And That's What's Appealing (Made To Be Broken 7/10)
Author: Oddreigh
Title: And That’s What’s Appealing (Made To Be Broken 7/10)
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,400
Pairing: Chris/Darren. Kind of. ;)
Warning(s): Domination and submission.
Spoilers: Oh dear god, no.
Summary: Chris finds something unexpected while at Darren’s. Darren is mortified, but in a really good way.
Notes: Another talky chapter, but they kind of needed it after the last one. I can see the potential for jumping ship for some of you, but I just ask that you stick with it at least until the next chapter. Each chapter’s deliberately set the stage for what’s next to come, and I promise that the next one will be worth it. Just trust me, ‘kay?
Also, there's a deleted scene, found here, that takes place between this and the chapter before it. It's not really required to follow the plot, but it has its moments.
“You’re absolutely insane. I hope you know that.”
“So you’ve already said, and on more than one occasion,” Darren says, sliding another few books onto the shelf he’s facing. “What is it this time?”
“You’re shelving your books by color.”
“So?” he asks, breaking into laughter. “What’s wrong with that?”
“What’s wrong with it,” I tell him, hammering another nail into another X carefully penciled onto the wall and making my way on to the next, “is that it doesn’t make any sense. Who does that?”
“I do,” he says, reaching into the open box for another armful and sliding them into place. “I just like the way it looks.”
“But what about keeping things together? I mean, does this mean you have Harry Potter scattered all over the place?” I take another swing with the hammer, and miss. The hammer connects directly with my thumb, and falls to the ground half a second later.
“Shit, Chris, are you okay?” Darren slides the last few books into place and runs over, almost tripping over another box in his rush.
“Yeah,” I mutter, wincing slightly as he takes my hand and looks at my thumb. “I don’t think I did any serious damage, but it still hurts like,” I do my best to think of a clever way to finish my sentence, and come up with nothing. “Like something that hurts a lot, I guess. Something that hurts too much to be witty.”
“Let’s get a splint on it, just in case. I’ve got a first aid kit in the bathroom.”
As I reach the bathroom and slump against the doorframe, I find myself remembering that afternoon in early July. I’d come over that day with only one thing in mind - to give him the bag that had accidentally been sorted with my own luggage when we’d taken our respective cabs home from the airport after the tour was over. I showed up, handed him the suitcase, and asked to wash my hands. The only towel I’d seen was the one hanging over the shower curtain, and I’d felt too weird about the possibility that he’d used it after his shower to wipe my hands on it.
I wouldn’t use his shower towel to dry my hands, but I’m okay with leaving him naked and stuck to my shower wall with the water spraying in his face.
Clearly, I have issues.
“Drawer’s empty, at the moment.” Darren brushes past me as he enters the bathroom with a glass of water, handing it to me with an expectant expression. “The basket got too full, so I’ve been keeping everything in a Rubbermaid bin underneath the bed. It made more sense that way, since that’s where we’re usually using it.” He bends over and retrieves a small first aid kit from below the sink. “I’ve got some ibuprofen in the medicine chest. You should take some after I get you bandaged up. It’ll help keep any swelling down.”
“Will do,” I say, taking a sip of water and stepping past him to sit on the floor, back pressed against the wall. “It’s kind of funny, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?” he asks, pulling out a small wooden stick and a roll of medical tape. He points to my hand, and I give it to him, allowing him to apply a basic splint to my thumb.
“Just how all of this happened,” I tell him. “I mean, I hadn’t even planned on being here that day. If the car service hadn’t grabbed the wrong suitcase, or if you’d been a little better about offering hand towels, I wouldn’t be here now.”
“May I remind you that it was your idea to help me unpack? You could have just as easily been at home watching Star Trek for the hundredth time.” He rips off one last strip of tape and closes it around the base of my thumb. “There, I think that should be enough.”
“Thanks,” I say, and he leans back against the vanity. “Though you have to admit that it's kind of pathetic to still have most of your stuff in boxes after living here for a few months. And I wasn’t talking about right this second, actually. More the whole situation, you know. How something so minor could have such an unexpected consequence.”
