Original Prompt: Just want a fic with bottom!Karofsky and the quote: "Fuck, Fancy, what's it going to take for you to put that pretty cock in my ass and ride me like a horse?"

xoxoxo

Anonymous strangers who happened to attend the same school. Casual enemies who frequently exhibited animosity. Mortal enemies who administered the most spitting insults and vicious assaults they could manage. Reluctant allies using each other to get what they wanted and what they needed. Mentor educating and uplifting the mentee. Friends sharing their respective happinesses. Best friends hanging out, laughing, joking and loving. Mutual shoulders to cry on after every bad breakup.

Friend-zoned. Horrifically and, seemingly, irrevocably friend-zoned.

This was the evolution of Kurt and David's relation to one another.

They had seen each other at the best of times; they had seen each other at their worst of times. With regards to each other, they had been at their wisest, and sadly, at their most foolish. They both remained ever hopeful, at the height of belief…yet, also sadly, they remained almost entirely incredulous. They were, at the moment, best friends. By now, they had been best friends for years. Kurt had moved to New York to pursue fashion after high school. David had moved to New York to pursue stockbroking. They had caught up quickly and became fast friends: Kurt teaching David to "dress-to-impress", David teaching Kurt how to reign in his shopping and budget properly. Kurt's tears had soaked through David's shirt after Blaine left him to pursue acting in Hollywood. David had laid his head quietly in Kurt's lap as he grieved his failed romance with his own first love.

That's just how things were. At Kurt's insistence, they would go mall crawling. At David's insistence, Kurt had seen more professional sports in person than he'd ever seen on television when he lived in Lima. They went to dinner, they went to the bar, they went clubbing…but always as friends. Kurt referred to David as his best girlfriend. David referred to Kurt as his own pet twink.

They never fought; they never disagreed more than playfully; they were friends; they were roommates; they were family. Everything was perfect.

That perfection made them miserable.

Kurt had developed a crush on David after seeing how adorable he was playing with his (Kurt's) niece and nephew. He had had brief, guilty thoughts of what it would be like to adopt children with David. He had fallen in love with David sometime after his breakup with "love of his life number 3." David would never hurt him; they were past all that. He had fallen in lust with David sometime around seeing him try to force on that too-tight NFL jersey Kurt had bought him on a whim.

David had fallen in lust with Kurt first: sometime during high school, seeing that beautiful ass trapped within too frequent pairs of too-tight pants that he constantly wished would rip in just the right way. Kurt couldn't possibly have worn underwear in those pants. He had developed a crush on Kurt his senior year. Kurt had been the only person to know every façade of David's personality…yet still accept him. He had fallen in love with Kurt once he realized that the perfect 'god' was a human: one that never quite seemed to remember what day the phone bill was due, thought the stairs were a good place to display his shoe collection, and worst of all, would spend an hour talking to David about the N-H-L and think that they were talking about football. It was those tiny imperfections that had changed Kurt from unobtainable, idol-crush, into a potentially realistic love interest.

Both of them wanted so much more out of their relationship. But both were too afraid of potentially wrecking the perfection by sharing emotions they weren't positive were reciprocated.

"You're a little old married couple, anyway. Just ask…him…out." Kurt rolled his eyes as he listened to Rachel on the other end of the phone line. They had this conversation every few weeks. Every time Kurt mentioned anything cute or funny or stupid or silly that David had done, Rachel, Finn, Carol and even his father – traitor – would tell him to ask David out. "You two have been living together, what, six years now? Bette and Michael already call him Uncle David. You always bring him here for Thanksgiving and to your dad's house for Christmas."

"He doesn't see me like that, Rach! I'm…I'm a surrogate mother to him! I wake him up in the morning and pick out his clothes for him. I cook his meals and I set up his doctor appointments for him. He…ugh. He's never shown any interest in me." Kurt wrapped the phone cord around his finger. It was a relatively new phone in the style of an old rotary princess phone. It was very retro-chic; it had been all the rage a year ago.

"Do you ever show any interest in him?"

