordering on rude, but he needs to leave now before his courage disappears completely. He listens as his dad gives him the address, and some brief instructions. Right. He grabs some coffee in his travel mug along with an apple and heads for his car. Now or never.

The house is nice, larger than he expected for just David and his dad though. Large yard with a flagpole, and he drives by slowly, taking in the willow tree, swing-chair in the porch, the slightly overgrown garden. He doesn’t stop though. Or the second time. The fifth time he drives past he’s starting to feel like a creeper, his apple and coffee are both long gone and he stops around the block to hit his head against the steering wheel, because he really doesn’t get why this is so hard. He knows David isn’t going to tell him to get lost. The seventh time he drives past he could swear he has the pattern of the peeling paint on the letterbox memorized. He reaches the intersection, and he could turn to go home, or take one more swing around the block. Which is what he’s been doing the last six times, but he keeps hoping that this time there might be something different. Or he’ll have enough courage to stop his car and go and knock on the door.

This time there is something different though and he almost drives up onto the footpath. He’d thought at first that it was David, except it’s not, it’s his dad, and he didn’t think this could actually get potentially worse but he’d been wrong. He pulls over and winds down his window, wonders how many times he’s seen him drive past. Obviously enough to make him come out and see if he was going to do it again.

“Kurt. How are you?”

“Uh. Mr. Karofsky. Hi. I’m good. You?”

“I’m good thank you. Were you casing the joint, or did you have some other reason for driving past my house? Eight times?”

“Uh. I was wondering if David was home…”

“Sure. Come in…”

He freezes, eyes darting to the side. Oh god. He’s not ready. Waiting isn’t going to make it easier though and he slowly reaches for the buckle of his safety belt and un-clips it. He feels like he’s moving in slow motion, although Paul doesn’t seem to think anything is out of the ordinary, so it’s obviously just him. He smiles hesitantly as he locks his car and follows Paul toward the house. He’s ushered inside and it feels a bit dated, but comfortable and homey, but he finds it difficult to believe that David’s father did the decorating. Or David. The door closes behind them and he jumps when Paul yells, loudly.

“David! Can you come down to the kitchen. I need to talk to you!”

Kurt’s eyes widen, Paul’s not going to tell him, give him some warning that he’s here? Waiting? There’s a clattering upstairs and some swearing and he bites his lip, amused, because it merges David and HookedonHope further together in his mind.

 “God dad, I didn’t get to sleep until three, where’s the –”

He stops talking the second he walks into the kitchen and spies him, mouth clacking shut audibly and Kurt wishes he knew what to say, so instead just settles for smiling in what he hopes in a non-threatening manner and ignore the dozens of holes in David’s threadbare t-shirt and the fact he’s only wearing boxes. He can see bare legs, bare feet, arms, neck, mussed hair… he remembers, vaguely, thinking that if he ever met HookedonHope he’d be torn between embarrassment and lust. He was exactly right, and he can feel his cheeks, neck and chest starting to warm up and wishes he didn’t have such an obvious tell, although it’s definitely a mix between wanting to just walk over and kiss him and run for the door out of mortification that they’ve done things together online which were really… fun. But right now slightly humiliating.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” David’s voice sounds tight, cracked, and Kurt can see his throat working. His own feels tight and he nods, trying to smile but sure it turns out looking like a grimace.

“So…”

“Yep…”

“I’ve just leave you two boys to your scintillating conversation and go annoy the neighbors by mowing the grass.”

The just watch each other in silence while Paul leaves and he feels so awkward right now, and he can’t imagine Dave is feeling any better. At least he had the knowledge that he was coming here, Dave had clearly not thought this was in the realm of possibility. It’s obvious that neither of them know what to say, and the silence drags out between them. A part of him just wants to laugh hysterically, because that would definitely alleviate some of his nerves, but he has no idea how David would take that.

“So, this is awkward.”

“Yeah. Just a bit. I think that… I should go.” David looks ready to argue but he holds up a hand. “We’ll talk later… I should have messaged first. Or texted. I do have your number.”

Dave shrugs, runs a hand through his hair and he really wants to reach out and squeeze his arm, reassure him that everything is going to be fine, but leaves his hands where they are and smiles again, a bit more relaxed this time and heads for the door. He waves goodbye, and he gets a small smile in return. When he gets home there’s a message waiting for him and he grins.

That had to be one of the most awkward meetings in the history of awkward meetings.

He laughs, because yes, it was, but also the fact that he can laugh about it, that David can joke about it, makes him feel feathery light and relieved.

Yeah. It was. It can only get better though right? Become less awkward? I mean, we clearly have plenty to talk about…

There’s quiet for a few minutes and he wonders what David is doing, what he’s thinking.

I’m way better at writing then talking. But yeah, things can’t get any -more- awkward.

Don’t put your money on that yet, did you know our dads talk?

WHAT?

This is better. He didn’t think it could be, but knowing who he is talking to, being able to put a face to the name, imagine David sitting there staring at his screen in horror, it feels wonderful.

PART 17