“That’s how it usually works,” he laughs, slipping the first aid kit back into the cupboard and shutting the door. “It’s one of the things that makes life so great. The way you never know just what’s going to happen.” He tilts his head and gives me a look, “you still okay with everything?”
“Nope. Hate it. Can’t stand it. That’s why I spent close to five hundred dollars on things to abuse you with last night.” I roll my eyes and throw an arm over one of my knees. “Why would you even ask that?”
“I’m just trying to make sure we’re still on the same page, that’s all. You seemed kind of weird when you woke up earlier, so I thought it would be good to check.”
“Darren, if I seemed weird earlier, it was because I wasn’t really expecting you to climb all over me like a monkey.” It had been kind of weird, waking up with him in my bed. Somehow, I’d always thought the first time I woke up next to a guy, it would be a little different. He’d be gay, for one. Maybe bi. I’m open. Mostly, I guess, I thought we’d be attracted to each other. It’s not that I’d had any elaborate expectations, but having a straight guy grind against me before he was really awake was an outcome I have to admit I’d never really seen coming. “I just think it’s best if we stick to playing here, if you’re still okay with that.”
“Yeah, great,” he says, and gives me another strange look. “Look, Chris, I wasn’t going to say anything about this when Jenna first told me, but I really think I need to clear the air about something. It’s just been on my mind for a couple of weeks, and especially since you found out about Claire.”
“What?” I ask, suddenly curious what Jenna might have to do with anything.
“After Jenna introduced me to Claire, she kind of let it slip that she thought-“ he breaks off, looking away from me and bringing his shoulders in closer to his body. “She thinks you’ve got a crush on me,” he laughs, sounding more than a little forced.
“She what?” I give my head a shake, almost as if I’m trying to rattle the contents into shape. “Jenna thinks I like, like you? LIKE LIKE you, I mean? Oh, that’s…” I do my best to keep talking, but I just can’t keep from dissolving into a fit of giggles. “That’s almost kind of adorable, Darren, but it’s also really, really not true. No offense.”
“None taken,” he says, sounding slightly doubtful. “I didn’t think you did, but I have to say, I didn’t think the possibility was exactly laughable.”
“Well,” I begin, trying to find the most diplomatic words to work with, “it’s just that you’re you.”
“Oh, that clears things up. Thanks for the clear and concise answer.”
“Look, Darren, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re more than a little on the flamboyant side. It might drive the fangirls wild, but it doesn’t really do much for me.”
“I’m too flamboyant for you?” The look on his face can only described as incredulous. “I never shave unless I have to, my shoes never match my outfit, and I frequently smell bad. How on earth is that flamboyant?”
“How is body paint, feathers, and multicolored nail polish not flamboyant?”
“Dude, you’re totally judging me off of Coachella?” he asks with a laugh. “That was like, three days. Three days, and I’m suddenly not crush-worthy?”
“First off, it was more than three days. You didn’t get rid of that nail polish for close to a week. Secondly, it’s not just Coachella. You seem to have this sick fascination with all things cute and shiny, and I’m just not really into all of that. I don’t do pink, I don’t do glitter, I don’t do the goofy socks,” I take a second to breathe and collect my thoughts. It’s not like I haven’t thought this a hundred times or more; but there’s a difference between thinking it and having to explain it. “You’re like the human version of Robot Unicorn Attack, Darren. It’s cute, but it’s not exactly crush-inspiring.”
“So, basically, you’re saying I’m not butch enough for you?” The grin on his face stretches from ear to ear, and he looks absolutely tickled.
“I wouldn’t have used those exact words, but that’s probably a fair way of putting it.” I lift my head from the wall to give him a look that I hope adequately expresses just how sincere I am in my words. “I think you’re great, and yeah, when you first showed up, I did have kind of a thing for you. You’re a good-looking guy who loves to sing and dance and is passionate about things that are even geekier than I am, and that was kind of appealing. It still is, but in more a ‘hey, it’s really great that we’re friends’ way than an ‘I really wish I could tap that’ way.”
