From Disposable Fun [RPF] (PG-13)
Author: Oddreigh
Title: From Disposable Fun (Made To Be Broken 9/10)[RPF]
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,400
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: Sorry this took longer to finish than the others. Between my wonky sleep patterns, being sick Saturday night / Sunday morning, going to Glee Live on Monday night, and the finale last night (not to mention trying to keep up with Tumblr), I just didn’t have the usual amounts of time and/or energy.
“What did you say?” I shout at Diana, even though she’s less than a foot away.
“I said,” she yells, taking a wrong step and falling against me, “that it’s good to have you back! I think we’re all still getting used to it after you spent so much of last year away from us.”
“It’s good to be back,” I say, doing a little dance step in front of her. “Now that it’s over, it feels safe to finally admit that I hated it. Being away, I mean.” I take her by the hand and give her a little twirl, smiling when she bumps against Cory and they both laugh. “I missed this. It’s nice to have the club back”
“Confession time, little dude?” Cory calls from his spot by the wall. “We missed Club Chris more than we missed you. Oh, hey,” he adds, almost as an afterthought. “Darren’s standing outside. With…something,” he finishes, kind of spinning his arms in front of him as if miming carrying something of considerable size. He shrugs his shoulders and takes a sip off of his plastic cup of whatever he’s drinking. “Don’t ask me what it was, dude, I couldn’t tell. Tried to get him to come in, but he said he wasn’t invited.”
“Excuse me for a moment,” I sigh, even though I know no one can hear me over Lady Gaga’s attempts at singing in German. I do Kurt’s little head shake from the ”Born This Way” routine and push my way through the mylar streamers hanging in my doorway. It’s a Club Chris night, after all. I have to at least look the part of the party host.
I continue my little dance as I slip through the door and down the stairs. Darren’s sitting on the ground, back against my trailer and holding something dark and vaguely shiny in his lap. I lean against the trailer and cross my arms as I look down at him. “What are you doing here?”
“I carried a watermelon,” he says, slipping his fingers beneath the biggest watermelon I’ve ever seen outside of a county fair and holding it up for me to get a better look.
“So I see. Darren?”
“Yeah?”
“Why did you bring me a watermelon?”
He gives a nervous laugh, giving the watermelon a small toss into the air and resting it back in his lap. “It seemed like a good idea, at the time.”
“That seems to be a running theme with you,” I say, taking a seat beside him. “Ridiculous things that seem like a good idea at the time.”
“It got you to talk to me, didn’t it?”
“I’ve been busy,” I tell him. “Between the show and meetings, I just haven’t had a lot of free time.” I take a deep breath and hold it in as long as I can before letting it out as slowly as I can manage. “Besides, what else was there to say?”
“I’ll take ‘A Metric Shit Ton’ for a thousand, Alex.”
“Cute, Darren. Real cute.”
“I’m fucking serious, man.”
“You’re fucking crazy, is what you are.” He is, too. He really, really is. What kind of person thinks he can say he loves you and not think there’s going to be some sort of consequence? “Absolutely, undeniably, stark raving mad.”
“Banana.”
“What?” I shake my head and squint, not sure I’ve really heard him right.
“I said, ‘Banana.’ Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana.” He takes in a deep breath and throws his shoulders back. “PLANTAAAAAAIIIIIN!” The sound of his yelling hangs thick in the air, and I can only hope the music is loud enough to keep anyone inside from hearing him.
“You are insane, you know that?” I hiss through my teeth, shooting a mortified look at the door behind me.
“Yeah,” he shrugs. “It’s kinda’ my thing.”
“So,” I begin, leaning further away from him, “you pulled me out of my party so you could babble about bananas?”
“No,” he says, looking at me like I’m an idiot. “I came here because I was hoping you would talk to me. You don’t seem willing to do that, so I decided to just say the stupidest thing that came to mind.” He heaves a deep breath, his head hitting the trailer as he tosses it back. “I figured it wouldn’t matter, since you still haven’t calmed down enough to discuss this like an adult.”
