Who is Sam Evans?

Chapter 5

Warning: chapter is slightly smutty, but not overly slashy, so don't get too excited.

Also, I am going on vacation soon and sadly will not have access to the internet. So the last time I am going to update will be this Friday, and then none for two weeks. This chapter is fairly long, and I am going to try and make fridays long too. I will hopefully be writing over vacation (old school, with a pen in a notebook) so I will have something to post when I get back.

Chapter 5:

That night, Sam couldn't sleep. He played the events of the evening in his head over and over trying to decide what it meant. Everything Kurt had said, every look they'd exchanged, how he felt when he held him and taught him how to bowl...and what had happened with Quinn, afterwards.

After they'd dropped the rest of glee club off at their respective houses, Quinn had come over to his house. They'd gone up to his room, and had made out for about an hour, but Sam just hand't been into it. Truthfully, he hadn't been into it for a while now. He would never pressure Quinn into anything she didn't want to do but honestly...after a while, making out had gotten kind of dull. No matter where she touched him (not that that was anywhere particularly scandalous) he couldn't stop his mind wandering onto other things...and other people.

He flipped over onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow. He realized there was something a little odd about how obsessed he'd become with Kurt lately, but up until now he hadn't really thought about it as anything more than an interest in a new friend. But thinking about him while he fooled around with his girlfriend…

There may be something more to it than that. If it wasn't friendly interest, what was it? A crush?

Sam gave up on sleep for now and made his way into his washroom. He looked at him self in the mirror. A month ago he would have laughed at the idea of having a crush on another dude. He would have known he wasn't gay, that the idea was impossible.

But now...now he didn't know anything about himself. He didn't know what he liked, or wanted. After all, that was why he'd wanted to spend time with Kurt in the first place, to figure that shit out.

He glanced at the clock that hung on the bathroom wall. It was 3:19 in the morning. There was no way he was figuring anything out right now. He needed to sleep. He moved from his position in front of the mirror and walked over to his bath tub. He lay down in it and leaned his head back again the wall.

He reached inside his boxer shorts and took himself in his hand. Closing his eyes, he imagined lips on his neck and face, soft hands touching his body. He imagined a long neck, warm and begging to be kissed. He breathed hard, and imagined hands running through his hair and a mouth kissing its way down his chest. His breath quickened and in his mind he felt grabbing, heard moaning and tasted lust.

He let out a long, low sigh and as he finished, a name bubbled to his lips.

"...Kurt..."

The next morning, Sam woke up still in the bathtub very stiff, and slightly sticky. He groaned and cracked his neck, throwing his boxers into the hamper and standing up to turn on the shower.

Today he was going to see Kurt...though he didn't know if he could even look at Kurt, after last night. He hadn't realized what he was doing until he said his name, but he was extremely clear now he longer had any interest in Kurt as just a friend, if he had ever been interested in him that way.

As he got out of the shower and began to dry his hair, he thought of Quinn and how really, this was all her fault. If she hadn't been such a prude, his mind wouldn't have wandered and he wouldn't be so...confused.

The moment the thought entered his head, he felt horrible. He may be confused about everything about himself right now, but he wasn't confused about the part she had played in this; none. She had done nothing wrong, and he knew it...but it would be so much easier if he could just find someone to blame. But he knew there was no one.

It took him about an hour to get dressed, which was about 55 minutes longer than it usually did. Every shirt he choose looked stupid, and all his pants looked like the same pair of jeans, over and over again. He finally decided on a green 3 quarter sleeve sweater-thing his aunt had bought him 2 years ago (he had never warn it because he thought it was a little too tight...but that didn't seem like such a bad thing now) and jeans, because it was all he had.

He went downstairs and found a note on the fridge from his mother saying she had gone food shopping and would be back around 4:00. He crumpled the note and sighed. If she had gone food shopping, that meant there was likely to be close to nothing to eat for breakfast. He opened the cupboard and was surprised to find a box of lucky charms still inside. Unfortunately, there was no milk. Oh well, he thought, can't have everything. He looked deeper into the fridge and found some bread hiding behind a bow of half-eaten jell-o, and sitting next to some peanut butter which his mother always forgot did not need to go in the fridge. He smiled and decided to get creative.

