Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. Just having some fun!

A/N: This story is going to contain smut a-plenty in the last chapter as well as mentions of abuse. If you don't like, then don't read. This is a future fic. I intend on having this as a triple-shot. It was going to be a one shot, but as I am writing this right now, I was going on to eight-thousand words. So I decided to split it up.

This is based off a prompt (here: http :/ community .livejournal. com/ glee _kink _meme /6968 .html? thread= 12254776 #t12254776) from the glee_kink_meme and I just had to do it. This is my first fill and, sadly my first smut. I hope I do it justice. :)

Okay

By ktfranceebee

Part I

Dave tipped the box of Honey Bunches of Oats blindly over the ceramic bowl as he yawned throatily, his eyes squeezing shut. He hears the tinkling sound of the flakes and oats cascading into the bowl and he is thankful to see, upon opening his eyes, that he didn't make a mess as a result of his pouring blindly. He groans tiredly, his mouth lolling open as he rolls his head around in a circle on his neck, loosening up the muscles that are still stiff from having just woken up. Dave sets the cardboard box down on the counter top and reaches for the fat free milk that he had set next to the toaster oven. He slides his palm along the serrated edge of the purple cap and it rotates counterclockwise until it comes free. Dave watches from the corner of his eye as it rolls a couple of inches away from him before falling flatly, coming to a complete stop.

Dave then tilts the half empty plastic jug so that the white liquid sloshes out, splashing over the cereal until it pools generously around the niches created by the tasty looking flakes. He puts the jug back down on the counter, not bothering to put the cap back on or even put it away, in the likelihood of having a second bowl. It was as he leaned toward the silverware drawer, pulling it open, that he heard a tentative knock on the front door. Dave sighed and looked longingly at his breakfast, his stomach rumbling simultaneously, wondering who it could be bothering him this early on a weekend and whether it would be better to just ignore the person on the other side. Hearing the knock once again, he took the spoon that he removed from the silverware drawer and stuck it into the cereal before padding to the front door.

"I'm not interested in buying anything you're—" Dave began to say as he pulled the front door open, just wide enough to sick his head out. Why he didn't bother looking through the peephole was beyond him. Thankfully, it wasn't a salesperson as he originally had thought. It was, however, a man exactly his age of twenty-six, save a few months. Dave knew this because, even though the person was wearing a dark gray, zip up hoodie that was pulled up and over his russet-colored hair that was hanging low over his forehead, the eyes peeking out at him reeked of both the familiar and the strange.

"What are you doing here?" Dave asked in a hoarse voice, trying his best to speak past the lump that quickly formed in his throat.

"I didn't…" The blue-eyed man's voice cracked and he let out a shaky stream of breath. If Dave was thrown off by the man's appearance before, he was even more so upon hearing the broken voice. He was so small and defeated.

Dave opened the door a little further so he could lean against it, rubbing his eyes that were beginning to prickle at the corners.

"Kurt, you can't just…" Dave paused, taking a collective breath.

"I know," Kurt whispered, and he turned his head down to the side to look away from Dave. "I didn't want to call Finn. He has his girls and… I didn't want them to—" A single tear leaked from the corner of his eye as he closed both of them.

Dave took in his appearance. His skin, from what he could make out by what was showing on his face, was insipid and pale. It was as though he hadn't been outside in days, or maybe even weeks for that matter. The delicate flesh under his eyes was almost as dark as the jacket that hugged his thin, fragile frame. Despite Kurt's head being tilted down, Dave could see a visible bruise scarcely peeking out from under his jaw.

Kurt Hummel contrasted starkly with the background: The rows of modest, cheery houses lined up and running parallel to Dave's side of the street, as well as the sun that was already floating in the tepid, summer morning air.

Kurt was a cold an unforgiving winter's twilight: He was changed—had been changed—and Dave could almost remember a time when things were normal… When everything was okay.

"I can't do it anymore." Kurt breathes, sounding dreadfully defeated. He rubbed one of his tired eyes with the fingers of one hand as he continues.

"They called the police—our neighbors, I mean. I don't know when Jas—he is going to be released, I just know that I don't want—" Kurt whimpers as a fresh onslaught of tears takes hold of him. "I don't want to be there when he does."

Dave regards Kurt carefully as the tears flow freely from his once sparkling, youthful eyes. His heart clenches painfully for the boy he chased after—chased away—while in high school, and for the second time since Kurt moved back to Lima since his dad's heart starting acting up again, and his eventual passing—since he met his abusive boyfriend, Jason—Kurt was coming back to him.

