What They Don't Say Part I
Title: What They Don't Say (Speaks Volumes)
Author: babbel_on
Pairing: RPS -- Chris Colfer/Cory Monteith
Rating: PG
Word Count: 4,137
Disclaimer: I don't own peoples' lives or any affiliation to them therein.
Summary: Following Chris and Cory throughout the summer tour, putting their relationship under a microscope.
What They Don't Say - Part I
24 May, HP Pavilion in San Jose
Cory heard a knock at the door. He turned away from the television and smiled, instantly, when he saw the slightly freckled hand of his co-star curled against the doorframe.
“Hey,” Chris huffed, the corners of his lips crinkling upwards. Cory greeted him in kind, his eyes fixed on the younger man standing beneath the doorway. The Vancouver Canucks game he’d been watching had him grinning like crazy, but his elation only grew stronger at the sight of Chris Colfer: his co-worker, his good friend… “Mind if I come in?”
“Never.”
Chris strolled into the room and Cory followed his every step, neither one of their smiles faltering. Chris seemed pleased about something, he noticed; pleasantly satiated, as though he’d just finished off a six-pack of diet coke. Cory knew that look, having been a major supplier of said diet coke. He might have made a game of it, actually, leaving packs of cans or liter bottles on the steps of Chris’s trailer, in his dressing rooms, or by the doors of his hotel rooms.
Chris never failed to know it was his doing too and thanked him for all the free soda, his gratefulness lingering in high-pitched coos of “Thank you!” and “Cory, what the hell- I have no idea what to get you, in return…” which was true. Apart from technological gadgetry, old records, and Canucks paraphernalia, Cory didn’t really profess to loving much, definitely not anything that others could readily provide for him. Chris did eventually hit the nail on the head with food, often gifting full meals in exchange for all the diet coke.
Cory was a man, a monstrous six-foot-three in height, so boy did he love his food.
Regardless, it didn’t matter to Cory whether Chris returned what was, admittedly, a rather harmless gesture. He liked seeing Chris smile, was all, even if he wasn’t there to witness it. Just knowing that the younger man was somewhere, chugging down diet coke after diet coke with glee, was reward enough.
Cory thought of that now, as the other approached, and Chris eyed him curiously, no doubt wondering what it was he was thinking. His thoughts, however, quickly changed when he noticed how tired Chris looked. He was happy, sure, but there was a sluggishness about him that Cory also knew all too well. They’d just finished another tour performance and everyone, Cory included, felt accomplished but incredibly exhausted. Especially Chris, it would seem. Still, it was Cory lingering in a dressing room instead of hailing the first cab back to the hotel, all because he wanted to catch the last few minutes of a Canucks game. All considering, he was curious to why Chris was still here as well.
Chris rounded the sofa, took one look at the screen, and smiled in that sly, quirky way.
“Ah,” he huffed, falling to the sofa with a graceful ‘plop’. “Vancouver Canucks,” he muttered, turning towards Cory. “Why am I not surprised?”
Cory smirked, his enthusiasm for hockey and his love for the Canucks managing to tear his attention away from the witty performer seated beside him. “Couldn’t miss it, man,” the Canadian native laughed.
“2nd Overtime.” Surprised, Cory looked back, catching a flash of Chris’s turbulent blue eyes before they shifted quickly towards the wide-screen television. Chris watched the game with vague fascination, observing it like an art piece he couldn’t quite interpret.
That was the norm for Cory, since introducing his love for the Canucks to his fellow cast mates. He tried getting the other guys into following the team, with little to no success, especially since most of them were more interested in basketball and other sports more popular among Americans. Dianna was a little intrigued, as were Jenna and Ashley. Still, like the guys, the girls were equally unimpressed and disinterested in watching hockey with him. This left Cory watching games alone, in a bar or at whatever hotel the cast happened to be staying at, flailing and throwing his long limbs into the air whenever the Canucks scored a point. He quickly got over the fact that making a fool of himself in public wasn’t nearly as much fun without a few friends.
Yes, Cory still hadn’t managed to convert anyone, not even Chris. Only it was Chris who humored him, who encouraged his enthusiasm with text messages asking for updates on every game that he watched.
“2nd Overtime,” Chris repeated, nodding towards the top part of the screen where the score and the time were displayed. “The game’s almost over, right?”
“Yeah.” Cory flashed him a toothy grin. “Sharks last scored with a wrist shot but Van made the tie, so I have faith. VC’s got great defense, and Bieksa’s had his eyes on the puck all game.”
Chris’s blank stare bore into his profile, but Cory was too hopeful, too excited to care. Plus it was nice, getting to share this moment with someone, a bonus that it was Chris settling farther into the sofa, lifting his legs to sit Indian-style against its leathery cushions. Cory felt the shift, the body heat radiating from the counter-tenor, and readjusted the arm he had dangling over the sofa back, so that he could easily tend to the short strands of hair at the back of Chris’s head.
Chris didn’t seem to mind.
“You do realize I have no idea what you just said,” Chris announced, blinking profusely.
“Yes, I’m aware,” Cory nodded, wearing a straight face. He kept his eyes on the game.
“I mean, you might as well have been speaking in another language.”
“I know.” Cory grinned and shrugged his shoulders, crossing his left leg lazily over his right. There was a commercial break, and Cory had all of his attention returned to Chris who, in turn, seemed relaxed and content, captivated by one ad or another. Cory bobbed his head to some catchy jingle and leaned in close, sniffing playfully at the faint smell of soap that enveloped Chris’s person. “I figured since you’re the only person who doesn’t mind my hockey-speak, I might as well get it out of my system.”
