Fic: Coachella
Media: Fic
Title: Coachella
Rating: NC-17 (it's basically just porn porn all the porn, I'm not going to lie)
Word Count: 2,200
Summary: Chris couldn't be at Coachella, so Darren brings it home with him.
Note: It might be worth peeking at these pictures to contextualise this. Warning: you may end up staring for some time.
This is Criss/Colfer RPF, so please do avoid if you're not a fan of RPF! Basically rayslady is a life-ruiner/hideous enabler, and then this happened. I kind of hate myself, but also I don't. Yeah.
This is my first toe-dip in the RPF pool (DARREN AND CHRIS BRINGS OUT THE WORST IN ME), and I will hopefully eventually get the guts to post some Klaine fics if you all don't lynch me for writing this ridiculous thing!
***
Darren <3 20.18 sent from iPhone
OH MY GOD, WHY AREN’T YOU HERE? THIS IS THE GREATEST. XXXX
Chrissy! 20.32 sent from Blackberry device
I’m asking myself the same question a thousand times over right now xxxx
Darren <3 20.41 sent from iPhone
Sorry sorry, I didn’t mean to rub it in :( It’s just you being here would make it extra brilliant.
Chrissy! 20.47 sent from Blackberry device
It’s okay, don’t feel bad, it’s my own stupid fault for arranging to visit my grandparents this weekend.
Darren <3 20.55 sent from iPhone
:((((( miss you crazy loads, home is lucky to have you!
Chrissy! 21.01 sent from Blackberry device
And that fieldful of hipster douchebags is lucky to have you <3 Maybe call me later?
He does call. It’s about ten thirty, and Arcade Fire are absolutely killing Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains). For the first twenty seconds, that’s all Chris can hear. He closes his eyes and drinks in the thud of the bass and the echoing crowd noises, smiling all the while at the fact that Darren thought to call him during his favourite track.
He laughs aloud at the cacophony of cries of his name that follow, perfectly making out Lea’s high-pitched squeal above a melee of male voices that belong to Chord, Harry and Cory. They’re crying out choruses of ‘miss youuuu!’ and Chris is sure he can make out a ‘Darren is pining for you!’ before the voice - Harry’s, he thinks - is cut off with a thump, which sounds like it may have been made by Darren’s palm connecting with Harry’s temple.
Then he hears Darren, whose hand is cupping the receiver, making sure his voice is the only thing that’s audible.
‘I wish you were here!’
‘Me too. Thanks for calling me, hope you have a great night.’
‘I love you!’ - and the phone cuts off.
~
Darren <3 00.48 sent from iPhone
THIDS PLACE IS THHE BOMB! YOUR FACE IS MISSSING THO, CAN’T YOU JUTSY COME ABD PLAY? XXXX
Darren <3 01.09 sent from iPhone
I am wearing FEATHERS
Darren <3 01.54 sent from iPhone
I wan to kiss youuuuu under the stars here yes please
Darren <3 02.14 sent from iPhone
CHRIS. YOU ARE LOVELYY. GET IN MY FCAE.
~
Chrissy! 11.15 sent from Blackberry device
Darren Criss I have a bone to pick with you.
Darren <3 11.35 sent from iPhone
Oh god. Oh god. I just found the texts I sent. The shame! Did I keep you awake?
Chrissy! 11.47 sent from Blackberry device
Actually it’s not the texts, those were all kinds of adorable, despite - yes - waking me up. This in an entirely different matter. I have just been on the INTERNET.
Darren <3 12.01 sent from iPhone
… ??
Chrissy! 12.08 sent from Blackberry device
Are you or are you not wandering around Coachella shirtless, smothered in body paint, sweaty, tanned and possibly sans underwear???
Darren <3 12.12 sent from iPhone
Maaaaybe … did you send spies after me?!
Chrissy! 12.19 sent from Blackberry device
No, the Internet has well and truly got its perv on and you are everywhere. This will not do.
Darren <3 12.24 sent from iPhone
I had no idea people were taking pictures of me!