Kurt was flabbergasted at that. "You've heard me. You see me. I gush over him. I adore him. To him…I'm just his cute little pet." Kurt laid back on his bed, careful to keep his voice in check; David was in the living room and Kurt didn't want to risk him overhearing. That would just create a world of awkward.

"You treat him the exact same way you treat Mercedes,me, Katie, Nicole. You need to slut it up." Kurt blushed at Rachel's words. Kurt was no longer the shy little virgin, but it was always so strange to hear anything sexy-sounding coming out of Rachel's mouth.

From Rachel's end of the line, Kurt could hear a tiny voice speak up. "Mommy, what's 'slut' mean?"

Kurt didn't even attempt to stifle his laughter at hearing Bette's cuteness, but his laughter was quiet enough that he could hear Rachel's reply, "I said 'shut' princess. Uncle Kurt left the back door open and I told him to 'shut it up.'" Kurt closed his eyes to stem the flow of tears threatening to stream down his face from his laughter. "Sorry Kurt, time to go. My little stars need their dinner."

"All right, Rach. I'll call on Wednesday, ok? Give my niece and nephew lots of kisses for me."

"Uh-huh. Buh-bye." There was a click on Rachel's end of the line and Kurt placed his own phone back in its holster. He stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, his hands cushioning the back of his head as he contemplated the beautiful, successful man he could someday call his own…if he weren't too fucking scared.

Kurt went out to the living room, following the sounds of color commentators critiquing some football play…or was it baseball season? He looked at the television and saw a bunch of male behemoths, all wearing either purple or baby blue, in a six-man pile up, hands grabbing anywhere and everywhere they could…it was the gayest thing since the "circle jerk".

It was definitely football.

"So…how 'bout them Cowboys?"

David smiled indulgently without even turning around to face Kurt as Kurt sat down on the couch beside him. "Not Cowboys. Ravens at Titans; Titans up by seven."

"Yay, Titans." Kurt shook his fists slowly in the air, feigning excitement.

"I'm rooting for the Ravens."

"Boo, Titans." Kurt continued the false pretense. David knew it was faked and didn't mind; he appreciated Kurt pretending to be interested in his interests. Kurt settled in next to David, making himself comfortable. He leaned his head against David's shoulder and tucked his knees up against David's leg. It wasn't "flirty". Kurt liked to perceive it as being flirty, but he and David had been very comfortable with each other for years, to the point neither really noticed casual contact any longer. David would sometimes curl up on the couch, his head in Kurt's lap while Kurt stroked his head; Kurt would crawl into bed with David for a cuddle after every bad breakup; David would give Kurt backrubs every time Kurt had to deal with a prima donna client. Like everything else in their relationship, it just was.

As the play seemed to halt for some reason unbeknownst to Kurt, David flipped over to another channel (one of about a hundred sports channels David insisted on subscribing to). David let out a beleaguered moan, looking at the action on the screen. Someone had just done something either really good or really bad. Kurt couldn't tell. "Dammit. Pats just scored on Cowboys and I missed it." David handed the remote over to Kurt, placing it in his lap. "I'm going over to the Dugout so I can watch a couple games at the same time. I'll be home in a few hours."

Kurt looked at the remote, at the television, at David's retreating form, and then at his hands for an uncomfortable moment before jumping up off the couch and chasing after him, "I'll come with you!"

David stopped short and frowned at Kurt. "To the Dugout? None of the guys there are really your type." Dugout was a sports bar that catered to gay guys. It was the only one Kurt had ever seen, but the Internet strongly implied it wasn't the only one in existence. Kurt had been there with David before; the guys were almost exclusively middle-aged bears or young muscle cubs. As far as David knew, Kurt's "type" was either fellow twinks or otters, like Blaine – guys that had the general build of a twink, but the masculinity of a bear.

Kurt shrugged as he pulled his coat off the rack. "Doesn't matter. I'm bored and want to hang out."