“Sound reasoning,” Chris sighed, leaning inward, the amusement in his tone producing a noiseless chuckle from the back of Cory’s throat.
Brown eyes lingered on Chris, their gleam only magnified by the sparkle in Chris’s own eyes and the everlasting combination of green and blue that they were. The entire cast could drown in the endless pools that were Chris’s eyes, and it was painstakingly difficult not to fumble a line when you had to talk face-to-face with Kurt Hummel. Then Chris looked down, smiling to himself, and Cory’s gaze wandered over his newly trimmed hair. The style was different now, both sporty but tufted in curls at the top, and Cory had wasted no time in telling Chris how much he liked it. The whole cast did, in fact.
“You know, I’m never going to stop trying to convert you,” Cory said, eyeing Chris playfully. He nudged him with his shoulder, gaining a mischievous stare from the other, while Chris’s entire body swayed to his will. “I’ll have you, eventually.”
Cory’s eyes fluttered in slow, lazy blinks.
Chris stared at him and scoffed, his mouth gaping in disbelief.
“I-I’ll just have to keep dodging your advances then,” he eventually replied, the corners of his lips making a slight upward turn. Chris shifted on the sofa again, bringing the two of them closer together. Cory wrapped an eager arm around Chris’s frame and smiled, the length of his fingers dancing over Chris’s shoulder. Then Cory leaned back, and Chris settled against him. Given that the walls were made of painted brick and the floor of concrete, the weight and warmth of his body was a welcomed addition. Not that Cory wasn’t used to cold arenas, but the comfort of another wasn’t something readily provided at, say, a hockey game.
“I think you want to be a Canuck,” Cory suggested, raising his brow. This gained him a light laugh and Chris’s most potent ‘You’re kidding, right?’ face. Chris’s youthfulness was striking, and Cory related to his ever-present liveliness. He was pretty young at heart himself; somewhat of a lost boy with a troubled past but a promising future and a present that he almost couldn’t believe was now his life. Cory knew Chris felt the same way about his own situation…and maybe that was why they got along so well.
Chris ghosted the back of his hand over his mouth and yawned, resting his head against Cory’s shoulder.
“You text me, asking how the game is…” Clumps of curly hair tickled Cory’s chin. He looked down, eyelids lowering with ease, and gave the shoulder in his grasp a gentle squeeze. “You let me go on and on about the plays when I imagine you don’t understand any of it. You want to know the scores and who wins.”
“Oh, well that…”
Chris heaved a great sigh, turning inwards. He brushed his forehead against Cory’s chest, sending a jolt through the monstrously tall Canadian. Chris’s face crinkled against the front of the Vancouver Canucks jersey Cory slipped over his undershirt as quickly as he could tear off his performance clothes. He’d been so determined to catch the last of the game that he skipped his usual post-performance clean up routine, so the smell of sweat and pyrotechnic effects still lingered on his skin. He was very aware of this fact now…what with the smell of Chris’s shower gel and body spray taking over his senses.
“…Unlike everyone else, I’ve chosen to take pity on you.” Chris glanced up, neck arched, his eyes beady beneath flawless lashes. “Sorry to have to break it to you.” Cory detected a hint of mouthwash on his breath.
Chris giggled, Cory giggled, and then the two were laughing together, doubling over in their own tired state. It was funny, with just the two of them, like it had been in what seemed like ages ago. Fingers wrapped themselves around Cory’s thigh, gripping tightly, as Chris braced himself against him. Cory threw the backside of his hand over his mouth, and the two worked together to control their growing laughter.
And when their torsos finally finished heaving and Chris fell back against him, Cory buried his smile into the tousled mane that was now Chris’s hair.
“Mm… Someday,” Cory muttered, the slight hum of his voice marking the end of the commercial break.
A long silence followed but an uncomfortable one, not at all. Cory massaged Chris’s arm gently, gave it another squeeze, and licked his lips, watching the game but not really watching at the same time. His eyes followed the players’ movements, as the Canucks and the Sharks glided across the ice in a symphony of aggressive unrest, fighting for the puck, skidding to block, swerving to shoot and racing against time… and then there was Chris sitting beside him, against him, so…serene.
There was no other word to describe Chris’s softened state, the absence of his usually chiseled features and boyish charm. Chris wasn’t very affectionate, despite any appearances. He definitely wasn’t as touchy-feely as Cory, and the latter didn’t know how Ashley, Amber, even Dianna and Lea always managed to tear down Chris’s walls and break through that hard exterior of his. Cory had tried, plenty of times, with mediocre success. It made Cory think that maybe Chris felt more at ease with the opposite sex, as if he could relate more to the girls than he could with the guys. Because Chris happened to like dudes, the younger man made it his mission to keep his interactions with his male cast mates light, surface-deep, and Cory didn’t very much appreciate the distinction.
Another missed shot, and the Canucks were on the fence.
Cory bit his lip, rubbing Chris’s arm for comfort. He was mumbling quietly to himself, murmuring anxious prayers against Chris’s scalp. The game was well into its second overtime, and every Vancouver Canucks fan not currently living under a rock was just waiting for that tie-breaking shot. He thought of his last tweet, which consisted of one tag cheering on the Canucks and another tag indicating his location, and repeated ‘gocanucksgo’ under his breath like a religious mantra. Chris, no doubt, thought he might have lost his mind by now and was just too complacent to complain. He said not a word and made not a sound, and his silence reminded Cory that this kind of complacency was uncommon for Chris. Were they watching some cult-classic musical or some satirical comedy, it would be different, but Cory never thought Chris was the kind of guy who would sit through any kind of sports game.