Chrissy! 12.30 sent from Blackberry device
It’s not that, dumbass. Jesus, do you KNOW what these pictures are doing to me?! I am holed up in my childhood bedroom at my grandparents’ house with a shelf full of stuffed toys and a raging erection. That is just not right.
Chrissy! 12.31 sent from Blackberry device
I suggest you stop being sickeningly sexy all over the place and I may retain my sanity.
Darren <3 12.35 sent from iPhone
Oh my god. Well. I might have to go and have some tent-based alone time with just the thought of you for company.
Chrissy! 12.42 sent from Blackberry device
YOU ARE MAKING IT WORSE. Fuck, Darren.
Darren <3 12.47 sent from iPhone
;)
Chrissy! 12.51 sent from Blackberry device
I hate you.
Darren <3 12.54 sent from iPhone
No you don’t xxxx
Chrissy! 12.56 sent from Blackberry device
I know, that’s what makes it so annoying xxxx
~
Spending almost every moment of the day on set with someone forces you to bond incredibly quickly. Of course, it also means that as soon as that someone goes away for an extended period of time, you miss them all the more acutely. On top of that, when that someone happens to be the boy you’ve recently fallen head over heels for - and have spent the last five weeks kissing into oblivion - the whole situation basically becomes really fucking frustrating.
He’d only been gone four days, and had Chris not made the mistake of typing ‘coachella’ into tumblr he might have made it out the other end with his brain intact. Alas, the Internet had come up trumps with photos of Darren posing for Chord, his chest agonisingly toned and smeared with paint, his hair wild and his hipbones practically flaunting themselves at him. Chris had spent a shameful amount of his weekend locked in the bathroom with his Blackberry.
So, come Tuesday, back in New York, his phone vibrates on the counter and he almost breaks his ankle in his haste to reach it.
Darren <3 18.23 sent from iPhone
I’m back! I’m in the hotel, can you come? Xxxx
Chrissy! 18.24 sent from Blackberry device
I’m there xxxx
Darren <3 18.27 sent from iPhone
Excellent. I have a surprise for you xxx
Chris doesn’t read the last message until he’s in the cab, and spends the rest of the journey with his legs surreptitiously crossed.
~
He knocks on Darren’s door and a yell from the en suite bathroom invites him in. He sheds his coat and stands in the centre of the carpet looking at those closed door, thoroughly unimpressed.
‘What a delightful welcome. You couldn’t have come out to greet me?’ His tone is sharp.
The bathroom door flies open and all annoyance drops out of him like a stone.
Darren strides into the bedroom and stops right in front of him. He has flip flops on his feet and linen shorts hang to his knees, the waistband grasping his hips, agonisingly low. A fine trail of hair runs from the zipper to his navel, and his torso ripples upwards, that freshly tanned pinkish glow radiating from his slightly-damp skin. His shoulders are bare, and a black cord hangs from his neck, a feather at its end skitting across his chest in the light breeze. His neck stretches upwards and Chris follows it with his eyes, drinking in every sinew, before finding a smug grin, dark, wide eyes and, eventually, hands that are holding … body paint.
‘Oh my god.’
Chris can barely function. He has never felt so preposterously turned on in his entire life. In fact, he feels quite faint.
Darren struts towards him, milking the reaction.
‘I didn’t want you to miss out.’
His tone is teasing and cocky and, fuck, Chris is gone. He reaches forwards and drags Darren towards him, nails biting at the bare skin. Their mouths clash, fiery and desperate as Chris’ hands run almost hysterically over every inch of Darren’s chest and back, Darren’s hands enmeshed in Chris’ hair in grateful response.
He pulls Darren close, immediately regretting his decision as he quickly backs away, whips off his own shirt with staggering speed and repeats the action, the feel of Darren’s damp torso on his, of the pressure of each individual muscle on his own skin, driving him wild. Their tongues slide together clumsily, frantically, as they stammer words into each other’s lips.