“Oh,” I laugh, “I’m the one not behaving like an adult, am I? Well, I’m sorry, Darren. I wasn’t aware that not speaking to someone who’s more full of shit than the lyrics to this song would be seen as lacking in adulthood.”
“I thought you liked this song,” he says, a momentary confusion clouding his face before the light bulb goes off and he gives a small hum of amusement. “Cute, Chris. I didn’t know you spoke German.”
“I don’t,” I tell him. “Only the bad words.”
“Cool,” he pauses. “I can swear in like, nine languages, you know.”
“Fascinating.” I stretch an arm before me and look at my nails. “I think I’m going to need another manicure, soon. Kurt would never let his hands look like this.”
“You’re very dedicated to your craft,” he nods at me. “So, Chris?”
“Yes, Darren?”
“Does this mean you’re willing to talk to me yet?”
I roll my eyes and shove myself off of the ground. “I would, if there was anything worth talking about, but there isn’t. I think I pretty much covered it all already.” I’m just about to open the door and head back in when he gets up and thrusts the melon at me.
“Take it. I don’t even like the stuff.” He stands there for a second, staring into my eyes with his hands still pressing the damn thing into mine. “I just want my best friend back,” he whispers. “Whatever.” He backs away, the watermelon slipping from between our hands and crashing to the ground in a red, wet mess.
That’s not symbolic, or anything. Not at fucking all.
---
Kurt and Blaine are fighting.
This is both good, and bad. Good, because it means that I don’t have to make goo-goo eyes at Darren anymore. Bad, because I know there’s going to be some big, stupid moment of romance when they get over themselves. I hate big, stupid moments. Big, stupid moments mean too much emotion, too much fuss, too much everything, really.
Another thing I hate? Running out of my apartment in the morning to find someone curled up on my doorstep. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I hiss at him.
“I came to talk, but you didn’t answer,” he mutters, rubbing the heel of his palm against the side of his face, having apparently been asleep before I opened the door. “I thought I’d just wait for you, but you never showed up.”
“I’ve been home since six p.m.,” I tell him. “What time did you get here?”
“Mmmno know.” He lets out another puff of breath and rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “Eleven, maybe?”
“You showed up at eleven o’clock on a work night to see if I wanted to talk? Darren, I get into bed at ten when I have to get up early. You know this.”
“Forgot. Sue me.” He yawns and gives a stretch, his shirt rising just enough to reveal a few inches of skin.
Don’t think about his skin.
“Look, can we talk anyway? I mean, I waited here all damn night, and that’s got to count for something.”
“Fine, we can talk. Later, though. We’ve got to leave now if we don’t want to be late.”
“Always so concerned with time,” he grins. “Can I ask a favor?”
“I’d rather you didn’t, but I have a feeling you’re going to, anyway,” I huff, locking the door behind me and gesturing for him to follow me as I head for the elevator.
“Can I bum a ride with you this morning?” he asks as the elevator doors slide shut and I hit the button for the underground parking garage. “I kinda’ locked my keys in the car.”
---
“So, now that I’ve got you trapped, are you going to tell me why you’re so pissed?”
“Before I answer anything,” I say, turning the corner and doing my best to keep from spilling my Diet Coke “may I point out that technically, I have you trapped. I can kick you out at any time.”
“No,” he says, taking the bottle from me and screwing the cap back on before sliding it into the cup holder. “That’s more like holding me captive. I have you trapped, because you can’t get away. You can get rid of me, but you’re pretty much stuck.”
“Point,” I mutter, keeping my eyes on the road. “Can I assume you have a point to make, or are you just going to talk about talking some more?”
“Why did what I said piss you off so much? That’s all I’ve wanted to know.” He’s annoyingly calm, and it’s only serving to make me less so.
“Darren,” I say, speaking to him like a child, “you said you loved me. How did you think I was going to react?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Maybe say it back?”
The light turns red and I have to stomp on the brakes in order to stop the car in time. “Say it back?” I ask him, completely thrown by his answer. “Not even a month before, I told you that I didn’t have a crush on you. Told you I wasn’t even attracted to you. What on Earth would make you think I loved you?”
