Kurt wakes to a splitting headache.

He’s in a dimly lit room. A sweeping glance tells him it’s unfamiliar, which shouldn’t come as such a surprise, considering he will never see home again. A wave of sadness washes over him, so intense it leaves him feeling hollowed out and raw. His breath catches in his throat and he moves to sit up, wincing in pain. It’s only his head that hurts, and he doesn’t know why. He remembers he was in the jungle, and now he’s here with no idea where here is or how he got here in the first place. He reaches a hand up to feel the back of his head, fingers skimming along his scalp until he finds a small, but distinct, bump. Had he fallen? Had someone knocked him out?

Kurt’s eyes adjust as he looks around. He’s on a large bed in a room made of wood. The room seems well-built, sturdy at least, but almost crude and not at all to the standards he’s accustomed. It appears circular, extending beyond either side of him as though he’s on the outer edge of a coin. Aside from his bed the only other piece of furniture in sight is a simple rocking chair. There’s a door to his left and an open window with a plain bolt of cloth hanging down to act as a curtain. Enough light is filtering in that Kurt can tell it’s still daytime, perhaps late afternoon. If it’s even still the same day.

Whatever loneliness he’d been feeling ebbs away to make room for fear, the kind that makes his hands go clammy and hair stand on end. Whose house is this, and how did he get here? David has been gone two months, tops, did he build this place? With what tools? Or has Kurt been captured by some madman who will fatten him up and eat him like the storybook children he remembers from his own childhood?

“H-hello?” Kurt calls out, silently cursing the way his voice wavers.

No one answers, so he slips from bed, relieved to find himself in his own clothing. His bag and shoes have been laid out on the floor and he scoops the bag up, slips the shoes on, cringing at how sore the soles of his feet are. He decides to worry about that later and creeps to the door, intending on making a run for it.

There’s something queer about the sight outside, but Kurt doesn’t realize why until he steps through the doorframe. Thank gods there is a ledge, because otherwise he would be nothing more than a splatter on the ground.

It isn’t a house - it’s a treehouse.

Kurt is so high up it makes his knees weak. His hand reaches out and grips the doorway, then lets go as he collapses in an ungraceful heap. A treehouse with no way down. Kurt takes a steadying breath and a closer look. The surrounding trees have similar houses built among their branches. Some are circular, wrapped around the tree as this one must be, some a more traditional rectangular house shape. Every house but his is joined to its neighbor by a hanging bridge not unlike the one he crossed to get to this godsforsaken jungle in the first place. There are rope and plank ladders hanging from the houses, again, all but his. He’s stuck. A prisoner.

“Hey!” Kurt calls out, sending a few birds flying. “I haven’t done anything!” He frowns, stops, and listens for a sign of life. “I don’t have any money! I’m of no use to you! Let me go!”

His voice and ire grow with each shout until finally a head peeks out of a house on his left. It’s a woman with light brown skin and black hair. Kurt gasps in surprise. He has never seen hair that dark before, but he’s denied a better look because she’s gone in a flash, descending the rope ladder with practiced ease.

“Help!” Kurt tries instead, yells it a dozen times, giving up when there is no response, slumping back to the floor. When the dark haired girl doesn’t return, Kurt gives up and goes back to the bed, sitting on the edge. What do they want with him? What could he possibly offer?

There is a loud thunk and Kurt jumps, gaze moving to the door. Did someone just throw something at the wall?

Breath held in fearful anticipation, Kurt stands, staring at the open doorway. A man appears and Kurt nearly falls back onto the bed. The man’s hair is short, curly and dark, as dark as the woman Kurt had seen earlier. He’s muscled, though not overly so, tan and shirtless, wearing only a simple pair of pants. The man hoists himself fully onto the ledge, eyes trained on Kurt. He stands, revealing bare feet and broad shoulders, a body that leaves Kurt breathless. But the real shock is the man’s eyes. Kurt can see them clearly as he approaches. They are golden, a golden brown Kurt has never seen on a person before, framed by thick lashes. He is unlike anyone from Kurt’s kingdom.

He’s beautiful.