‘Fuck - you bastard - oh my god-’
‘Jesus, Chris - I never knew you - fuuuuuck -’
Chris pauses and pulls the feathered necklace over Darren’s head with a murmur of ‘get that stupid thing off you ridiculous hipster’, before pulling Darren close again and wrapping his fingers into his curls, drinking in the boy’s scent - Darren has showered, briefly, but Chris can still smell the heat of the sun on him, the rawness of the outdoors, pure exhilaration. Then Darren starts to kiss down his neck and suddenly Chris can’t sense anything beyond the surge of blood to his cock, his hips yearning for Darren’s.
Darren breaks away and stumbles backwards, his own erection aching at the sight of Chris, whose eyes are dark and pleading, his lips flushed a dark red. He bends down and sweeps up a small pot, discarded in the heat of the moment, but now, he feels, thoroughly necessary.
‘Oh god,’ Chris says, mouth dropping open, ‘are you serious?’
‘You need the full festival experience,’ Darren replies, unscrewing the lid and dipping his fingers into the blue paint.
He stands just-too-far-away and sweeps his hand across Chris’ torso, forming a vivid blue S-shape that finishes tantalisingly close to the top of Chris’ chinos. Chris bucks at the touch - the paint is cold, but Darren’s fingers are painfully hot on his skin. His chest heaves as his breath gets heavier, before he steadies himself, smirking back at a grinning Darren and taking some of the paint onto his own fingers.
He runs them around the curved base of Darren’s neck, dipping them into his clavicle and smearing the paint across his shoulder. Darren closes his eyes and rolls his head back at the touch, biting his lip, clearly having reached the point of agony at which Chris has been hovering for several minutes.
Delighted at having regained some of the power, Chris takes the pot from Darren and douses both of his hands in the paint before placing the pot back on the ground. He steps forward and presses his palms onto Darren’s ribcage, curling his fingers around his the edges of his chest and kissing him hard on the mouth. Darren’s hands slip around Chris’ back to press him close, so close that he has to remove his own hands, which are sandwiched between the two of them. Skin meets painted skin and Darren’s torso slides across Chris’ as he pushes his hands down to curl under Chris’ ass.
‘Oh god,’ he says suddenly, ‘your trousers! I think I’ve got paint on them.’
‘Right now, I really could not give a shit,’ Chris replies, and pulls him in once more, hot and determined, pressing hard against Darren’s thigh, the boy moaning appreciatively. Deciding that this kissing stuff has been going on far too long, Chris starts to manoeuvre Darren towards the bed, and he goes freely, though careful to keep his hips firmly pressed to Chris’.
They pause at the edge of the bed; their lips still slide together as Chris starts to fumble with his trousers, shedding them, and his underwear, rapidly, if awkwardly. Darren pulls back to take it in; Chris is achingly hard, his chest a mess of sweat and paint, his hair wild. Darren’s cock lurches and he decides it’s high time to shed his own remaining clothes.
He does so, Chris staring.
‘Oh my god, you really were going commando. You fucking tease.’
And with that Chris pushes Darren backwards onto the bed. He rights himself and kneels squarely in the centre, his hips jerking involuntarily, drawing Chris’ eyes down to his waiting cock. Chris joins him on the bed, their entire bodies from knees to lips flush against each other, skin slippery with paint, mouths moaning together, heads dizzy and buzzing.
Darren curls one hand tightly around Chris’ ass while the other pressed between their torsos, separating them just enough to grasp around Chris’ cock. Chris cries out into Darren’s neck and pushes his hips up, sliding his cock through Darren’s palm, slick with paint, while reaching down to take Darren in his own hand. Their mouths meet again, moans echoing against lips as they twist and pump at each other’s cocks, hipbones and shoulders clashing together at the uncoordinated haste of it all. The paint is everywhere now, and their bodies slip away from each other, only to be pulled back together each time.
Chris feels Darren start to tremble and tightens his grip, anchoring him by wrapping his free hand around his neck, pressing their foreheads together as their gasping breaths fog their senses. Darren twists his hand just so and Chris can feel himself slipping further away from lucidity and he surges closer, Darren with him. Their cries are loud and their hands frantic as their whole bodies sting with pleasure, pushing each other closer and closer.