“Cool,” he says, giving me a smaller, but still genuine grin. “So, what would be an example of your type? Just out of curiousity?”
“Zachary Quinto,” I say without hesitation. “It’s kind of weird, now that he and Jon are dating, but he definitely fits the bill. Joseph Gordon-Levitt, too. Good-looking, but not in that “just stepped off the runway” sort of way. Talented and passionate, clearly intelligent, but also just regular guys. Guys. I like guys.” I wrinkle my brow for a second. “I know it sounds mean, but I don’t like the far ends of the spectrum. I just don’t find either the overly muscled meathead or the overly flamboyant very attractive. I like the kind of guy you could meet by bumping into them in the film section of Barnes and Noble.”
“That would explain the Star Trek fixation,” he laughs. “Though you do realize that you’ve just implied that you would never be attracted to your own character.”
“Oh, I might make an exception for Kurt,” I say with a grin, “I have it on good authority that he’s an amazing kisser.”
“That he is,” Darren laughs. “Look, I’m glad we finally got this cleared up. I didn’t really think Jenna was right, but I didn’t want to take the chance. I know we’ve kind of blurred some lines, and I just wanted to make sure you were really okay with it. I meant it when I said you were the best friend I had out here, and your friendship is really, really important to me. I mean, I love everything we’ve been doing - you’re an incredible dom - but I’d give it up like that,” he snaps his fingers “if I ever really believed you weren’t okay with it.”
“Darren?”
“Yes, Chris?”
“If a really beautiful and intelligent woman gave you permission to act out some of your kinkiest sexual fantasies with no strings attached, what would you say?”
“I’d throw her the whip and tell her to get to work,” he grins.
“Well, there you go. I do find you attractive, I’m just not attracted to you. You’re also a good friend, and I know that I can trust you. We have a good chemistry when we’re playing, and it works for me. It really is the win-win you said it would be, and I can say with one hundred percent sincerity that I have no reservations about it, whatsoever.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Darren says, seeming suddenly more serious. “I really want this to continue. I don’t know how to explain it, but our little arrangement fills this need I have, and I never feel as complete as I do when we’re having one of our play dates, or even talking about it, really. It’s like, there’s this valve inside of me that’s constantly filling with steam, and you’re the only one who can really get it open enough to provide any kind of release.”
“Do me a favor, Darren?”
“Anything.”
“Please never tell me you need me to help you open your valve and provide your release. It just sounds so, so wrong.”
“Shit,” he laughs, “it does, doesn’t it?” We both sit there for a minute, just laughing about the whole thing, until he gathers himself back together and hums for a moment under his breath. “Look, I know that playing at your place wasn’t your idea, and I’m sorry if my showing up unannounced was out of line. It’s just that I really, really wanted to explain the whole Claire thing to you. I called her in the car on the way over from your place earlier, and she said she wasn’t really feeling it any more than I had. So please don’t think you played any part in hurting her. It’s cool that you were so adamant about that. Lots of people wouldn’t have cared.”
“Sometimes,” I say, choosing my words with care, “I wish I could care a little less.” The memory of him sobbing in my arms last night suddenly comes back to mind, and all I can think of is the feel of his sweat-slick skin beneath my hands as I held him through his tears. I’d loved how completely used and broken he’d looked, but there’d been a part of me that worried there was something more to it. The way he’d completely fallen apart as I’d fucked him with that thigh harness; unleashing that string of words about being mine and how he’d been wanting to be fucked the way for years - it felt a little more real than things had been before. ”I hope he’s really okay,” I’d thought to myself, but I still didn’t really know how to ask if he was. He never shows that kind of vulnerability when we aren’t playing, and it makes me wonder sometimes if maybe there’s not more to this “valve” of his than he’s letting on.
“Come on,” I say, getting up and tousling his hair as I head back into the hallway. “We’ve still got some books to put away.”
