If you ask him how he happened upon his current career, Kurt Hummel – known better to the world as Porcelain, much to his chagrin - will undoubtedly laugh and say, “Accidentally, that's for sure.”

Among other things, his foray into the adult film industry was, in fact, unplanned. An unintentional thank you gift from his stripper-turned-model ex-roommate. He did a friend a favor, naked, and things just sort of spiraled from there.

Kurt is an industry darling, nearly four years into this life. He's friendly and focused, attracting attention and basking in the glow of it.

Occasionally, he laments the loss of potential that died with his rejection from the one performing arts school to which he'd applied at eighteen. Mostly though, he wonders if he'd be working as much had he stuck with his childhood dream of being on Broadway, if he'd be so relaxed were he living in a cramped, one-bedroom apartment ten stories up in a building with no elevators, no air conditioning, shoddy heating, and terrible water pressure, all while vying for attention from directors and producers, begging for roles that were never meant for him according to everyone who'd told him you're talented, there's something out there for you, but this isn't it. New York City is a great one to visit, maybe even to live, now that he's got money to pay the bills and a job that's secure for as long as his dick can stay hard, but Los Angeles suits him just fine.

:: ::

“Porcelain,” he hears as he walks into his agent's office. Groaning like he does every time he's greeted with that god-awful nickname, Kurt sits across from Santana and raises his eyebrows in question, “What do you have for me?”

“A change of pace, twinkyface.”

Kurt rolls his eyes and smiles, hoping to get through this meeting and out to lunch with his visiting family as soon as possible. Really, he wants this day over as soon as possible.

“How do you feel about older men?”

He shrugs; Santana knows his limits, knows calling someone “daddy” isn't high on his list of priorities, though it's nothing he hasn't done before.

“Well, you've got a face grandpas would happily have a coronary to jizz all over, and –”

“Jesus Christ, Santana.”

“– and I think it would be wise to take advantage of the libidos and wallets of dirty old men.” She goes on, commenting further on how fuckable his face is and how many offers he's received to be a new face on Daddy's Little Twink, some new membership website that's been getting popular of late. Kurt trusts Santana's instincts, and tells her as much. The gentle sincerity of his voice cuts through her sudden tangent about her assistant's ineptitude at taking down messages. Santana halts in her ranting and offers a smile in return for Kurt's.

For a long time, Kurt had been wary of allowing Santana into his professional life, but she had been insistent and effectual, and unlike a lot of those closest to him, she was surprisingly, unfailingly supportive. It would be a lot different to have an agent who kept his best interest in mind yet stayed at a distance, but the personal touch is nice to have around.

:: ::

Kurt had followed his friend and pseudo-brother Sam to Los Angeles the summer after Sam graduated, a year after he himself had. Sam was dead set on breaking into the world of modeling and Kurt just wanted out of his hometown. They had a place to live thanks to their fellow McKinley High alum, Mercedes Jones, who had made the trek from Ohio to California the year prior. They had money thanks to Sam's work as a stripper through the last few years and Kurt's work wherever he could find it. Santana showed up not long after they did, a third semester college dropout, desperate for something new. Struggling together, sharing space in foreign territory, it bonded them, solidified relationships that could have crumbled after high school. It was nice to have a support system in place when everyone else turned on him.

:: ::

Kurt slaps away the fingers snapping in his face and sees Santana's sneer.

“Zone out when I'm speaking again, and I'll book you for straight porn. Nothin' but munchin'.”

Kurt lets out a variation on the word “yuck” that sounds suspiciously like he might have actually thrown up in his mouth and gets up to leave.

“Why are you so anxious to get out of here?”

“Lunch with my parents.”

“Yikes,” she drags out the word. “Why the hell would you rush to that?”

“It's not that bad.” Santana laughs heartily, because it really is that bad. “If you think you can manage to keep mentions of my ass, mouth, nipples, dick – really any mention of my body or profession in general to a minimum, you're welcome to come take some pressure off me.”

“Oh, thank you for such a kind offer.”

“Yes or no, Santana?”

Kurt knows it's a yes when Santana sighs as though she's not excited to have just been handed a first class ticket to a train wreck. He's relieved though, when she stands and grabs her jacket and purse. Much as he hates feeling pitied, there's immense comfort in the hand Santana places on his shoulder as they walk out.

:: ::

Lunch is sure to be an unmitigated disaster.