"All right, then."

xoxoxo

Four beers later and David was just shy of being an obnoxious drunk. But then again, just about every guy that was rooting for a specific team was being obnoxious tonight. Every time the Pats or Ravens scored, or the Titans or Cowboys suffered a setback, David would stand and clap while whooping and cheering. Initially, Kurt had blushed and hid behind his Mounds bar (one part Lady Godiva chocolate liqueur, one part Malibu, on the rocks, in a rock glass), but once he had realized that David's behavior was not only acceptable here, but expected, he just shook his head in quiet resignation and pretended he knew what a "point spread" was.

The night slowly wore on and the Titans ended up overtaking the Ravens for the win. The Pats maintained their lead and beat the Cowboys, but just barely. They continued to hang out, though, while David watched the after-show thingy. Kurt had made friends with a young, bright-eyed male ingénue that had just happened to sit next to him. They chatted and laughed the night away, making fun of all the weirdness of the men surrounding them, while sharing their mutual love of live theatre. The young customer service representative thought "A Heart Full of Love" was the single worst love song to ever grace a Broadway stage. Kurt argued that it was "Light My Candle." The sweet young twink had retorted that "Light My Candle" wasn't really a 'love' song, per se. His name was Jordan.

And Kurt was starting to wonder if he could be "love of his life number 5."

"So, I've got to get going. It was nice meeting you Kurt."

Kurt shook Jordan's hand and delighted in the warm firmness of his grip. "It was nice meeting you too, Jordan. I don't suppose…would you like to go get coffee sometime? Or something. Whatever."

Kurt didn't miss the way Jordan sucked in the corner of his lip just the slightest. "Um…like a…a date, or something?"

Kurt shrugged, trying to pass off his interest as cool, mild intrigue. "Well, sure…if you want. You know…whatever."

"I…sorry, Kurt. I have a boyfriend. It was still nice talking to you, though."

"Oh, yeah. That's fine. It was nice talking to you, too." Kurt may not have gotten into NYADA, but he could still act…just not well enough to hide the disappointment in his voice. Kurt swiveled on his stool so that he was no longer facing the empty seat to his left, where Jordan had been sitting. He was surprised to see he still had half a drink sitting in front of him. He picked it up a sloshed it back and forth gently, watching the greyish-brown alcohol slap up the sides of the glass.

In his peripheral vision, he could see David tip beer number seven to his lips, hovering it there for a moment before tossing it back and gulping it down. Just faintly, Kurt could hear David mumble something in the moment the beer had poised frozen before his lips. "Fuck, Fancy, what's it going to take for you to put that pretty cock in my ass and ride me like a horse?" Kurt's eyes went wide and he almost dropped his rock glass, completely uncertain if he had heard David correctly or if his slightly intoxicated brain had plugged in the words he had so desperately wished to hear for so long.

Well, ok, they weren't as romantic as Kurt had hoped they'd be, but it had been months since he had gotten laid, so you couldn't really blame him for having a dirtier imagination than usual. It had been his imagination, hadn't it? "I…excuse me?"

David winced as he hiccupped into the neck of his beer bottle, while sipping, prompting a bit more of the amber liquid to pour down his throat than expected. When he had swallowed and placed the bottle down, he gave Kurt a completely dumbfounded look. "I said, what's it going to take for you to ride me like a horse? Saddle me up and yee-haw." David mimed the action of spinning a lasso in the air, but the sudden movement seemed to throw off his balance a bit and he had to catch himself on the corner of the bar to keep himself from stumbling off his stool. "Woo…almost got away from me there."

Kurt climbed down off his own stool and went behind David, placing his hands on David's shoulders to keep him steady. "You are shit-faced, Dave. Give the nice bar tender your credit card and then we get the hell out of here."

Kurt had to keep his grip on David's shoulders as David listed to the side trying to get his wallet out of his back pocket. The bar tender was ready and waiting for the credit card with David's tab, while David rifled through his wallet, trying to differentiate his work ID from his credit card. He guessed right (on the second try) and handed the card off to the bartender. "I gots a question for you. The signed receipt…that's a legal contract, right…my promise to pay for all this shit? Well, you can't legally sign contracts when you're plastered. So that receipt's not a legally binding contract…so I don' gotta pay for this, do I?" David waved his hand vaguely in the air towards the bar top in front of him, probably trying to indicate the alcohol he had consumed today.