Featured in this story:
Nothing, really.
Henrik Stigell
Title: And That’s What’s Appealing (Made To Be Broken 7/10)
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,400
Pairing: Chris/Darren. Kind of. ;)
Warning(s): Domination and submission.
Spoilers: Oh dear god, no.
Summary: Chris finds something unexpected while at Darren’s. Darren is mortified, but in a really good way.
Notes: Another talky chapter, but they kind of needed it after the last one. I can see the potential for jumping ship for some of you, but I just ask that you stick with it at least until the next chapter. Each chapter’s deliberately set the stage for what’s next to come, and I promise that the next one will be worth it. Just trust me, ‘kay?
Also, there's a deleted scene, found here, that takes place between this and the chapter before it. It's not really required to follow the plot, but it has its moments.
“You’re absolutely insane. I hope you know that.”
“So you’ve already said, and on more than one occasion,” Darren says, sliding another few books onto the shelf he’s facing. “What is it this time?”
“You’re shelving your books by color.”
“So?” he asks, breaking into laughter. “What’s wrong with that?”
“What’s wrong with it,” I tell him, hammering another nail into another X carefully penciled onto the wall and making my way on to the next, “is that it doesn’t make any sense. Who does that?”
“I do,” he says, reaching into the open box for another armful and sliding them into place. “I just like the way it looks.”
“But what about keeping things together? I mean, does this mean you have Harry Potter scattered all over the place?” I take another swing with the hammer, and miss. The hammer connects directly with my thumb, and falls to the ground half a second later.
“Shit, Chris, are you okay?” Darren slides the last few books into place and runs over, almost tripping over another box in his rush.
“Yeah,” I mutter, wincing slightly as he takes my hand and looks at my thumb. “I don’t think I did any serious damage, but it still hurts like,” I do my best to think of a clever way to finish my sentence, and come up with nothing. “Like something that hurts a lot, I guess. Something that hurts too much to be witty.”
“Let’s get a splint on it, just in case. I’ve got a first aid kit in the bathroom.”
As I reach the bathroom and slump against the doorframe, I find myself remembering that afternoon in early July. I’d come over that day with only one thing in mind - to give him the bag that had accidentally been sorted with my own luggage when we’d taken our respective cabs home from the airport after the tour was over. I showed up, handed him the suitcase, and asked to wash my hands. The only towel I’d seen was the one hanging over the shower curtain, and I’d felt too weird about the possibility that he’d used it after his shower to wipe my hands on it.
I wouldn’t use his shower towel to dry my hands, but I’m okay with leaving him naked and stuck to my shower wall with the water spraying in his face.
Clearly, I have issues.
“Drawer’s empty, at the moment.” Darren brushes past me as he enters the bathroom with a glass of water, handing it to me with an expectant expression. “The basket got too full, so I’ve been keeping everything in a Rubbermaid bin underneath the bed. It made more sense that way, since that’s where we’re usually using it.” He bends over and retrieves a small first aid kit from below the sink. “I’ve got some ibuprofen in the medicine chest. You should take some after I get you bandaged up. It’ll help keep any swelling down.”
“Will do,” I say, taking a sip of water and stepping past him to sit on the floor, back pressed against the wall. “It’s kind of funny, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?” he asks, pulling out a small wooden stick and a roll of medical tape. He points to my hand, and I give it to him, allowing him to apply a basic splint to my thumb.
“Just how all of this happened,” I tell him. “I mean, I hadn’t even planned on being here that day. If the car service hadn’t grabbed the wrong suitcase, or if you’d been a little better about offering hand towels, I wouldn’t be here now.”
“May I remind you that it was your idea to help me unpack? You could have just as easily been at home watching Star Trek for the hundredth time.” He rips off one last strip of tape and closes it around the base of my thumb. “There, I think that should be enough.”
“Thanks,” I say, and he leans back against the vanity. “Though you have to admit that it's kind of pathetic to still have most of your stuff in boxes after living here for a few months. And I wasn’t talking about right this second, actually. More the whole situation, you know. How something so minor could have such an unexpected consequence.”