Maybe he wasn’t giving the California native enough credit, Cory thought, his eyes wandering away from the screen. It was good enough that he could hear the game, if he wasn’t necessarily watching it. Cory eyed his dressing room, their almost barren surroundings. His gaze eventually turned to the smaller build wrapped in his arm, while his thoughts wrapped themselves around the head pressed against his lips and the sensation of feeling the heat of his own breath ricochet against Chris’s damp hair.
“Cory, are you even watching the game?”
“Huh?”
“Score!”
Cory’s eyes shot back towards the screen just in time to catch Kevin Bieksa balancing on one leg while raising the other, striking the air with his hockey stick during his victorious skate-around. The Vancouver Canucks quickly swarmed together and the crowd went wild, while the buzzer rang true the very end of the game.
“The puck was out of play but it stayed in! Kevin Bieksa took the shot! Vancouver’s won it in double overtime…and the Vancouver Canucks are going to the Stanley Cup Final!”
“Oh my God…!” The Canadian sat, words failing him, mentally registering the announcement. Last he remembered seeing was Bieksa and Alex Burrows, respectively, going after the puck, and now they were going to…Cory was beside himself with bliss. Inside he was leaping for joy, flailing madly, and performing victory dances that would have any professional choreographer weeping for days. He worked to internalize his excitement and refrained from jumping three feet in the air, however, gathering it probably wouldn’t sit very well with the body resting against him. Instead, he whipped out his cell phone, his hand shaking all the while. When he finally connected to his Twitter account, his fingers practically fumbled to type out:
YES!!!! #StanleyCupFinals!!!! #gocanucksgo !!!!!! yes!!!!! :) :)
“I’m so stoked!” Cory barked into his poor, helpless phone screen, grinning from ear to ear. “I don’t even know what just freaking happened!”
“Well, of course you don’t,” Chris grumbled out, watching the giddy twenty-nine-year-old with judging eyes. “That’s what happens when you don’t pay attention. I’m half asleep and even I know what happened!” he added, pointing a careless finger towards his self. “You were right, though, about Bieksa…or whatever his name is. The announcer said he went for a shot and missed. The puck went up in the air and bounced against the wall. Then Bieksa took another shot and scored.”
“Oh my God YOU KNOW!”
Chris stared at him, wide-eyed, like a moose caught in the headlights of a big rig truck; taken aback by the sheer volume of Cory’s voice. Cory couldn’t help himself, his smile gaping and hands shaking like wild. He took Chris by the shoulders and shook him, just enough to get him out of that shocked stupor and as excited as he was! Cory was brimming with happiness, and to hear those words come out of Chris’s mouth was like… It was like…
There were no words to describe what he was feeling, Cory knew, and as his eyes panned back between the television and the younger man in his grasp now questioning his sanity, he couldn’t help but think how much he wanted to kiss Chris senseless in that moment.
So he did.
Cory snaked his hands up to grasp the nape of Chris’s neck, his fingers clutching at short, layered locks. Before he knew it, he had Chris in his hands with his lips crushed against his own, not at all surprised to find that they were as supple as they looked. Cory never really questioned the quality of his cast mates’ lips; none of whom he didn’t have to kiss, at least. Except Chris’s lips were so unbelievably full and inviting that it had always been somewhat of a curiosity to him, even if Cory had never been crazy enough to go asking Heather, Max, or Darren what they felt like. Cory felt them now, though, and they were soft and warm and enveloping his own in a short-lived kiss fit for a championship game.
Chris’s only response was the fisting of his hand against Cory’s thigh, his knuckles kneading into the fabric of his jeans. Cory saw oceanic eyes grow round before the kiss, and those same orbs were about the same breadth in diameter when he released Chris. He looked towards the television again, accepting that no amount of Chris’s unyielding stare could possibly trouble the smile from off his face.
“I can’t believe that just happened!” he exclaimed, gesturing to a recap and replay of the winning shot. Cory beamed, turning towards Chris, the strain of his smile borderline painful when faced with Chris’s flushed face and dazed eyes.
Chris sat silent, seemingly speechless. Cory was a little concerned about his gaping, thought to reach out and close his jaw but decided not to. It was very endearing.
“Well, say something!” Cory laughed, shaking Chris’s shoulder again. “We won!”
“…” Chris’s head tilted sideways and his eyelids proved incapable of staying open for very long, fluttering at an alarmingly fast rate. “I-I’m sorry, but…what were we talking about?”
Cory threw his hands over his face and laughed, because Chris’s kneejerk, comedic reaction was just the icing on the cake.
“This is the best night ever!” Cory flung himself back, the weight of his body moving the sofa a few inches. Chris nearly toppled over but balanced himself by gripping his knees, shaking his head with what Cory assumed was a combination of amusement and bewilderment. Cory saw him wearing that familiar thin-lipped smirk, as he glanced at him from over his shoulder. “What? It is!” Cory grinned, stretching his arms out on the sofa. “Tonight was an amazing show, and the Canucks are going to the Stanley Cup! This is like Christmas and my birthday wrapped into one!”
“It was your birthday two weeks ago.” Chris pursed his lips and shrugged. “Considering the deciding win a belated birthday present?”