He sinks just barely back into his seat, a sad look in his eyes. “There are different ways of loving people, Chris.”
“I’m well aware of that fact, but there’s only one that, from my admittedly limited understanding, people tend to confess moments after having sex.” I check over my shoulder to make sure my blind spot’s clear and change lanes. “If you meant it in any other way, I have to say that you have the worst sense of timing known to man.”
“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t be the first to say that,” he sighs, arms crossed against his chest and eyes staring out the window. “Look, I’m not that bad a guy, am I?”
“You’re not a bad guy,” I say. “Not for the most part, anyway. You are, however, a straight guy. That’s a big part of things. Even if you weren’t, though, it doesn’t change the whole Robot Unicorn thing you’ve got going on.”
“So I like to have fun with myself - why is that so offensive to you?”
“It’s not so much offensive as it is frustrating, truth be told.” I grip the steering wheel tightly with both hands and stare straight ahead. “My whole life, people have made jokes about me. Once, when I was performing in my school’s production of Man of La Mancha, we made a video. Someone was asking me questions, and as I answered them, someone else ran behind me and yelled ’fag’. It might sound stupid to someone who didn’t have to put up with it, but I still find myself seething with rage whenever I think about it.
“A lot of the time, I feel like I have to work twice as hard to be taken as seriously as the next guy. It’s worth it, and I’m proud of everything I’ve done, but there are times when I look at you and how much confetti and streamers seem to follow in your wake, and I just get mad. It’s all so easy for you, isn’t it? You just do what you want and say what you think, and everyone stands up and cheers.” I flip the signal and turn the corner. “What’s that even like?”
“Being myself?” he asks, his voice more subdued than usual. “It’s kind of awesome, really. I’d think being you is pretty awesome too, though.”
“It can be,” I sigh. “I just wonder sometimes, how people would react if I did half the things that you do. You don’t seem to understand how much of what you get away with is just because you’re straight. If I walked around with multicolored nail polish, or wore pink sunglasses, or the crazy socks? It would suddenly all be about the fact that I’m gay, and nothing else.” I come to a stop at a red light, and turn to face him. “It’s not even that I want to do the stuff you do. I’ve never really been that type. I just hate that I don’t even have the option of it unless I’m willing to put up with a lot of bullshit, and I just…don’t. Not if I want to be judged on who I am instead of who I want to love.”
“Want to love,” Darren repeats, nodding slowly. “That’s an interesting choice of words.”
“Don’t read too much into it,” I say, pulling into the studio and heading for my usual parking spot. “After all, you’re asking me not to read anything into things that should mean a whole lot more.”
---
“What’s the deal with you and Darren?” Ashley asks as we’re eating lunch. “You guys talking again?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, doing my best to seem nonchalant.
“It’s just, you guys used to kind of hang out a lot. Like, it seemed like you’d bonded when we started shooting again. Eating together and hanging out in each others’ trailers and stuff. I was almost starting to get jealous. Thought you were trying to replace me as your BFF or something.” She swirls her straw in her glass of iced tea and gives a little shrug. “Last couple of weeks, though, you’ve been like Peter Parker and Spider-Man - never in the same place at the same time.”
“Just which one of us would be the Peter Parker in that situation?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow and flashing her a grin.
“That would be Darren,” she says, dumping another packet of Splenda into her tea. “He may be more hyper than you are, but you’ve got him beat when it comes to hanging from stuff.”
“What’s that about Chris beating Darren?” Max asks as he and Darren walk past.
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Nothing at all.”
---
“Chris?” Darren asks from the passenger seat on the way back to my place that night.
“Yes, Darren?” I sigh, wondering why he can’t just be content to sit there and be quiet.
“Why did you say we were already in a relationship?” His voice is small, and the usual light isn’t in his face.
