Slowly but surely, this story will be finished!

Dave's jaw dropped as his concerned eyes narrowed, crease forming between his eyebrows.

Kurt, with an impressive amount of strength, yanked at Dave's upper arm, nearly unseating him from the cold hard ground.

"GET OFF THE GROUND! YOU'LL RUIN YOUR SUIT!GETUPGETUP GET UUUUP!"

"Ok, OK! Geez Fancy, I'm up! I'm up-"

Kurt continued on his rant, hands flying about in the air, the more he was on a roll.

"IT'S EXPENSIVE YOU DIMWIT! I CAN TELL ARMANI WHEN I SEE IT! YOU DO NOT SIT UNDER THE BLEACHERS IN AN ARMANI SUIT! IT'S A SLAP IN THE FACE TO HIGH FASHION!"

Noting the wild look of rage and...something else in Kurt's eyes, Dave took a few tenetive steps bacwards. The Prom Queen lled his eyes and continued to yell and ramble at the jock, as he nudged him to the side, and walked up right behind him.

Kurt crouched down to get a better look at the damage to the fabric. Dave made a confused sounds of "Huh?" and "Wht the Hell?" as he tried to turn around to get a better looks at what the crazy beautiful boy was up to. Kurt huffed in frustration, following Dave in an awkward walking squat as the hazel eyed boy turned like a confused ballet dancing Russian bear. Kurt studied the fabric at the bottom of Dave's suit jacket, and the seat of his pant, trying to hastily wipe away the dirt and filth clinging to it.

Looking a confused and not a little annoyed, Dave had been about to ask Kurt what the hell was going on, and why Kurt was so mad at him...until he felt where Kurt's hands were.

He felt himself gasp as one of Kurt's hands firmly whipped and smooted down his clothed left cheek.

Dave shot shocked and nervous eyes toward at the conter tenor.

"Did you... just SMACK my ASS?"

Kurt ignored him, muttering to himself about crazy worrysome jocks, homicide, and maybe not needing club soda. He let out an animalistic growl and tightly gripped each of Dave's hips.

"STOP TURNING DAVID!"

Dave, who had promised himself to never yell at Kurt Hummel ever again ,to never ever have a reason to fear him, prided himself on his new found self control of his anger. He hd learned to take deep breaths, count to ten, and to think before he acted. After the horror and the emotional rollercoaster that he had just been through, topping off the fact that he was worried about Kurt, and confused, tired, an upset about him yelling at him, he couldn't hold it in any longer.

"STOP TOUCHING MY ASS KURT!"

"I'M NOT TOUCHING YOUR ASS!"

"That so? Sure feels like it from where I'm standing!"

"Oh don't flatter yourself, you big Oaf! That Dollar Store crown does not possess magic powers! You are COVERED in grime and I won't let you ruin a perfectly good suit! I'm cleaning your sorry butt off, although, I should be WHIPPING YOU for treating extremely high-quality material like a cheap pair of SWEATPANTS! Now HOLD STILL!"

Dave paused,tooks some much needed deep breaths, and stopped moving long enough to let Kurt finish...and feel him touch everything from his lower back to his thighs. He felt himself flush hotly, and was thankful that they were in the dark, and away from the prying eyes of the rest of the student body. Just to be safe, a quickly looked around, making sure they were alone. Satisified that they safe from rovong eyes, he let his eyes slip closed, just briefly, to saver the feel of those pale, smooth hands in places he had only dreamed about being touched. The fact that his hands were their, even through layers of clothing, made his breath catch, and his heart want to beat out of his chest. He prayed to whatever deities that might possibly be listening that Kurt didn't try to turn him around to clean the front of his pants.

Kurt himself was sporting yet another blush. He could think of a million times that he had pulled link off of Rachel or Tina's sweaters, or cleaned off Finn's or his Dad's sleeves and pant legs of powdered sugar or dorito cheese. It was a natural reflex for him. Crouching down at his King's feet, and rubbing his hands over his clothed body, Kurt realized that this was a bit different. Try as he might to be platonic and strictly in the business of cleaning this poor fashion illiterate idiot, he couldn't stop from noticing the firm roundness under his questing palms, or the strong thighs like tree trunks he glided his fingers over.

Grasping at something, anything to distract himself, he grasped back onto the subject at hand.

"You never know what's on the ground under here. I just pulled a postage stamp of Elvis off your jacket. Do you have any idea what the Cheerios do under here?"

"Uh, write love letters to Vegas Impersonaters?"

Kurt smakced his leg. "David!"

Dave rolled his eyes, looked over his shoulder and smirked down at Kurt.

"I AM on the Football team, Hummel, I think I have some idea",winking at him.

His smirk faltered from a particularly hard swipe.

"Would you STOP slapping me?"

Kurt, seeming to listen to Dave's request by picking off pieces of gravel instead, looked up from Dave's backside.

"What does that prove? I was on the Football team AND a Cheerio at one time."

Dave dropped the act , and shrugged his shoulders.

"...that you've heard the same stories I have?"