Carole, who seems to have done nothing but drink since her son died three years ago, is barely on her own side anymore, never mind his. Initially, she'd been his only support in the Hummel-Hudson household; in retrospect, breaking the news of “hey I'm in porn now” at Christmas perhaps wasn't the best of plans. Finn had warmed up to it a bit, but then Finn died and that was a whole new list of problems to deal with. And his father… well, he's never held back from voicing his opinions on the matter.

They're sitting outside at a small restaurant where Kurt only dines when Burt and Carole are here. The experience is tainted each time his father inevitably berates him for giving up, for being a disappointment. He forces the negativity down deep, though. As much as he expects the worst, he hopes for better.

“You look good, Dad.”

His dad takes a good, long look at him and nods. “So do you, Kurt.” He reaches up to lift his ball cap and scratch at his forehead, his eyes squinting in discomfort as he continues speaking, “You as healthy as you look?”

Kurt narrows his eyes and shakes his head because, of course, they can't be within ten feet of one another for more than five minutes without his father resuming the mission to save him.

“Are you asking if I have herpes?”

“Or worse,” Burt scoffs.

“Does this conversation count as worse?”

Carole reaches over and pats Santana's arm, attempting to whisper and failing, “They're gonna be at this a while. You wanna head to the bar sweetie?” It's hardly a question, as Carole pulls Santana with her anyway.

“She's not coping well. Is she seeing anyone?”

“You'd know if you'd call.”

“I'd call if I wanted to hear more statistics about the spread of HIV or the future I'm destroying a little more each time I fuck on camera.”

“Kurt!”

“What? That's what I do.”

“Why do you do it?”

The urge to cry, to flee, to scream, to do anything but sit here and rehash the same argument they've been having for years is strong, but he bites his lip and swallows it down. He has no idea how to reroute the conversation without his father redirecting him right back.

“I am proud of what I do and I am happy with who I am.”

“Grow up, son.”

“I am grown up, Dad. I'm twenty-three years old. An adult.”

“You're not acting like it.”

“You don't know anything about me anymore. This is all you want to talk about. I'm not just some guy who gets fucked for money, but that's who you see.” That last bit was maybe a little louder than intended he realizes, looking around at the stunned faces of nearby patrons. “If you'd like to meet my dog, or see where I live, maybe even stay for dinner and recognize that there's real, edible food in my house, that I don't live on a steady diet of cock alone when you're not here to make sure I'm staying healthy, give me a call.” He's fuming as rises from his seat, barely able to look at the red-faced man balling his fists and struggling to respond. “Til then.”

He finds Santana and his stepmother seated at the bar, giggling happily and oblivious to his eruption. Some of his agitation wanes, enough that he can kiss and hug Carole goodbye, and then he's out of there. Santana excuses herself and follows him out, her comforting hand finding its place on his shoulder again.

Kurt drives Santana back to work, explaining what happened and promising he'll be fine.

When he gets home, his dog greets him at the door, jumping up excitedly and running around his legs as he goes into his bedroom to change his clothes. Now dressed for a run, Kurt crouches down and attaches Frankie's leash. Hopefully, time spent with his number one girl will clear his head.

:: ::

He doesn't hear from his father again, and wonders if they'll ever repair the damage. Santana doesn't let him dwell, though, calling him into her office with supposed big news.

“Act excited! I told you I have big news.”

“Tell me the news and I'll respond however I see fit.”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile quickly returns at whatever news she's got to share. “We're gonna make your dick immortal!” she singsongs, doing a little dance while she's at it.

“Excuse me?”

She stops in place and crosses her arms, hips cocked out to the side and looking at him like he's a complete and total idiot. “I got a call yesterday, but you were still all mopey and I knew you'd say yes – either because you wanted to or I'd make you – so it's a done deal and the appointment is next week.” She pauses for dramatic effect and he wishes she'd just get on with it. “You are going to have your very own dildo.”

“I have plenty.”

“You're no fun, you know that. This is a big deal, Kurt.”

“Sorry.”

“Don't be,” Santana sighs. She seats herself in Kurt's lap, and he rests his head on her shoulder. “Your dad is nuts for not seeing how amazing you are.”

“I don't even remember what he looks like when he's not disappointed.”

“Call him. Apologize like I know you will, even though he's never apologized, and bounce back because you have a long list of men waiting to fuck your perky little behind. Shooting starts in two days with your first new geriatric; I need you rested and happy.”

“Uh huh. I'm always happy to wake up at 5 a.m. for an enema.”