“I said it,” I answer wearily, “because it was true. At least, I think it was. Thought it was. I don’t know.” I shake my head, trying to get the thoughts to fall back into place. “I’d been picking up on things for a while, I just didn’t want to say anything. I guess I thought that if I did, you’d assume it was me reading too much into things because I wanted more than I really did. If I didn’t acknowledge them, it was like they weren’t there. So I didn’t say anything when you started calling or texting me every day. I didn’t say anything when I realized that that trip you made back here during your tour to ‘do stuff with your agent’ only consisted of one lunch meeting that seemed to last significantly less time than the amount we spent in your bedroom. I didn’t say anything when you began to tell me how important I was to you. I didn’t say anything when you began to use my name during…certain activities, and I didn’t say anything when you wanted to sleep in the same bed as me that night at my place.” I lower my window a little and take in a deep breath of the air that drifts inside the car. “I didn’t say a lot of things, Darren, but when you said you loved me, it was like some kind of dam bursting. That was something I couldn’t ignore or make up some excuse for.
“Look, maybe this is just another one of those times when my lack of experience distorts how I’m seeing things, but from where I stood, you were acting like you were in a relationship. Maybe you didn’t think of us as…boyfriends,” I say, almost choking on the word, “but you definitely acted like we were more than ‘just friends.’"
He’s quiet for a minute. The weird kind of quiet where you can just tell that even though someone’s not saying anything, it doesn’t mean they don’t want to. “You’re right,” he finally chokes out, his voice thick and low. “I was, and I didn’t even see it. I spent so much time trying to be aware of how you felt about things that I didn’t even think about how I felt about them.” He gives a rueful laugh and buries the back of his head into the headrest. “Kind of stupid, wasn’t I?”
“Stupid’s not the word I’d use,” I say, cautiously slipping one hand over his and giving it a mild squeeze. “Oblivious, yes. Optimistic, maybe,” I say, releasing his hand and putting mine back on the wheel. “But definitely not stupid.”
---
Things have been a little better since we talked a few days ago. They’re not perfect, or even like they were before, but they’re not terrible. Whatever they are, it’s an improvement.
Also an improvement is the fact that Brad scrapped his original idea for Kurt and Blaine’s reconciliation. Instead of some big, stupid moment during sweeps, we’re getting the standard “sing it out in the choir room” treatment. I know I should be disappointed, but I’m really not. I like that they’re being treated kind of normally. It gives me hope.
We’re almost done with the episode. The only thing we have left is, of course, Blaine’s serenade slash audition for New Directions. ”It’ll be good to get it over with,” I find myself thinking as I sit there in a pair of blue plaid bondage pants with knee-high leather boots and this weird, strappy vest-type-thing that takes two people to properly buckle me into. Things with Darren might be better, but they’re still not where I’d really like them to be. Whatever that even is, at this point.
“All right,” Brad calls from behind the monitors. “Darren, let’s have you run through the song one more time, okay? All the way through this time.”
Darren just nods and gives a quick, two fingered salute from his temple before getting back into his starting position and hopping in place a little to get himself geared up. The cameras start rolling, and he delves back into the song for, I’m hoping, the last time. It’s not that it’s a bad song, or even that I don’t want to be doing the scene in the first place. It’s that every time he looks at me, it begins to feel less like it’s really Kurt and Blaine, and more like it’s the two of us. It’s uncomfortable, and I’m more than a little nervous about how Kurt is coming across as a result.
Then, halfway through the first chorus, it happens.
He stops lip synching.
It’s not loud, but it’s definitely his actual voice that I - and everyone else - can suddenly hear.
”Out of the doubt that fills my mind, I somehow find that you and I collide.”
He’s just standing there, not even on his mark, staring at me head on as if daring me to say or do something even if he’s not sure what he wants that to be. People begin looking from one of us to the other and then shooting looks back and forth among themselves, and all I can think is ”Jesus fucking Christ, Darren - we’re not even doing this anymore, and you’re still breaking rules,” because after this, there’s no way that either one of us will be able to deny it if someone asks if there’s something going on.
“Excuse me,” I somehow manage to choke out, and I barely make it to the nearest bathroom before I throw up.
Featured in this story:
No toys, but the song is “Collide,” by Howie Day.