Kurt is so struck by his beauty that he doesn’t even register that the man is right in front of him until a hand raises to his own face, brushing his hair back. The man’s eyes are locked on his, intense in a way that reminds Kurt of the time David came for tea. It stirs something hot and unnamable inside of him. Kurt pulls back as though physically burned, but there isn’t anywhere for him to go. The backs of his knees hit the mattress and he sits without meaning to.

He jumps to his feet, blushing of embarrassment, and the man smiles in response, curiously. Kurt fixes him with a stern look, arms crossed. “No thank you. Who are you and why have you brought me here?”

The man is still smiling faintly, an amused sort of expression that only infuriates Kurt further. The man answers, and the words that pour from his mouth are nothing but gibberish.

“Are you slow?” Kurt asks, eyes narrowing.

The man looks down, still smiling, and pulls Kurt’s arms apart, palms circling and sliding down, past Kurt’s wrists. He’s staring at their now joined hands with a fond expression, continuing whatever it is he’s saying in a language that surely can’t be human.

“Excuse me,” Kurt snaps, yanking his hands out of the man’s grasp. The man looks up, his once smiling face now drawn in frustration, perhaps at his inability to communicate. He says something else, but again, Kurt doesn't understand it. Kurt makes a face and tries to edge away, but the man is undeterred and leans in, pressing his mouth to Kurt’s in a kiss, one hand curling around the side of Kurt’s neck. It happens so fast. Kurt is unable to get away before contact is made, but once his brain catches up with his body he lets out an undignified squeak, pushing his arms forward as forcefully as he can, pushing the man right off him.

“I don’t even know your name!”

There’s an angry frown on the man’s face, but his eyebrows are drawn up, and his eyes. They look hurt. Kurt almost falls for it, almost softens, but not a moment later and the man is saying something and leaning back in and no. Kurt’s reflexes are faster this time. He pulls his hand back and slaps the man right across the face, enough to leave his palm lightly stung.

The man’s reflexes are just as quick. He grabs Kurt’s wrist, and Kurt is really frightened now because there is no doubt that he isn’t as strong, not nearly, and oh gods above what is going to happen to him? But the man lets go and backs off, eyes gone from hurt, to stunned, and body tense.

“I don’t even know your name,” Kurt repeats, face hot with anger of his own. “You don’t just go around kissing people without permission!”

Kurt’s exclamation is met with silence. The man looks like he’s about to say something, and even looks a little guilty, but after another moment of staring, he lowers himself and begins to descend the ladder. Kurt curses under his breath and hurries over, realizing he’s missed his chance to escape. Stupid, stupid.

He tries instead to bring down the ladder and send the man falling, but the top of the ladder, a thick rope, is slung over a peg built into the porch. He pushes ineffectually at the rope, but with the man’s weight on the ladder it’s impossible for him to move it. The man is looking up at him and as soon as his feet touch the ground he gives the ladder a pull. It pops off the peg and fells to the ground, thwarting Kurt’s only chance to get away.

“Maybe I’ll just jump!” Kurt screams down.

The man gives him one last look before disappearing from view.

Kurt stares at the ground below until the vertigo becomes too much, sending him shuffling back into the room in defeat, stomach twisting in an awful, uneasy way. The man’s good looks are entirely wasted because he’s a barbarian who can’t talk, and he’s keeping Kurt trapped like a caged bird. It isn’t fair, Kurt does not deserve this, and he sniffles a little, curling in on himself on the bed.

----

Exhausted physically and emotionally, Kurt has nearly succumbed to sleep, when he hears that same thunk as earlier. He stirs, sitting up in bed and looking toward the door.

“Unless you have come to court me like a true gentleman, I’m not interested!” he calls, and stands, prepared this time to watch for any possible moment of escape.

It isn’t a dark head of curly hair that pops into view this time, but long and fair, the blonde that he is used to. Even his hair, a light brown, is considered rare. The eyes that meet his are blue, the face female, and when it’s within view, a very pregnant stomach.

Kurt automatically moves a step forward to help the woman, but she eases herself up as though it’s nothing, clearly capable with or without him.

She stands at full height and they gaze at each other for a long moment.

“Hello,” she says. “I hear you might need my help.”