“Nah,” Cory sniffed, waving off the idea. He was settling down, slowly but surely, calming his over-exited nerves, all the while running his eyes up and down the back of Chris’s brown leather bomber. “You though…”
“Me?”
“Yeah,” A smirk crept onto Cory’s face. “It’ll be your birthday in three days. Maybe you should consider this an early birthday present, no?”
“I’m not a Canucks fan, Cory,” Chris tossed over his shoulder. He pulled his legs from beneath him and turned, rolling his eyes but smiling nonetheless. It wasn’t one of those thin-lipped smiles either, Cory noticed, where Chris was determined to never show off those charmingly crooked teeth of his. It was an uncontrollable smile, one of surprise, and though his junior cast mate shoved Cory’s knee as if offended by the idea, it was that toothy smile and the light in Chris’s eyes that gave him away.
“Mm…” Cory scrunched his eyes and bit his lips, nodding his head vigorously. “Yes you are. Just accept it, man. VC winning Game 5 and advancing to the Final is the best birthday present you could ever get,” he teased, nudging that same knee against Chris’s leg.
“Please,” Chris snorted, his eyes wandering away at such a ridiculous notion. “The best birthday present that I could ever get is still a bright-blue, Kawasaki motorbike.”
“With a matching helmet and jacket, right?”
“Hasn’t changed,” Chris hummed dreamily, shaking his head slowly. Cory chuckled, not at all surprised to find that Chris’s obsession with motorcycles and wanting one really hadn’t changed.
Whenever Chris showed up late on set and complained about getting caught in traffic, he usually followed every tirade with a fantastical tale about the sure benefits of owning and riding a motorcycle. This was common knowledge around the Paramount lot. Hell, even the security guards knew by now that that Glee kid with the high-pitched voice would rather come roving in on a Kawasaki than in his eco-friendly Hybrid.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Cory said, instinctively aware that he’d been lost in his own musings. He pushed himself up, smirking at Chris and his motorbike-wanting ways, and reached out to pull the not-Vancouver Canucks fan back against him. The television was still a jumble of color and noise, frantic cheers and restless masses of green, white, and blue. “Come on,” Cory said, curling an arm around Chris’s shoulders. “Let’s bask in the awesomeness of the recaps.” Cory thought the other would grudgingly comply, before Chris pulled his arm away and slid off the sofa altogether.
“No way, José,” Chris quipped, standing over Cory. The look on his face was again pleasant, if a bit weary. “A bunch of the others went out to eat-"
"Ooh," Cory's ears perked up. "Food..."
"...Yes, food," Chris confirmed, "and I volunteered to be the one to tear you away from the TV when the game was over.” He reached out a hand, offering to help Cory out of his seat. “Well, the game is over now,” Chris stated matter-of-factly, his brow lifting, “so let’s go. I’m starving.”
Cory made a face, a rather defiant one, staring up at Chris with a furrowed brow. Chris smiled, knowingly, the gauntlet tossed with the cross of his arms. Cory leaned to the left, and Chris moved to the left. Cory leaned to the right, and Chris moved to the right. Then Cory leaned a sharp left before swerving to lean right, and Chris sighed and rolled his eyes upwards, walked over to the television, and threatened to press the power button.
“No, don’t!”
“Let’s go.”
Cory mentally cursed Chris’s growth spurt, his now five-foot-eleven stature making it considerably easier for him to reach the suspended LCD screen. Cory also took the time to curse himself, for his inability to remember where he put the remote.
“Don’t turn it off.”
“Are you going to get up?
“...Yeah,” Cory answered, and he did, eventually, brushing the imaginary crinkles away from his Canucks jersey. Chris was already halfway across the room, heading towards the door, when Cory whipped out his phone. “Just let me get this…” He quickly aligned his camera with the television as best as he could and took a picture. It was the ultimate catch-22 of photos, he thought, staring at the slightly blurred result. Still, Cory had snapped a shot of a recap replaying the VC players’ huddle, a tremendously epic victory group hug. Hockey sticks were raised, arms were held and helmets patted, as the team soaked in the glory of their win.
“Let’s go, Frankenteen.” Sure, the picture could have been better, but Cory didn’t mind. Taking another one was out of the question, especially since Chris had since taken a hold of his arm and dragged him away mid-shot.
Cory grinned.
He decided to tweet this pic, not knowing what to say but knowing that if he mentioned Chris or tagged him even, the counter-tenor would never let him hear the end of it. He settled on reestablishing his role as a Canuck spy behind enemy lines, since it was here, in San José, where he watched the Vancouver Canucks annihilate the Sharks:
This is a television in the dressing room at the HP Pavilion #sweetirony yfrog.com/h43mzpkj
Never mind that he’d finally found amongst the cast a fellow Canucks fan to cheer with him during games. Cory would gladly keep such knowledge to himself, he figured, burying his face into the configurations of his phone. He could hear Chris clicking his tongue and his grin broadened, but he didn’t look up from what he was doing.
“Tweeting again?” Chris asked knowingly.
“Gotta let everyone see this glorious pic,” Cory shrugged.
“…You’re not mentioning me, are you?”
Cory shook his head and licked his lips.
“Nope.”
“Okay.” Chris let go of his arm. “Well, don’t run into anything,” he added jokingly, walking ahead. Cory glanced up at Chris and smiled, before sending his tweet. His fellow cast mate was as enjoyable as ever, certainly too precious to ever cross. Regardless of Chris’s Canuck-loving denial, Cory had to make certain he still had a cheering buddy for the finals.