Check out this cover by klainechriss - she's really good. :D
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Title: From Disposable Fun (Made To Be Broken 9/10)[RPF]
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,400
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: Sorry this took longer to finish than the others. Between my wonky sleep patterns, being sick Saturday night / Sunday morning, going to Glee Live on Monday night, and the finale last night (not to mention trying to keep up with Tumblr), I just didn’t have the usual amounts of time and/or energy.
“What did you say?” I shout at Diana, even though she’s less than a foot away.
“I said,” she yells, taking a wrong step and falling against me, “that it’s good to have you back! I think we’re all still getting used to it after you spent so much of last year away from us.”
“It’s good to be back,” I say, doing a little dance step in front of her. “Now that it’s over, it feels safe to finally admit that I hated it. Being away, I mean.” I take her by the hand and give her a little twirl, smiling when she bumps against Cory and they both laugh. “I missed this. It’s nice to have the club back”
“Confession time, little dude?” Cory calls from his spot by the wall. “We missed Club Chris more than we missed you. Oh, hey,” he adds, almost as an afterthought. “Darren’s standing outside. With…something,” he finishes, kind of spinning his arms in front of him as if miming carrying something of considerable size. He shrugs his shoulders and takes a sip off of his plastic cup of whatever he’s drinking. “Don’t ask me what it was, dude, I couldn’t tell. Tried to get him to come in, but he said he wasn’t invited.”
“Excuse me for a moment,” I sigh, even though I know no one can hear me over Lady Gaga’s attempts at singing in German. I do Kurt’s little head shake from the ”Born This Way” routine and push my way through the mylar streamers hanging in my doorway. It’s a Club Chris night, after all. I have to at least look the part of the party host.
I continue my little dance as I slip through the door and down the stairs. Darren’s sitting on the ground, back against my trailer and holding something dark and vaguely shiny in his lap. I lean against the trailer and cross my arms as I look down at him. “What are you doing here?”
“I carried a watermelon,” he says, slipping his fingers beneath the biggest watermelon I’ve ever seen outside of a county fair and holding it up for me to get a better look.
“So I see. Darren?”
“Yeah?”
“Why did you bring me a watermelon?”
He gives a nervous laugh, giving the watermelon a small toss into the air and resting it back in his lap. “It seemed like a good idea, at the time.”
“That seems to be a running theme with you,” I say, taking a seat beside him. “Ridiculous things that seem like a good idea at the time.”
“It got you to talk to me, didn’t it?”
“I’ve been busy,” I tell him. “Between the show and meetings, I just haven’t had a lot of free time.” I take a deep breath and hold it in as long as I can before letting it out as slowly as I can manage. “Besides, what else was there to say?”
“I’ll take ‘A Metric Shit Ton’ for a thousand, Alex.”
“Cute, Darren. Real cute.”
“I’m fucking serious, man.”
“You’re fucking crazy, is what you are.” He is, too. He really, really is. What kind of person thinks he can say he loves you and not think there’s going to be some sort of consequence? “Absolutely, undeniably, stark raving mad.”
“Banana.”
“What?” I shake my head and squint, not sure I’ve really heard him right.
“I said, ‘Banana.’ Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana. Banana.” He takes in a deep breath and throws his shoulders back. “PLANTAAAAAAIIIIIN!” The sound of his yelling hangs thick in the air, and I can only hope the music is loud enough to keep anyone inside from hearing him.
“You are insane, you know that?” I hiss through my teeth, shooting a mortified look at the door behind me.
“Yeah,” he shrugs. “It’s kinda’ my thing.”
“So,” I begin, leaning further away from him, “you pulled me out of my party so you could babble about bananas?”
“No,” he says, looking at me like I’m an idiot. “I came here because I was hoping you would talk to me. You don’t seem willing to do that, so I decided to just say the stupidest thing that came to mind.” He heaves a deep breath, his head hitting the trailer as he tosses it back. “I figured it wouldn’t matter, since you still haven’t calmed down enough to discuss this like an adult.”