“That’s how it usually works,” he laughs, slipping the first aid kit back into the cupboard and shutting the door. “It’s one of the things that makes life so great. The way you never know just what’s going to happen.” He tilts his head and gives me a look, “you still okay with everything?”
“Nope. Hate it. Can’t stand it. That’s why I spent close to five hundred dollars on things to abuse you with last night.” I roll my eyes and throw an arm over one of my knees. “Why would you even ask that?”
“I’m just trying to make sure we’re still on the same page, that’s all. You seemed kind of weird when you woke up earlier, so I thought it would be good to check.”
“Darren, if I seemed weird earlier, it was because I wasn’t really expecting you to climb all over me like a monkey.” It had been kind of weird, waking up with him in my bed. Somehow, I’d always thought the first time I woke up next to a guy, it would be a little different. He’d be gay, for one. Maybe bi. I’m open. Mostly, I guess, I thought we’d be attracted to each other. It’s not that I’d had any elaborate expectations, but having a straight guy grind against me before he was really awake was an outcome I have to admit I’d never really seen coming. “I just think it’s best if we stick to playing here, if you’re still okay with that.”
“Yeah, great,” he says, and gives me another strange look. “Look, Chris, I wasn’t going to say anything about this when Jenna first told me, but I really think I need to clear the air about something. It’s just been on my mind for a couple of weeks, and especially since you found out about Claire.”
“What?” I ask, suddenly curious what Jenna might have to do with anything.
“After Jenna introduced me to Claire, she kind of let it slip that she thought-“ he breaks off, looking away from me and bringing his shoulders in closer to his body. “She thinks you’ve got a crush on me,” he laughs, sounding more than a little forced.
“She what?” I give my head a shake, almost as if I’m trying to rattle the contents into shape. “Jenna thinks I like, like you? LIKE LIKE you, I mean? Oh, that’s…” I do my best to keep talking, but I just can’t keep from dissolving into a fit of giggles. “That’s almost kind of adorable, Darren, but it’s also really, really not true. No offense.”
“None taken,” he says, sounding slightly doubtful. “I didn’t think you did, but I have to say, I didn’t think the possibility was exactly laughable.”
“Well,” I begin, trying to find the most diplomatic words to work with, “it’s just that you’re you.”
“Oh, that clears things up. Thanks for the clear and concise answer.”
“Look, Darren, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re more than a little on the flamboyant side. It might drive the fangirls wild, but it doesn’t really do much for me.”
“I’m too flamboyant for you?” The look on his face can only described as incredulous. “I never shave unless I have to, my shoes never match my outfit, and I frequently smell bad. How on earth is that flamboyant?”
“How is body paint, feathers, and multicolored nail polish not flamboyant?”
“Dude, you’re totally judging me off of Coachella?” he asks with a laugh. “That was like, three days. Three days, and I’m suddenly not crush-worthy?”
“First off, it was more than three days. You didn’t get rid of that nail polish for close to a week. Secondly, it’s not just Coachella. You seem to have this sick fascination with all things cute and shiny, and I’m just not really into all of that. I don’t do pink, I don’t do glitter, I don’t do the goofy socks,” I take a second to breathe and collect my thoughts. It’s not like I haven’t thought this a hundred times or more; but there’s a difference between thinking it and having to explain it. “You’re like the human version of Robot Unicorn Attack, Darren. It’s cute, but it’s not exactly crush-inspiring.”
“So, basically, you’re saying I’m not butch enough for you?” The grin on his face stretches from ear to ear, and he looks absolutely tickled.
“I wouldn’t have used those exact words, but that’s probably a fair way of putting it.” I lift my head from the wall to give him a look that I hope adequately expresses just how sincere I am in my words. “I think you’re great, and yeah, when you first showed up, I did have kind of a thing for you. You’re a good-looking guy who loves to sing and dance and is passionate about things that are even geekier than I am, and that was kind of appealing. It still is, but in more a ‘hey, it’s really great that we’re friends’ way than an ‘I really wish I could tap that’ way.”