Author: babbel_on
Pairing: RPS -- Chris Colfer/Cory Monteith
Rating: PG
Word Count: 4,137
Disclaimer: I don't own peoples' lives or any affiliation to them therein.
Summary: Following Chris and Cory throughout the summer tour, putting their relationship under a microscope.
What They Don't Say - Part I
24 May, HP Pavilion in San Jose
Cory heard a knock at the door. He turned away from the television and smiled, instantly, when he saw the slightly freckled hand of his co-star curled against the doorframe.
“Hey,” Chris huffed, the corners of his lips crinkling upwards. Cory greeted him in kind, his eyes fixed on the younger man standing beneath the doorway. The Vancouver Canucks game he’d been watching had him grinning like crazy, but his elation only grew stronger at the sight of Chris Colfer: his co-worker, his good friend… “Mind if I come in?”
“Never.”
Chris strolled into the room and Cory followed his every step, neither one of their smiles faltering. Chris seemed pleased about something, he noticed; pleasantly satiated, as though he’d just finished off a six-pack of diet coke. Cory knew that look, having been a major supplier of said diet coke. He might have made a game of it, actually, leaving packs of cans or liter bottles on the steps of Chris’s trailer, in his dressing rooms, or by the doors of his hotel rooms.
Chris never failed to know it was his doing too and thanked him for all the free soda, his gratefulness lingering in high-pitched coos of “Thank you!” and “Cory, what the hell- I have no idea what to get you, in return…” which was true. Apart from technological gadgetry, old records, and Canucks paraphernalia, Cory didn’t really profess to loving much, definitely not anything that others could readily provide for him. Chris did eventually hit the nail on the head with food, often gifting full meals in exchange for all the diet coke.
Cory was a man, a monstrous six-foot-three in height, so boy did he love his food.
Regardless, it didn’t matter to Cory whether Chris returned what was, admittedly, a rather harmless gesture. He liked seeing Chris smile, was all, even if he wasn’t there to witness it. Just knowing that the younger man was somewhere, chugging down diet coke after diet coke with glee, was reward enough.
Cory thought of that now, as the other approached, and Chris eyed him curiously, no doubt wondering what it was he was thinking. His thoughts, however, quickly changed when he noticed how tired Chris looked. He was happy, sure, but there was a sluggishness about him that Cory also knew all too well. They’d just finished another tour performance and everyone, Cory included, felt accomplished but incredibly exhausted. Especially Chris, it would seem. Still, it was Cory lingering in a dressing room instead of hailing the first cab back to the hotel, all because he wanted to catch the last few minutes of a Canucks game. All considering, he was curious to why Chris was still here as well.
Chris rounded the sofa, took one look at the screen, and smiled in that sly, quirky way.
“Ah,” he huffed, falling to the sofa with a graceful ‘plop’. “Vancouver Canucks,” he muttered, turning towards Cory. “Why am I not surprised?”
Cory smirked, his enthusiasm for hockey and his love for the Canucks managing to tear his attention away from the witty performer seated beside him. “Couldn’t miss it, man,” the Canadian native laughed.
“2nd Overtime.” Surprised, Cory looked back, catching a flash of Chris’s turbulent blue eyes before they shifted quickly towards the wide-screen television. Chris watched the game with vague fascination, observing it like an art piece he couldn’t quite interpret.
That was the norm for Cory, since introducing his love for the Canucks to his fellow cast mates. He tried getting the other guys into following the team, with little to no success, especially since most of them were more interested in basketball and other sports more popular among Americans. Dianna was a little intrigued, as were Jenna and Ashley. Still, like the guys, the girls were equally unimpressed and disinterested in watching hockey with him. This left Cory watching games alone, in a bar or at whatever hotel the cast happened to be staying at, flailing and throwing his long limbs into the air whenever the Canucks scored a point. He quickly got over the fact that making a fool of himself in public wasn’t nearly as much fun without a few friends.
Yes, Cory still hadn’t managed to convert anyone, not even Chris. Only it was Chris who humored him, who encouraged his enthusiasm with text messages asking for updates on every game that he watched.
“2nd Overtime,” Chris repeated, nodding towards the top part of the screen where the score and the time were displayed. “The game’s almost over, right?”
“Yeah.” Cory flashed him a toothy grin. “Sharks last scored with a wrist shot but Van made the tie, so I have faith. VC’s got great defense, and Bieksa’s had his eyes on the puck all game.”
Chris’s blank stare bore into his profile, but Cory was too hopeful, too excited to care. Plus it was nice, getting to share this moment with someone, a bonus that it was Chris settling farther into the sofa, lifting his legs to sit Indian-style against its leathery cushions. Cory felt the shift, the body heat radiating from the counter-tenor, and readjusted the arm he had dangling over the sofa back, so that he could easily tend to the short strands of hair at the back of Chris’s head.
Chris didn’t seem to mind.
“You do realize I have no idea what you just said,” Chris announced, blinking profusely.
“Yes, I’m aware,” Cory nodded, wearing a straight face. He kept his eyes on the game.
“I mean, you might as well have been speaking in another language.”
“I know.” Cory grinned and shrugged his shoulders, crossing his left leg lazily over his right. There was a commercial break, and Cory had all of his attention returned to Chris who, in turn, seemed relaxed and content, captivated by one ad or another. Cory bobbed his head to some catchy jingle and leaned in close, sniffing playfully at the faint smell of soap that enveloped Chris’s person. “I figured since you’re the only person who doesn’t mind my hockey-speak, I might as well get it out of my system.”