20 minutes later Sam sat very happily eating a lucky-charm and peanut butter sandwich with jell-o on top. Weird food concoctions had used to be something he loved to do, but had given up in order to focus on eating healthy (which it seemed was a good way to maintain the muscular physique he had so prided himself on). But if he was getting to know the real Sam, he decided he should start by learning what the real Sam liked to eat. Next on the list was who the real Sam liked to kiss.

Sam swallowed. That was something he was going to have to deal with today. He wondered how he was going to approach the subject. He ran over possible openings in his mind.

"So Kurt, I appreciate you helping me with that 'Who are you', assignment. I wonder wondering if you could help me with something else now?" Lame.

"Hi Kurt, I've been thinking a lot about you lately and I think I might like you...like...like you like you..." What was he in third grade?

"Hey Kurt, I think I'm gay, mind letting me bone you to make sure?" Classy…

"Lookin' good there Kurt...[lunges]" Brilliant. The real Sam is a rapist.

He ran his fingers through his hair and began cleaning up the mess he'd made in the kitchen. Maybe it was best if he didn't think about it. The more he thought about it, the more likely he was not to go through with it.

An hour later, at exactly 2:01 pm, he arrived at the Hummel/Hudson residence. He walked to the front door and reached out to ring the doorbell...but stopped. He lowered his arm. What was he doing here? He had a girlfriend. A girlfriend he very much liked. He wasn't gay. Just because he liked talking to Kurt, it didn't mean he was gay. And so what if he noticed the way Kurt walked, and thought it was adorable, the way he always raised his hand absent-mindedly to his hair and patted it down even though there was ever a hair out of place...

Ah, fuck.

Without even realizing it, Sam had begun to pace back and force on the front porch. He was still doing that 10 minutes later, walking back and forth with a look of deep concentration on his face, when Burt Hummel went to get the mail.

Burt watched the puffy lipped blond kid walk round and round his porch for almost a minute before clearing his throat loudly to make his presence known. The kid jumped, and for minute resembled a deer caught in the on coming head-lights of a truck...a very frightened, puffy lipped deer.

"ohuh...Hi...I'm Sam. Sam Evans….I...uhhh" the deer stammered out.

Burt stared at him with raised eyebrows. He looked the kid over. This must be the guy Kurt mentioned was coming over. The one he was supposed to be nice to. "I'm Burt, Kurts dad. He's inside". Burt looked him over one more time, before going past him to the mailbox. When he got the mail and turned back around the kid was still frozen there, as though he was unsure what to do next. Before he could tell him to go inside, Finn came out of the house.

"Hey Burt, if I take plain cheerios and cover them in honey do you think that'd taste the same as honey-nut..." Finn stopped in mid sentence when he saw Sam standing there, looking even more panicky than before. "Hey Sam...what are you doing here?"

Finn watched as Sam opened his mouth and then closed it again, looking more like a blond fish than usual.

If Kurt himself hadn't come out of the house and pulled him inside at that very moment, Sam was sure he would have ran. The look Kurt's father had given him had chilled him to his very core. He knew. Sam was sure of it.

"Why were you just standing there?" Kurt asked once he'd gotten Sam into his room.

"I dunno...your dad kinda freaked me out..." Sam mumbled, looking at the ground.

Kurt smiled at this. "I told him to be nice to you". Kurt gave Sam an exasperated look and sat down on the end of his bed.

Sam looked up and brightened. If Kurt had given his father instructions to be nice to him, he must like him. Sam felt courage grow inside of him. The doubt and panic he had felt on the front porch was gone. He looked at Kurt, and felt sure of himself. He always felt like that around Kurt.

It was now or never.

He sat down next to Kurt on the bed, still with nothing to say in mind, yet feeling much more confident than he had in a while. He put his hand on Kurt's knee and moved his face close to Kurt's.

As it turns out, the only thing he needed to say was "Kurt, I..." because that was all he was able to get out before no longer being able to stop himself from taking Kurt's face in his hands and pressing his mouth against it. As his lips touched Kurt's, a rocket seemed to go off in his head. All the fireworks and slow motion camera spinning he had never felt with Quinn, he felt now.

He pushed Kurt back on the bed and began to kiss him harder. Kurt smelled sweet, and soft. His mind was silent and screaming all at the same time.

He had never kissed someone like that before, with such longing and passion. In the back of his mind, beneath the rockets and fireworks, he was relieved to note that Kurt was kissing him back just as urgently.

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