The bar tender looked confused (or annoyed) but shrugged it off. "Take that up with Amex."

"Who's she?" Kurt rolled his eyes at David's drunken stupidity as he helped David down from his stool. It wouldn't have been the first time David fell off the stool and smacked his head on something.

"You are a horrible drunk, David. You know that?" Dave didn't respond. "You don't let it get out of control often, but when you do, you really know how to be an obnoxious, drunken ass." David's drinking wasn't bad at all. Usually he'd max out at two or three beers and be in perfect control of himself. Unlike Blaine, who had never been able to find a good stopping point in his drinking. But, occasionally, something would happen where David would just drink himself into a stupor and he'd be completely off his rocker. Kurt waved at a passing taxi once they were out on the street. He helped David into the back and David promptly fell asleep.

xoxoxo

Kurt had a restless night. He had helped David out of his clothes and into bed, then set out David's clothes for the next morning for him. David slept soundly while Kurt bustled about his business. The light snoring from David's bed was a sure sign he would continue to sleep deeply the rest of the night.

Kurt sat in the kitchen and worked on his drawings. He had a couple clients that wanted unique designs and they knew Kurt Hummel was the best one to go to. He worked well into the morning on his ideas, occasionally thinking and wondering about what David had said. Was it drunken honesty, or drunken stupidity?

He had long ago stopped living a typical 9 to 5 existence. He slept when he was tired, ate when he was hungry, and worked when he was inspired. When he noticed it was five in the morning though, he stopped working and set his stuff aside to prepare himself and David breakfast.

David would get up around 5:15, pop into the shower for ten minutes, get dried and dressed, then come to the kitchen for breakfast. In his guilt over drinking the previous night, he would have a low calorie smoothie for breakfast. David was a creature of habit.

He was also one of the rare few who could drink like a fish and never suffer a hangover. Kurt, who often got hangovers just looking at alcohol, envied that trait of David's. Kurt could hear the water pipes start up as David hopped in the shower. Kurt pulled out the blender, mixed berries, whey protein, and some other assorted oddities David liked in his smoothie: spinach, flax seed meal, and hot water. Ew. Everything was all blended up and nice by the time David waltzed into the kitchen, smelling of Dove soap and Axe deodorant. Kurt couldn't lie, David smelled as good as he looked.

"Sorry about last night." David pecked Kurt on the top of the head: a soft, gentle kiss that may or may not mean more than Kurt thought it meant.

"So you remember?"

"Not a damn thing." David chuckled as he poured out the smoothie Kurt had made for him. "That's why I'm apologizing. I know how much you hate it when I drink like that." David sipped his breakfast and made a quiet, happy noise of content in the back of his throat. "This is good."

"You don't remember anything?"

David frowned, deep in concentration, trying to remember. "No, I'm sorry. Did I do something stupid?"

Kurt shrugged, more to himself than David. "Yeah, of course. It's nothing. I'll enlighten you when you get home."

xoxoxo

Kurt was draping the fabric over a size-adjustable mannequin to get the preliminary sewing done before he could meet with his client to do the final tailoring. He had her measurements, but those were only a general guideline; everyone curved slightly different from everyone else. Kurt had a few straight pins between his teeth while he pinned up the bodice. He always worked like that, but was quick to stick them back in the pincushion before David caught him. David was such a nanny goat; he hated it when Kurt put pins in his mouth.

Kurt almost aspirated the needles when he heard David's key turn in the lock. Quickly spitting the pins out he jabbed them into the pincushion he had on a special arm strap around his bicep. He jabbed one too hard and pricked himself. "Ow, dammit!" Kurt pulled the pin out and felt the skin snag to it slightly. Slipping the strap down his arm, he wasn't surprised to see a faint blotch of red where he had stuck himself.