“Sound reasoning,” Chris sighed, leaning inward, the amusement in his tone producing a noiseless chuckle from the back of Cory’s throat.
Brown eyes lingered on Chris, their gleam only magnified by the sparkle in Chris’s own eyes and the everlasting combination of green and blue that they were. The entire cast could drown in the endless pools that were Chris’s eyes, and it was painstakingly difficult not to fumble a line when you had to talk face-to-face with Kurt Hummel. Then Chris looked down, smiling to himself, and Cory’s gaze wandered over his newly trimmed hair. The style was different now, both sporty but tufted in curls at the top, and Cory had wasted no time in telling Chris how much he liked it. The whole cast did, in fact.
“You know, I’m never going to stop trying to convert you,” Cory said, eyeing Chris playfully. He nudged him with his shoulder, gaining a mischievous stare from the other, while Chris’s entire body swayed to his will. “I’ll have you, eventually.”
Cory’s eyes fluttered in slow, lazy blinks.
Chris stared at him and scoffed, his mouth gaping in disbelief.
“I-I’ll just have to keep dodging your advances then,” he eventually replied, the corners of his lips making a slight upward turn. Chris shifted on the sofa again, bringing the two of them closer together. Cory wrapped an eager arm around Chris’s frame and smiled, the length of his fingers dancing over Chris’s shoulder. Then Cory leaned back, and Chris settled against him. Given that the walls were made of painted brick and the floor of concrete, the weight and warmth of his body was a welcomed addition. Not that Cory wasn’t used to cold arenas, but the comfort of another wasn’t something readily provided at, say, a hockey game.
“I think you want to be a Canuck,” Cory suggested, raising his brow. This gained him a light laugh and Chris’s most potent ‘You’re kidding, right?’ face. Chris’s youthfulness was striking, and Cory related to his ever-present liveliness. He was pretty young at heart himself; somewhat of a lost boy with a troubled past but a promising future and a present that he almost couldn’t believe was now his life. Cory knew Chris felt the same way about his own situation…and maybe that was why they got along so well.
Chris ghosted the back of his hand over his mouth and yawned, resting his head against Cory’s shoulder.
“You text me, asking how the game is…” Clumps of curly hair tickled Cory’s chin. He looked down, eyelids lowering with ease, and gave the shoulder in his grasp a gentle squeeze. “You let me go on and on about the plays when I imagine you don’t understand any of it. You want to know the scores and who wins.”
“Oh, well that…”
Chris heaved a great sigh, turning inwards. He brushed his forehead against Cory’s chest, sending a jolt through the monstrously tall Canadian. Chris’s face crinkled against the front of the Vancouver Canucks jersey Cory slipped over his undershirt as quickly as he could tear off his performance clothes. He’d been so determined to catch the last of the game that he skipped his usual post-performance clean up routine, so the smell of sweat and pyrotechnic effects still lingered on his skin. He was very aware of this fact now…what with the smell of Chris’s shower gel and body spray taking over his senses.
“…Unlike everyone else, I’ve chosen to take pity on you.” Chris glanced up, neck arched, his eyes beady beneath flawless lashes. “Sorry to have to break it to you.” Cory detected a hint of mouthwash on his breath.
Chris giggled, Cory giggled, and then the two were laughing together, doubling over in their own tired state. It was funny, with just the two of them, like it had been in what seemed like ages ago. Fingers wrapped themselves around Cory’s thigh, gripping tightly, as Chris braced himself against him. Cory threw the backside of his hand over his mouth, and the two worked together to control their growing laughter.
And when their torsos finally finished heaving and Chris fell back against him, Cory buried his smile into the tousled mane that was now Chris’s hair.
“Mm… Someday,” Cory muttered, the slight hum of his voice marking the end of the commercial break.
A long silence followed but an uncomfortable one, not at all. Cory massaged Chris’s arm gently, gave it another squeeze, and licked his lips, watching the game but not really watching at the same time. His eyes followed the players’ movements, as the Canucks and the Sharks glided across the ice in a symphony of aggressive unrest, fighting for the puck, skidding to block, swerving to shoot and racing against time… and then there was Chris sitting beside him, against him, so…serene.
There was no other word to describe Chris’s softened state, the absence of his usually chiseled features and boyish charm. Chris wasn’t very affectionate, despite any appearances. He definitely wasn’t as touchy-feely as Cory, and the latter didn’t know how Ashley, Amber, even Dianna and Lea always managed to tear down Chris’s walls and break through that hard exterior of his. Cory had tried, plenty of times, with mediocre success. It made Cory think that maybe Chris felt more at ease with the opposite sex, as if he could relate more to the girls than he could with the guys. Because Chris happened to like dudes, the younger man made it his mission to keep his interactions with his male cast mates light, surface-deep, and Cory didn’t very much appreciate the distinction.
Another missed shot, and the Canucks were on the fence.
Cory bit his lip, rubbing Chris’s arm for comfort. He was mumbling quietly to himself, murmuring anxious prayers against Chris’s scalp. The game was well into its second overtime, and every Vancouver Canucks fan not currently living under a rock was just waiting for that tie-breaking shot. He thought of his last tweet, which consisted of one tag cheering on the Canucks and another tag indicating his location, and repeated ‘gocanucksgo’ under his breath like a religious mantra. Chris, no doubt, thought he might have lost his mind by now and was just too complacent to complain. He said not a word and made not a sound, and his silence reminded Cory that this kind of complacency was uncommon for Chris. Were they watching some cult-classic musical or some satirical comedy, it would be different, but Cory never thought Chris was the kind of guy who would sit through any kind of sports game.