“Oh,” I laugh, “I’m the one not behaving like an adult, am I? Well, I’m sorry, Darren. I wasn’t aware that not speaking to someone who’s more full of shit than the lyrics to this song would be seen as lacking in adulthood.”
“I thought you liked this song,” he says, a momentary confusion clouding his face before the light bulb goes off and he gives a small hum of amusement. “Cute, Chris. I didn’t know you spoke German.”
“I don’t,” I tell him. “Only the bad words.”
“Cool,” he pauses. “I can swear in like, nine languages, you know.”
“Fascinating.” I stretch an arm before me and look at my nails. “I think I’m going to need another manicure, soon. Kurt would never let his hands look like this.”
“You’re very dedicated to your craft,” he nods at me. “So, Chris?”
“Yes, Darren?”
“Does this mean you’re willing to talk to me yet?”
I roll my eyes and shove myself off of the ground. “I would, if there was anything worth talking about, but there isn’t. I think I pretty much covered it all already.” I’m just about to open the door and head back in when he gets up and thrusts the melon at me.
“Take it. I don’t even like the stuff.” He stands there for a second, staring into my eyes with his hands still pressing the damn thing into mine. “I just want my best friend back,” he whispers. “Whatever.” He backs away, the watermelon slipping from between our hands and crashing to the ground in a red, wet mess.
That’s not symbolic, or anything. Not at fucking all.
---
Kurt and Blaine are fighting.
This is both good, and bad. Good, because it means that I don’t have to make goo-goo eyes at Darren anymore. Bad, because I know there’s going to be some big, stupid moment of romance when they get over themselves. I hate big, stupid moments. Big, stupid moments mean too much emotion, too much fuss, too much everything, really.
Another thing I hate? Running out of my apartment in the morning to find someone curled up on my doorstep. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I hiss at him.
“I came to talk, but you didn’t answer,” he mutters, rubbing the heel of his palm against the side of his face, having apparently been asleep before I opened the door. “I thought I’d just wait for you, but you never showed up.”
“I’ve been home since six p.m.,” I tell him. “What time did you get here?”
“Mmmno know.” He lets out another puff of breath and rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “Eleven, maybe?”
“You showed up at eleven o’clock on a work night to see if I wanted to talk? Darren, I get into bed at ten when I have to get up early. You know this.”
“Forgot. Sue me.” He yawns and gives a stretch, his shirt rising just enough to reveal a few inches of skin.
Don’t think about his skin.
“Look, can we talk anyway? I mean, I waited here all damn night, and that’s got to count for something.”
“Fine, we can talk. Later, though. We’ve got to leave now if we don’t want to be late.”
“Always so concerned with time,” he grins. “Can I ask a favor?”
“I’d rather you didn’t, but I have a feeling you’re going to, anyway,” I huff, locking the door behind me and gesturing for him to follow me as I head for the elevator.
“Can I bum a ride with you this morning?” he asks as the elevator doors slide shut and I hit the button for the underground parking garage. “I kinda’ locked my keys in the car.”
---
“So, now that I’ve got you trapped, are you going to tell me why you’re so pissed?”
“Before I answer anything,” I say, turning the corner and doing my best to keep from spilling my Diet Coke “may I point out that technically, I have you trapped. I can kick you out at any time.”
“No,” he says, taking the bottle from me and screwing the cap back on before sliding it into the cup holder. “That’s more like holding me captive. I have you trapped, because you can’t get away. You can get rid of me, but you’re pretty much stuck.”
“Point,” I mutter, keeping my eyes on the road. “Can I assume you have a point to make, or are you just going to talk about talking some more?”
“Why did what I said piss you off so much? That’s all I’ve wanted to know.” He’s annoyingly calm, and it’s only serving to make me less so.
“Darren,” I say, speaking to him like a child, “you said you loved me. How did you think I was going to react?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Maybe say it back?”
The light turns red and I have to stomp on the brakes in order to stop the car in time. “Say it back?” I ask him, completely thrown by his answer. “Not even a month before, I told you that I didn’t have a crush on you. Told you I wasn’t even attracted to you. What on Earth would make you think I loved you?”