“Cool,” he says, giving me a smaller, but still genuine grin. “So, what would be an example of your type? Just out of curiousity?”
“Zachary Quinto,” I say without hesitation. “It’s kind of weird, now that he and Jon are dating, but he definitely fits the bill. Joseph Gordon-Levitt, too. Good-looking, but not in that “just stepped off the runway” sort of way. Talented and passionate, clearly intelligent, but also just regular guys. Guys. I like guys.” I wrinkle my brow for a second. “I know it sounds mean, but I don’t like the far ends of the spectrum. I just don’t find either the overly muscled meathead or the overly flamboyant very attractive. I like the kind of guy you could meet by bumping into them in the film section of Barnes and Noble.”
“That would explain the Star Trek fixation,” he laughs. “Though you do realize that you’ve just implied that you would never be attracted to your own character.”
“Oh, I might make an exception for Kurt,” I say with a grin, “I have it on good authority that he’s an amazing kisser.”
“That he is,” Darren laughs. “Look, I’m glad we finally got this cleared up. I didn’t really think Jenna was right, but I didn’t want to take the chance. I know we’ve kind of blurred some lines, and I just wanted to make sure you were really okay with it. I meant it when I said you were the best friend I had out here, and your friendship is really, really important to me. I mean, I love everything we’ve been doing - you’re an incredible dom - but I’d give it up like that,” he snaps his fingers “if I ever really believed you weren’t okay with it.”
“Darren?”
“Yes, Chris?”
“If a really beautiful and intelligent woman gave you permission to act out some of your kinkiest sexual fantasies with no strings attached, what would you say?”
“I’d throw her the whip and tell her to get to work,” he grins.
“Well, there you go. I do find you attractive, I’m just not attracted to you. You’re also a good friend, and I know that I can trust you. We have a good chemistry when we’re playing, and it works for me. It really is the win-win you said it would be, and I can say with one hundred percent sincerity that I have no reservations about it, whatsoever.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Darren says, seeming suddenly more serious. “I really want this to continue. I don’t know how to explain it, but our little arrangement fills this need I have, and I never feel as complete as I do when we’re having one of our play dates, or even talking about it, really. It’s like, there’s this valve inside of me that’s constantly filling with steam, and you’re the only one who can really get it open enough to provide any kind of release.”
“Do me a favor, Darren?”
“Anything.”
“Please never tell me you need me to help you open your valve and provide your release. It just sounds so, so wrong.”
“Shit,” he laughs, “it does, doesn’t it?” We both sit there for a minute, just laughing about the whole thing, until he gathers himself back together and hums for a moment under his breath. “Look, I know that playing at your place wasn’t your idea, and I’m sorry if my showing up unannounced was out of line. It’s just that I really, really wanted to explain the whole Claire thing to you. I called her in the car on the way over from your place earlier, and she said she wasn’t really feeling it any more than I had. So please don’t think you played any part in hurting her. It’s cool that you were so adamant about that. Lots of people wouldn’t have cared.”
“Sometimes,” I say, choosing my words with care, “I wish I could care a little less.” The memory of him sobbing in my arms last night suddenly comes back to mind, and all I can think of is the feel of his sweat-slick skin beneath my hands as I held him through his tears. I’d loved how completely used and broken he’d looked, but there’d been a part of me that worried there was something more to it. The way he’d completely fallen apart as I’d fucked him with that thigh harness; unleashing that string of words about being mine and how he’d been wanting to be fucked the way for years - it felt a little more real than things had been before. ”I hope he’s really okay,” I’d thought to myself, but I still didn’t really know how to ask if he was. He never shows that kind of vulnerability when we aren’t playing, and it makes me wonder sometimes if maybe there’s not more to this “valve” of his than he’s letting on.
“Come on,” I say, getting up and tousling his hair as I head back into the hallway. “We’ve still got some books to put away.”
Featured in this story:
Nothing, really.
Henrik Stigell