A demand for fic and a comment about Darren being 'gay for pay' spawned a ~700 word CrissColfer-y drabble! There is foul language and one mention of the word 'dick' ahead. Also implied nakedness. Watch out for that?
Rating: T - M ish ?
Summary: Darren's fingers are intrepid explorers of the unknown! The unknown being Chris.
Disclaimer: The ravings of a crazed fangirl. I don't own Chris Colfer or Darren Criss (wow, what a thought!) and unfortunately their relationship is only real in our minds.
A/N: Apparently I wasn't yet done with this story. So, uhm... Here it is again, having undergone some pretty major edits!
They collapse together on the bed, Darren pulling Chris down on top of him, like a pitiful game dominoes played in reverse with only two pieces. Darren takes a moment to silently thank whoever is listening that skin feels a heck of a lot better falling against skin than does wood or metal. He takes another moment after that to contemplate how much better it feels to fall against Chris, whose soft skin covers hard muscle, whose hard heart he knows had to have softened just a little,just enough, to have let Darren into his world.
He quickly realizes that he has an incredibly naked Chris in bed with him and the moment is over. Instead of thinking and thanking, he uses his time to caress Chris' shoulders, appreciating the sheer masculinity in the broad stretch of muscle, bone and skin. His hand falls down the length of Chris' spine, and pretending each bump is a ramp his fingers fly from one to the next until he runs out of air, out of breath, because he's clutching Chris' ass and nothing is wrong with this world. He's in the process of pulling those lovely hips down against his own when he realizes that Chris is resisting.
"Okay, no," Chris says, sitting up, legs falling to either side of Darren, hands resting on his chest. The arms are limp, though, not exerting any pressure.
"I'm thrilled that you haven't run away screaming, but not even I can recover that quickly. And as much as I hate to bring reality into this, neither can you." He looks at pointedly at Darren's dick. In fact, Darren thinks that if it was at all possible he would've been skewered by Chris' looks long ago. He knows he's certainly been struck dumb by his looks before.
"You're just not trying hard enough," Darren scoffs.
But Chris shakes his head, says, "Can we just.. Lie down? Just lie here for a little bit?"
Darren smiles, murmurs "of course" while rolling over, pulling Chris with him. Realizing he's due for another 'manhandling' comment and that Chris probably won't laugh at his frankly hilarious joke about handling men if he makes it a third time tonight, he does his best to distract. Their current position is laughably similar to that of Kurt and Blaine's in the scene they shot earlier this season, though there is significantly more nudity in this version. Darren gives in to the urge to touch Chris lightly on the nose, watching as he scrunches up his face and makes a frustrated sound, marveling at how such a silly expression can look so breathtakingly beautiful. Darren turns his hand, letting his knuckles brush gently against Chris' cheek. He watches Chris' eyes close, his mouth fall open, as Darren's wandering hand reaches his neck, trails along his arm, detours to doodle patterns in between the hair on his chest. When Chris chuckles, Darren can feel the sound reverberating, tickling the tips of his fingers.
"Not doing such a great job at just lying there, Dare," he says, turning to lie on his back.
"Can't help it," is the automatic response. It's your fault.
"I've been meaning to talk to you about your caffeine intake..."
Caffeine's never been the problem, though. It's just that when he's around Chris, he gets restless. He aches to grab Chris' nervous hands, to stop them from rubbing his neck by covering the skin with kisses. He wants to claim every joint of Chris' body the same way, wants to write on every inch of flesh, "property of Darren Criss," and, failing that, he want to mark his body in other ways, with finger shaped bruises and with loving words murmured into bitten skin.
So he ignores the reprimand, ignores his own overwhelming feelings, and drags his wandering hands along the sweat damp skin towards his newly discovered playground. He lets himself get swept away in the moment, feels himself buoyed on a wave of good feelings. His hands have found Chris' legs which unbelievably hot encased in jeans and leather pants and completely indescribable without them. Whispering the words of a familiar song into the dip just behind Chris' ear, he walks his fingers up the expanse of skin, internally narrating this intrepid explorer's adventure in the land known as Chris' thighs.
He grins, fingers stalling, as he sings, "your skin like porcelain."
Chris' head raises, his arm, too, as though preparing to smack him, but upon meeting Darren's eyes he groans and drops both back down onto the bed.
"If my skin were porcelain, I would be in pieces right now. Fuck, Darren..."
Darren hums in assent, knowing he'll have bruises own tomorrow from their earlier activities, and lets his fingers continue their trek. He taps them against an irregular bump on Chris' thigh. He can't tell without looking, but it feels like the edge of a scar. Just as Jack - the name he's decided on for his little friend the thigh explorer - begins to frolic in the soft hair he's found on a particularly delectable piece of leg, he is halted in his journey by a hand and a skeptical look from the master of judgement.
Chris' eyebrows are clearly having their own adventure, Darren thinks, exploring the space between his eyes and his hairline.
Darren wants to say something, something witty or silly or really anything at this point, but as so often happens in Chris' presence, he finds himself lost. Without words. Just one step behind. He thinks that mentioning he's named his walking fingers Jack after the one and only Captain Jack would be a bad idea. Though maybe Chris would appreciate the amount of thought that went into the naming process. If he explains that Jack, as a pirate, can claim thigh-land in Darren's name! And that later, Jack can help Darren plunder Chris' booty.
After third and fourth thoughts, though, he keeps his mouth shut. Instead, his eyes widen, an automatic response to any kind of criticism from Chris, his lips twitch up and oh -
Chris was kissing these lips minutes ago, drawing the lower lip into his mouth. He can still feel the phantom touch, can still feel teeth scraping oh so gently and then not so gently over the sensitive skin, can feel Chris' mouth leave his to trail kisses along his jaw to his ear, can feel him draw the lobe into his mouth...
In hindsight, it seems like Chris really likes to suck things.
The man in question sighs, releases Darren's hand and - damn him - reaches his own up, his spine arching as he stretches in a way that quite frankly should not be allowed. For the sake of Darren's dick. Also for humanity. Yes. Humanity. His primary care here. Voicing his disapproval and concern with a gentle moan, Darren shifts closer, thinking seriously about putting Jack away to see if a second round could be attempted when Chris sighs again.
"I saw something interesting today," he says, limbs falling back to the bed with a soft thump.
"Mm," he responds. He does a stretch of his own, more a wiggle of his shoulders than anything else. Chris gets the hint, of course he does, but decides to ignore it, slapping a hand against his shoulder blades to stop the movement. Darren looks up, eyes squinty and hopefully looking much more menacing than he feels. Chris smirks. That's a no, then.
He shakes his head fondly. "You, according to some lovely people on the internet," Chris' eyebrows begin their trek to his hairline once again, "are apparently 'gay for pay.'"
Darren looks up from Chris' neck, where his tongue had been inexorably drawn sometime between noticing Chris' expressive eyebrows and noticing the tantalizing way his throat moves when he speaks, and watches - counts - the lines that appear in the corners of Chris' smiling eyes. When he sees the lines gather between his eyebrows as well, he lets his fingers forgo their expedition to smooth a hand over Chris' forehead.
He smiles, reassuring, and says, "If only they knew, huh?"
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