Maybe he wasn’t giving the California native enough credit, Cory thought, his eyes wandering away from the screen. It was good enough that he could hear the game, if he wasn’t necessarily watching it. Cory eyed his dressing room, their almost barren surroundings. His gaze eventually turned to the smaller build wrapped in his arm, while his thoughts wrapped themselves around the head pressed against his lips and the sensation of feeling the heat of his own breath ricochet against Chris’s damp hair.
“Cory, are you even watching the game?”
“Huh?”
“Score!”
Cory’s eyes shot back towards the screen just in time to catch Kevin Bieksa balancing on one leg while raising the other, striking the air with his hockey stick during his victorious skate-around. The Vancouver Canucks quickly swarmed together and the crowd went wild, while the buzzer rang true the very end of the game.
“The puck was out of play but it stayed in! Kevin Bieksa took the shot! Vancouver’s won it in double overtime…and the Vancouver Canucks are going to the Stanley Cup Final!”
“Oh my God…!” The Canadian sat, words failing him, mentally registering the announcement. Last he remembered seeing was Bieksa and Alex Burrows, respectively, going after the puck, and now they were going to…Cory was beside himself with bliss. Inside he was leaping for joy, flailing madly, and performing victory dances that would have any professional choreographer weeping for days. He worked to internalize his excitement and refrained from jumping three feet in the air, however, gathering it probably wouldn’t sit very well with the body resting against him. Instead, he whipped out his cell phone, his hand shaking all the while. When he finally connected to his Twitter account, his fingers practically fumbled to type out:
YES!!!! #StanleyCupFinals!!!! #gocanucksgo !!!!!! yes!!!!! :) :)
“I’m so stoked!” Cory barked into his poor, helpless phone screen, grinning from ear to ear. “I don’t even know what just freaking happened!”
“Well, of course you don’t,” Chris grumbled out, watching the giddy twenty-nine-year-old with judging eyes. “That’s what happens when you don’t pay attention. I’m half asleep and even I know what happened!” he added, pointing a careless finger towards his self. “You were right, though, about Bieksa…or whatever his name is. The announcer said he went for a shot and missed. The puck went up in the air and bounced against the wall. Then Bieksa took another shot and scored.”
“Oh my God YOU KNOW!”
Chris stared at him, wide-eyed, like a moose caught in the headlights of a big rig truck; taken aback by the sheer volume of Cory’s voice. Cory couldn’t help himself, his smile gaping and hands shaking like wild. He took Chris by the shoulders and shook him, just enough to get him out of that shocked stupor and as excited as he was! Cory was brimming with happiness, and to hear those words come out of Chris’s mouth was like… It was like…
There were no words to describe what he was feeling, Cory knew, and as his eyes panned back between the television and the younger man in his grasp now questioning his sanity, he couldn’t help but think how much he wanted to kiss Chris senseless in that moment.
So he did.
Cory snaked his hands up to grasp the nape of Chris’s neck, his fingers clutching at short, layered locks. Before he knew it, he had Chris in his hands with his lips crushed against his own, not at all surprised to find that they were as supple as they looked. Cory never really questioned the quality of his cast mates’ lips; none of whom he didn’t have to kiss, at least. Except Chris’s lips were so unbelievably full and inviting that it had always been somewhat of a curiosity to him, even if Cory had never been crazy enough to go asking Heather, Max, or Darren what they felt like. Cory felt them now, though, and they were soft and warm and enveloping his own in a short-lived kiss fit for a championship game.
Chris’s only response was the fisting of his hand against Cory’s thigh, his knuckles kneading into the fabric of his jeans. Cory saw oceanic eyes grow round before the kiss, and those same orbs were about the same breadth in diameter when he released Chris. He looked towards the television again, accepting that no amount of Chris’s unyielding stare could possibly trouble the smile from off his face.
“I can’t believe that just happened!” he exclaimed, gesturing to a recap and replay of the winning shot. Cory beamed, turning towards Chris, the strain of his smile borderline painful when faced with Chris’s flushed face and dazed eyes.
Chris sat silent, seemingly speechless. Cory was a little concerned about his gaping, thought to reach out and close his jaw but decided not to. It was very endearing.
“Well, say something!” Cory laughed, shaking Chris’s shoulder again. “We won!”
“…” Chris’s head tilted sideways and his eyelids proved incapable of staying open for very long, fluttering at an alarmingly fast rate. “I-I’m sorry, but…what were we talking about?”
Cory threw his hands over his face and laughed, because Chris’s kneejerk, comedic reaction was just the icing on the cake.
“This is the best night ever!” Cory flung himself back, the weight of his body moving the sofa a few inches. Chris nearly toppled over but balanced himself by gripping his knees, shaking his head with what Cory assumed was a combination of amusement and bewilderment. Cory saw him wearing that familiar thin-lipped smirk, as he glanced at him from over his shoulder. “What? It is!” Cory grinned, stretching his arms out on the sofa. “Tonight was an amazing show, and the Canucks are going to the Stanley Cup! This is like Christmas and my birthday wrapped into one!”
“It was your birthday two weeks ago.” Chris pursed his lips and shrugged. “Considering the deciding win a belated birthday present?”