"If you come in here, Kurt…" Dave began. "If you come in here, that's it." Dave shook his head. "You're never going back to that asshole, do you understand me?" Kurt was already nodding his head vigorously, his arms had wrapped themselves around his torso and his lips pressed together in a thin line. His eyes were clenched shut as he attempted to stop the tears that were running down his face unremittingly.

"It hurts so much, Dave. I can't… Not anymore." As he gasped for air through his tears his knees buckled. Dave, however, was out from behind the threshold, catching him before he could hit the ground.

"C'mere," Dave whispered as much as he could into the fabric that was covering the side of Kurt's face and he scooped him up into his arms to carry him into the house, using his sock-covered foot to shut the door behind him.

Dave set Kurt gently upon the couch in the living room before walking back into the kitchen. He could see from where he was standing that Kurt had curled up into a ball, crying into his denim covered knees that are pulled to his chest.

It had been eight years since graduation, three years since running into Kurt once the soprano moved back to Lima to be with his father before he passed away, two and a half years since their first actual date—the two of them dating for about a year before Kurt went back to dating his boyfriend, Jason, from college, and ending it with Dave—and nearly a year since Dave saw Kurt last. Dave knew all of the important dates to a tee. How could he possibly forget?

Dave looked at the soggy, forlorn cereal sitting on the counter and he sighed. He was hardly hungry now, and if he was it wouldn't have mattered. Kurt was the priority; he had been Dave's priority, in some way or another, since the first day that he saw Kurt walk into McKinley twelve years ago.

After having dumped the forgotten cereal down the disposal, Dave walked back over to the couch that Kurt was lying on.

"Kurt?" Dave questioned Kurt cautiously, kneeling down to his level so that he wouldn't be startled by Dave's large form standing over him.

Kurt's sobs had settled down into sniffles and the lower half of his face was obscured by one of his hands as he wiped underneath his nose with his jacket sleeve.

"Kurt," Dave said again, no louder than a whisper. He brought his hand up and Kurt closed his eyes, flinching slightly, but he eventually relaxed as Dave gently laid it on the side of his face, brushing the skin of Kurt's cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. Kurt whimpered slightly, seemingly more in the pleasure of the gentle touch than fear. His lips parted a fraction and Dave slipped the hood of his jacket down and ran his hand through the soft, and somewhat oily, stands of hair.

"When was the last time you ate something, Kurt?" Dave asked him. Kurt closed his mouth quickly as if afraid of the answer slipping out of him. He only shook his head and his eyelids flickered briefly as he squeezed them tighter.

"Kurt, I need you to tell me when the last time you ate was," Dave said a little more firmly this time, stilling the movements of his hand.

"I don't know," Kurt whispered.

Dave frowned, hoping that it wasn't so long ago that Kurt had last eaten in that he had actually had forgotten.

"Then guess," Dave said.

Kurt paused. "I… I may have had something on Thursday," he replied weakly. Dave clenched his jaw.

Thursday. Fucking Thursday.

Dave stood up quickly, eliciting a gasp from Kurt. He chose to ignore the response, however, as he strode rather bull-like into the kitchen. It was there that he began grabbing different items to make Kurt something to eat. As Dave prepared the food, he made sure to slam things down in irritation at the same time. Dave had never had the pleasure of meeting this Jason prick, but he couldn't imagine what his reaction would be if he did.

By the time he was done he in the kitchen, Dave was standing over Kurt with a bowl of cinnamon apple flavored oatmeal.

"I need you to sit up."

"What?" Kurt asked. His large, doe-like eyes were full of confusion.

"Please, just… Sit up a little bit. Okay, Fancy?" Dave asked benignly. It wasn't until the words were out of his mouth when he realized what he had called Kurt. Here he was, calling Kurt by an old nickname. It was almost as though nothing had changed; but in fact, so much had.

Kurt nibbled on his bottom lip contemplatively before nodding his head slightly, sitting up on the couch. Dave himself sat on the cushion of the couch closest to the arm rest, just behind Kurt. He adjusted himself so that one leg was outstretched on one side of Kurt and the other dangled off the edge, making sure that he didn't spill the contents of the bowl at the same time. Kurt, however, was sitting stock still from his position perched upon the middlemost cushion of the couch, perhaps in fear of whatever it was Dave was going to do.

"C'mere," Dave mumbled for the second time, reaching out and lightly touching Kurt's back. "Lay back."

Kurt hesitated, which prompted Dave to elaborate. "You're exhausted, Kurt. Just lean back so you can rest a little bit while I feed you. It's okay." And Kurt didn't need to be asked twice.

Kurt leaned back into Dave slowly. A part of him was struggling, telling himself that Dave had asked him to lay against him, but the other part was wondering why Dave willingly wanted to touch him. Dave should be disgusted by him, not be giving him soft glances and gentle, calming caresses.