He sinks just barely back into his seat, a sad look in his eyes. “There are different ways of loving people, Chris.”
“I’m well aware of that fact, but there’s only one that, from my admittedly limited understanding, people tend to confess moments after having sex.” I check over my shoulder to make sure my blind spot’s clear and change lanes. “If you meant it in any other way, I have to say that you have the worst sense of timing known to man.”
“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t be the first to say that,” he sighs, arms crossed against his chest and eyes staring out the window. “Look, I’m not that bad a guy, am I?”
“You’re not a bad guy,” I say. “Not for the most part, anyway. You are, however, a straight guy. That’s a big part of things. Even if you weren’t, though, it doesn’t change the whole Robot Unicorn thing you’ve got going on.”
“So I like to have fun with myself - why is that so offensive to you?”
“It’s not so much offensive as it is frustrating, truth be told.” I grip the steering wheel tightly with both hands and stare straight ahead. “My whole life, people have made jokes about me. Once, when I was performing in my school’s production of Man of La Mancha, we made a video. Someone was asking me questions, and as I answered them, someone else ran behind me and yelled ’fag’. It might sound stupid to someone who didn’t have to put up with it, but I still find myself seething with rage whenever I think about it.
“A lot of the time, I feel like I have to work twice as hard to be taken as seriously as the next guy. It’s worth it, and I’m proud of everything I’ve done, but there are times when I look at you and how much confetti and streamers seem to follow in your wake, and I just get mad. It’s all so easy for you, isn’t it? You just do what you want and say what you think, and everyone stands up and cheers.” I flip the signal and turn the corner. “What’s that even like?”
“Being myself?” he asks, his voice more subdued than usual. “It’s kind of awesome, really. I’d think being you is pretty awesome too, though.”
“It can be,” I sigh. “I just wonder sometimes, how people would react if I did half the things that you do. You don’t seem to understand how much of what you get away with is just because you’re straight. If I walked around with multicolored nail polish, or wore pink sunglasses, or the crazy socks? It would suddenly all be about the fact that I’m gay, and nothing else.” I come to a stop at a red light, and turn to face him. “It’s not even that I want to do the stuff you do. I’ve never really been that type. I just hate that I don’t even have the option of it unless I’m willing to put up with a lot of bullshit, and I just…don’t. Not if I want to be judged on who I am instead of who I want to love.”
“Want to love,” Darren repeats, nodding slowly. “That’s an interesting choice of words.”
“Don’t read too much into it,” I say, pulling into the studio and heading for my usual parking spot. “After all, you’re asking me not to read anything into things that should mean a whole lot more.”
---
“What’s the deal with you and Darren?” Ashley asks as we’re eating lunch. “You guys talking again?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, doing my best to seem nonchalant.
“It’s just, you guys used to kind of hang out a lot. Like, it seemed like you’d bonded when we started shooting again. Eating together and hanging out in each others’ trailers and stuff. I was almost starting to get jealous. Thought you were trying to replace me as your BFF or something.” She swirls her straw in her glass of iced tea and gives a little shrug. “Last couple of weeks, though, you’ve been like Peter Parker and Spider-Man - never in the same place at the same time.”
“Just which one of us would be the Peter Parker in that situation?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow and flashing her a grin.
“That would be Darren,” she says, dumping another packet of Splenda into her tea. “He may be more hyper than you are, but you’ve got him beat when it comes to hanging from stuff.”
“What’s that about Chris beating Darren?” Max asks as he and Darren walk past.
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Nothing at all.”
---
“Chris?” Darren asks from the passenger seat on the way back to my place that night.
“Yes, Darren?” I sigh, wondering why he can’t just be content to sit there and be quiet.
“Why did you say we were already in a relationship?” His voice is small, and the usual light isn’t in his face.