“Nah,” Cory sniffed, waving off the idea. He was settling down, slowly but surely, calming his over-exited nerves, all the while running his eyes up and down the back of Chris’s brown leather bomber. “You though…”
“Me?”
“Yeah,” A smirk crept onto Cory’s face. “It’ll be your birthday in three days. Maybe you should consider this an early birthday present, no?”
“I’m not a Canucks fan, Cory,” Chris tossed over his shoulder. He pulled his legs from beneath him and turned, rolling his eyes but smiling nonetheless. It wasn’t one of those thin-lipped smiles either, Cory noticed, where Chris was determined to never show off those charmingly crooked teeth of his. It was an uncontrollable smile, one of surprise, and though his junior cast mate shoved Cory’s knee as if offended by the idea, it was that toothy smile and the light in Chris’s eyes that gave him away.
“Mm…” Cory scrunched his eyes and bit his lips, nodding his head vigorously. “Yes you are. Just accept it, man. VC winning Game 5 and advancing to the Final is the best birthday present you could ever get,” he teased, nudging that same knee against Chris’s leg.
“Please,” Chris snorted, his eyes wandering away at such a ridiculous notion. “The best birthday present that I could ever get is still a bright-blue, Kawasaki motorbike.”
“With a matching helmet and jacket, right?”
“Hasn’t changed,” Chris hummed dreamily, shaking his head slowly. Cory chuckled, not at all surprised to find that Chris’s obsession with motorcycles and wanting one really hadn’t changed.
Whenever Chris showed up late on set and complained about getting caught in traffic, he usually followed every tirade with a fantastical tale about the sure benefits of owning and riding a motorcycle. This was common knowledge around the Paramount lot. Hell, even the security guards knew by now that that Glee kid with the high-pitched voice would rather come roving in on a Kawasaki than in his eco-friendly Hybrid.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Cory said, instinctively aware that he’d been lost in his own musings. He pushed himself up, smirking at Chris and his motorbike-wanting ways, and reached out to pull the not-Vancouver Canucks fan back against him. The television was still a jumble of color and noise, frantic cheers and restless masses of green, white, and blue. “Come on,” Cory said, curling an arm around Chris’s shoulders. “Let’s bask in the awesomeness of the recaps.” Cory thought the other would grudgingly comply, before Chris pulled his arm away and slid off the sofa altogether.
“No way, José,” Chris quipped, standing over Cory. The look on his face was again pleasant, if a bit weary. “A bunch of the others went out to eat-"
"Ooh," Cory's ears perked up. "Food..."
"...Yes, food," Chris confirmed, "and I volunteered to be the one to tear you away from the TV when the game was over.” He reached out a hand, offering to help Cory out of his seat. “Well, the game is over now,” Chris stated matter-of-factly, his brow lifting, “so let’s go. I’m starving.”
Cory made a face, a rather defiant one, staring up at Chris with a furrowed brow. Chris smiled, knowingly, the gauntlet tossed with the cross of his arms. Cory leaned to the left, and Chris moved to the left. Cory leaned to the right, and Chris moved to the right. Then Cory leaned a sharp left before swerving to lean right, and Chris sighed and rolled his eyes upwards, walked over to the television, and threatened to press the power button.
“No, don’t!”
“Let’s go.”
Cory mentally cursed Chris’s growth spurt, his now five-foot-eleven stature making it considerably easier for him to reach the suspended LCD screen. Cory also took the time to curse himself, for his inability to remember where he put the remote.
“Don’t turn it off.”
“Are you going to get up?
“...Yeah,” Cory answered, and he did, eventually, brushing the imaginary crinkles away from his Canucks jersey. Chris was already halfway across the room, heading towards the door, when Cory whipped out his phone. “Just let me get this…” He quickly aligned his camera with the television as best as he could and took a picture. It was the ultimate catch-22 of photos, he thought, staring at the slightly blurred result. Still, Cory had snapped a shot of a recap replaying the VC players’ huddle, a tremendously epic victory group hug. Hockey sticks were raised, arms were held and helmets patted, as the team soaked in the glory of their win.
“Let’s go, Frankenteen.” Sure, the picture could have been better, but Cory didn’t mind. Taking another one was out of the question, especially since Chris had since taken a hold of his arm and dragged him away mid-shot.
Cory grinned.
He decided to tweet this pic, not knowing what to say but knowing that if he mentioned Chris or tagged him even, the counter-tenor would never let him hear the end of it. He settled on reestablishing his role as a Canuck spy behind enemy lines, since it was here, in San José, where he watched the Vancouver Canucks annihilate the Sharks:
This is a television in the dressing room at the HP Pavilion #sweetirony yfrog.com/h43mzpkj
Never mind that he’d finally found amongst the cast a fellow Canucks fan to cheer with him during games. Cory would gladly keep such knowledge to himself, he figured, burying his face into the configurations of his phone. He could hear Chris clicking his tongue and his grin broadened, but he didn’t look up from what he was doing.
“Tweeting again?” Chris asked knowingly.
“Gotta let everyone see this glorious pic,” Cory shrugged.
“…You’re not mentioning me, are you?”
Cory shook his head and licked his lips.
“Nope.”
“Okay.” Chris let go of his arm. “Well, don’t run into anything,” he added jokingly, walking ahead. Cory glanced up at Chris and smiled, before sending his tweet. His fellow cast mate was as enjoyable as ever, certainly too precious to ever cross. Regardless of Chris’s Canuck-loving denial, Cory had to make certain he still had a cheering buddy for the finals.