Kurt did as Dave asked in fear of him lashing out for not doing as he was told. Kurt scooted himself back and as soon as he felt the slightest warmth of the firm chest behind him, it was followed by a strong arm encircling his waist.

"It's okay, Kurt," Dave whispered, brushing his lips against the hair just behind Kurt's ear. He pulled Kurt closer still, resting the hand that was holding the bowl of oatmeal on the top of Kurt's thigh.

Dave, being a couple of inches taller than Kurt, must have been able to see perfectly well what he was doing because his other hand reached for the spoon and stirred the substance around slightly before lifting a spoonful of the gray, speckled mush and holding it in front of Kurt's mouth.

"It should be cooled off by now. Try it."

Kurt couldn't see any visible steam coming off the spoonful being held before him and it was so close he could smell the spicy cinnamon aroma wafting through the air. Kurt opened his mouth and Dave slowly pushed the spoon into his mouth and Kurt couldn't remember a time where he had tasted anything so heavenly. The cinnamon flavor was coupled with the sweet, bite-sized, slightly chewy pieces of apple. The delightful taste filled him with warmth as the food settled heavily into his stomach.

"Is it okay?" Dave asked him. Once again, Dave lifted the spoon out of the bowl and held it in front of Kurt's mouth and he took another bite without answering. Dave chuckled slightly, and Kurt could feel the deep rumbling in Dave's chest against his shoulders. Kurt was convinced that it was the breakfast, not Dave's warm body enveloping from behind or the fact that the thumb of the larger man's right hand was now gently rubbing circles on his left hipbone that was filling him with a joy that he hadn't felt in months.

"I can't eat anymore," Kurt said quietly after a couple of minutes had passed. Dave craned his head to look down at the half-empty bowl and sighed, leaning over to put it on the coffee table. He had been hoping that Kurt would be able to eat more than what he had, but he wasn't about to force him.

Kurt drew his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs and hiding his face in his arms. He felt Dave shift from behind as he moved his leg from around Kurt so that he could stand. Kurt lifted his head slightly so he could peer out from underneath his arms and he saw Dave walk down the hall and into what Kurt knew was the bedroom and out of sight.

Kurt took the opportunity of Dave's absence to take in his surroundings. It was almost exactly the same as when he was here last. The furniture was the same as it had always been—the couch and love seat both a pale olive green—and it didn't look like Dave had done any redecorating, but Kurt did notice that his old television and tacky black television stand—which, in Kurt's opinion, clashed terribly with the couches—were gone and in its place was a not overly huge flat screen television hanging from the beige colored walls.

"Hey," Kurt's head whipped towards the voice and saw Dave walking back towards him. "I've got the shower running for you, so if you want to go, and um…" Dave pointed a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of his bedroom, "You can go ahead."

Kurt stared at Dave blankly for a few moments. Why was he being so nice to him? After he had left Dave, going back to his abusive boyfriend without even giving him a reason… After almost a year of steady dating and him leaving without so much as a backwards glance, he was still willing to treat him with more respect than what Jason ever had?

"T-thank you," Kurt said, and he stood, his arms wrapped tightly around his torso. He did his best to avoid looking at Dave as he walked past him and down the dimly lit hallway.

As Kurt walked through Dave's bedroom he took note of how, just like the living room, little had changed. Everything—the bed, the dresser, the full length mirror—was in the same place, and Kurt vaguely wondered why Dave would want to have him take a shower in his own master bathroom and not the guest bathroom. Kurt shook his head to clear his wandering thoughts after noticing the unfamiliar sheets on the bed; quite possibly the only foreign item in the room.

Too many memories… Good memories. Kurt detested himself for leaving them behind just as he had left Dave behind, but he was far too undeserving for someone like Dave.

Kurt unzipped his hoodie as he walked into the bathroom and it fell, discarded upon the floor. Just as Dave had said, the shower was already going and Kurt could hear the gentle patter as the water hit the floor of the tub. As Kurt leaned down to slip out of his pants and boxers, he did his best to ignore the angry, crimson fingernail marks on his hips and the purplish bruises on his forearms.

Finally, Kurt stepped over the side of the tub and past the shower curtain before settling down at the bottom of the far end of the tub. He allowed the scalding water to smart his skin, all the while wishing it possible for his anguish to be swept down the drain, curling with the water as it disappeared.

On an unrelated note, anyone reading "Ever the Same" and "A Change of Perspective," sorry about the hiatus. I've had an incessant amount of homework the past two weeks. College blows. This story right here took me longer than I anticipated to write as a result of school. Hopefully I will be able to post this coming week when I have break. Please don't hate me!

Reviews are love :)