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“RIGHT GUARD RECOVERING A FUMBLE!” Torres announces for the second time, loud enough that two truckers at the counter turn around. “I mean what the fuck, Karofsky!”
“We’ve been through this!” Dave exclaims, shaking his head, cheeks flushed red, one arm locked around Kurt’s waist to keep him steady in his lap. “I fell on it.”
“Fell on it? Fuck no, man, you charged that thing down and belly flopped on it! In slow motion on the replay with coach tomorrow, I’m gonna scream Geronimoooooooooooooooo!” Malikiah corrects, stabbing a fry in Dave’s direction. “Then! Then three guys topped you like a fucking boulder!"
‘I think the only one who tops BigD is Kurt!”
Everyone bursts out laughing.
“Asses the lot of you,” Kurt shakes his head, laughing, kissing Dave’s cheek, not about to tell the team again he and Dave are versatile. Because the statement is true he's the only one who better be topping Dave. Mine. Mine. Mine.
The diner is packed in that fantastic “one-in-the-morning after a big away game” way. Chrome glare, a sea of coffee cups, the vinyl seats squeaking, more than eighteen of them have somehow crammed into three booths, jackets all over the place, miscellaneous plates of food brought out as people order in waves. Kurt ended up exactly where the universe apparently wanted him, sideways across Dave’s lap, one arm draped around his shoulders, boots tucked out of the aisle. He keeps getting whiffs of Dave’s hoodie that smells like the soap from locker rooms and still somehow of their home. His solid thighs beneath Kurt, warm through denim, and Dave is rubbing his thumb over the small of his back.
Torres slaps the table. The attention whore, Kurt thinks and giggles to himself.
“And then he comes up from the earth with the ball like some kind of giant Midwestern swamp creature—”
“Yes! My favorite part of these gatherings! When sports reporting becomes folklore,” Kurt cuts in. But Torres doesn’t miss a beat.
“—and the whole sideline loses its damn mind! Coach is shitting himself. Malikiah is doing jumping jacks. I’m screaming.”
“You're always screaming,” several people say in unison.
“And then there’s Dave just… stunned like he can’t even believe he had it in him.”
“Fuck yes, he had it in him!” Kurt growls.
Then Brent cuts in. “Right guard saves the game! Sweet fuck, I thought it was over, and then Dave just comes out of nowhere to keep possession!”
“Man! You looked stunned!”
“I was stunned!”
“You were paying attention,” Kurt says, squeezing Dave’s neck. “And thought fast, and you looked hot!”
The table erupts in laughter, but there are cheers and hell-yeses and other leering comments.
Dave groans and drops his forehead against the back of Kurt’s shoulder while Kurt preens into the attention, delighted and entirely unashamed.
“What, babe? We’re just speaking facts.”
Dave lifts his head, still flushed, and then he laughs when Kurt gives him a big smacking kiss on the forehead.
At that moment, the waitress arrives with a basket of fries and two chocolate shakes, setting them down in front of them. “This for the hero?”
“Yeah, and our good luck charm!” Brent says about Kurt. It’s superstition now: Kurt misses a game. They lose. That is also a fact.
But Kurt immediately tells her, “He’s the hero!”
Dave sighs. “I’m begging everyone to stop.”
“Nope! You’re getting your celebration night! MVP of the game!!” Kurt says, plucking a fry from the basket and holding it to Dave’s mouth.
Dave raises a brow, about to crack up, his eyes are tired, but he still has that post-game adrenaline glowing under his skin. He opens his mouth and takes the fry from Kurt’s fingers.
Torres groans, and Malikiah makes a wounded sound. “That’s disgusting!” He waggles his brows. “Do it again.”
Kurt laughs and Dave tightens his arm around him, laughing too. “Don’t ask for what you can’t handle, Malikiah.” He suddenly goes till as the jukebox changes songs, a fry suspended halfway to his mouth.
Torres and Malikiah nearly sound like hyenas. “No way.”
Torres slaps the table. Again. Fucking arse. “Oh, come on, Kurt! It’s fuckin’ perfect!”
Dave is cherry red now, way too much praise, too little sleep, and way too in love with his boyfriend. “I hate all of you.” He buries his face in Kurt’s shoulder.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Kurt squeals. “This is your destiny!”
There’s another roar of laughter. The opening groove rolls through the diner, impossible to resist. He shifts in Dave’s turns just enough to face him, and with all the gravitas of a man at Carnegie Hall, points a fry at his boyfriend and sings,
“I believe in miracles…”
Malikiah is already howling, and Kurt leans closer, eyes sparkling, voice lower now, more playful as he croons,
“Where’re you from?”
Dave is trying not to laugh, but is failing spectacularly.
“You sexy thing!
I believe in miracles, since you came along!”
He taps the center of Dave’s chest!
“You sexy thing…”
That does it, Torres and Brent join in immediately, both of them off-key and much too loud.
“SEXY THING, YOU—”
Malikiah pounds the table in rhythm, someone from the next booth over picks it up too with spoons on a pie plate, because even love disguised as humiliation is a team sport. The waitress, passing with a coffeepot, grins and sings the next line with them, at least half of them are singing now.
“Where did you come from, baby?
How did you know I needed you?
How did you know I needed you so badly?
How did you know I'd give my heart gladly?”
Dave covers his face, but Kurt peels his hands back, merciless and beaming, sings absolutely sure and proud.
“Yesterday, I was one of the lonely people
Now you're lyin' close to me, making love to me…“
Everyone howls and cheers, clapping, singing along to the next verse and chorus.
And for one tiny second, in the middle of all the laughter and noise, Dave looks up at him, that look, the one where they know they can truly see each other. And Kurt melts. The whole night is ridiculous, and the motel they’re staying in next door is questionable beyond words; don’t even get him started on the sanitary state of the bedspread. But there’s no place he’d rather be tonight.
He leans over and whispers in Dave’s ear, “Love you, Tarzan.”
And since he’s bright red and embarrassed and high off the game of his life, Dave kisses Kurt right on the mouth, and Kurt giggles into it, flipping everyone off when they all coo or hoot at them.