“I said it,” I answer wearily, “because it was true. At least, I think it was. Thought it was. I don’t know.” I shake my head, trying to get the thoughts to fall back into place. “I’d been picking up on things for a while, I just didn’t want to say anything. I guess I thought that if I did, you’d assume it was me reading too much into things because I wanted more than I really did. If I didn’t acknowledge them, it was like they weren’t there. So I didn’t say anything when you started calling or texting me every day. I didn’t say anything when I realized that that trip you made back here during your tour to ‘do stuff with your agent’ only consisted of one lunch meeting that seemed to last significantly less time than the amount we spent in your bedroom. I didn’t say anything when you began to tell me how important I was to you. I didn’t say anything when you began to use my name during…certain activities, and I didn’t say anything when you wanted to sleep in the same bed as me that night at my place.” I lower my window a little and take in a deep breath of the air that drifts inside the car. “I didn’t say a lot of things, Darren, but when you said you loved me, it was like some kind of dam bursting. That was something I couldn’t ignore or make up some excuse for.
“Look, maybe this is just another one of those times when my lack of experience distorts how I’m seeing things, but from where I stood, you were acting like you were in a relationship. Maybe you didn’t think of us as…boyfriends,” I say, almost choking on the word, “but you definitely acted like we were more than ‘just friends.’"
He’s quiet for a minute. The weird kind of quiet where you can just tell that even though someone’s not saying anything, it doesn’t mean they don’t want to. “You’re right,” he finally chokes out, his voice thick and low. “I was, and I didn’t even see it. I spent so much time trying to be aware of how you felt about things that I didn’t even think about how I felt about them.” He gives a rueful laugh and buries the back of his head into the headrest. “Kind of stupid, wasn’t I?”
“Stupid’s not the word I’d use,” I say, cautiously slipping one hand over his and giving it a mild squeeze. “Oblivious, yes. Optimistic, maybe,” I say, releasing his hand and putting mine back on the wheel. “But definitely not stupid.”
---
Things have been a little better since we talked a few days ago. They’re not perfect, or even like they were before, but they’re not terrible. Whatever they are, it’s an improvement.
Also an improvement is the fact that Brad scrapped his original idea for Kurt and Blaine’s reconciliation. Instead of some big, stupid moment during sweeps, we’re getting the standard “sing it out in the choir room” treatment. I know I should be disappointed, but I’m really not. I like that they’re being treated kind of normally. It gives me hope.
We’re almost done with the episode. The only thing we have left is, of course, Blaine’s serenade slash audition for New Directions. ”It’ll be good to get it over with,” I find myself thinking as I sit there in a pair of blue plaid bondage pants with knee-high leather boots and this weird, strappy vest-type-thing that takes two people to properly buckle me into. Things with Darren might be better, but they’re still not where I’d really like them to be. Whatever that even is, at this point.
“All right,” Brad calls from behind the monitors. “Darren, let’s have you run through the song one more time, okay? All the way through this time.”
Darren just nods and gives a quick, two fingered salute from his temple before getting back into his starting position and hopping in place a little to get himself geared up. The cameras start rolling, and he delves back into the song for, I’m hoping, the last time. It’s not that it’s a bad song, or even that I don’t want to be doing the scene in the first place. It’s that every time he looks at me, it begins to feel less like it’s really Kurt and Blaine, and more like it’s the two of us. It’s uncomfortable, and I’m more than a little nervous about how Kurt is coming across as a result.
Then, halfway through the first chorus, it happens.
He stops lip synching.
It’s not loud, but it’s definitely his actual voice that I - and everyone else - can suddenly hear.
”Out of the doubt that fills my mind, I somehow find that you and I collide.”
He’s just standing there, not even on his mark, staring at me head on as if daring me to say or do something even if he’s not sure what he wants that to be. People begin looking from one of us to the other and then shooting looks back and forth among themselves, and all I can think is ”Jesus fucking Christ, Darren - we’re not even doing this anymore, and you’re still breaking rules,” because after this, there’s no way that either one of us will be able to deny it if someone asks if there’s something going on.
“Excuse me,” I somehow manage to choke out, and I barely make it to the nearest bathroom before I throw up.
Featured in this story:
No toys, but the song is “Collide,” by Howie Day.
Click to viewCheck out this cover by klainechriss - she's really good. :D
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