Darren unleashes a sharp, loud cry and shudders violently, his orgasm crashing over him with almost painful intensity; his hand grips hard, vice-like, around Chris who comes with a stammered scream, spilling himself over Darren’s hand and chest, paint and come and sweat drenching them both.
Darren’s knees go weak and he falls backwards onto the bed, bringing a still-panting Chris with him. Darren arches his shoulders and lets out a high groan before collapsing flat onto his back; Chris sprawls across him, sticky and satiated, and sure that, despite not being there himself, he got to experience the very best parts of the festival anyway.
***
Could I please have an author tag? Thank you!
Title: Coachella
Rating: NC-17 (it's basically just porn porn all the porn, I'm not going to lie)
Word Count: 2,200
Summary: Chris couldn't be at Coachella, so Darren brings it home with him.
Note: It might be worth peeking at these pictures to contextualise this. Warning: you may end up staring for some time.
This is Criss/Colfer RPF, so please do avoid if you're not a fan of RPF! Basically rayslady is a life-ruiner/hideous enabler, and then this happened. I kind of hate myself, but also I don't. Yeah.
This is my first toe-dip in the RPF pool (DARREN AND CHRIS BRINGS OUT THE WORST IN ME), and I will hopefully eventually get the guts to post some Klaine fics if you all don't lynch me for writing this ridiculous thing!
***
Darren <3 20.18 sent from iPhone
OH MY GOD, WHY AREN’T YOU HERE? THIS IS THE GREATEST. XXXX
Chrissy! 20.32 sent from Blackberry device
I’m asking myself the same question a thousand times over right now xxxx
Darren <3 20.41 sent from iPhone
Sorry sorry, I didn’t mean to rub it in :( It’s just you being here would make it extra brilliant.
Chrissy! 20.47 sent from Blackberry device
It’s okay, don’t feel bad, it’s my own stupid fault for arranging to visit my grandparents this weekend.
Darren <3 20.55 sent from iPhone
:((((( miss you crazy loads, home is lucky to have you!
Chrissy! 21.01 sent from Blackberry device
And that fieldful of hipster douchebags is lucky to have you <3 Maybe call me later?
He does call. It’s about ten thirty, and Arcade Fire are absolutely killing Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains). For the first twenty seconds, that’s all Chris can hear. He closes his eyes and drinks in the thud of the bass and the echoing crowd noises, smiling all the while at the fact that Darren thought to call him during his favourite track.
He laughs aloud at the cacophony of cries of his name that follow, perfectly making out Lea’s high-pitched squeal above a melee of male voices that belong to Chord, Harry and Cory. They’re crying out choruses of ‘miss youuuu!’ and Chris is sure he can make out a ‘Darren is pining for you!’ before the voice - Harry’s, he thinks - is cut off with a thump, which sounds like it may have been made by Darren’s palm connecting with Harry’s temple.
Then he hears Darren, whose hand is cupping the receiver, making sure his voice is the only thing that’s audible.
‘I wish you were here!’
‘Me too. Thanks for calling me, hope you have a great night.’
‘I love you!’ - and the phone cuts off.
~
Darren <3 00.48 sent from iPhone
THIDS PLACE IS THHE BOMB! YOUR FACE IS MISSSING THO, CAN’T YOU JUTSY COME ABD PLAY? XXXX
Darren <3 01.09 sent from iPhone
I am wearing FEATHERS
Darren <3 01.54 sent from iPhone
I wan to kiss youuuuu under the stars here yes please
Darren <3 02.14 sent from iPhone
CHRIS. YOU ARE LOVELYY. GET IN MY FCAE.
~
Chrissy! 11.15 sent from Blackberry device
Darren Criss I have a bone to pick with you.
Darren <3 11.35 sent from iPhone
Oh god. Oh god. I just found the texts I sent. The shame! Did I keep you awake?
Chrissy! 11.47 sent from Blackberry device
Actually it’s not the texts, those were all kinds of adorable, despite - yes - waking me up. This in an entirely different matter. I have just been on the INTERNET.
Darren <3 12.01 sent from iPhone
… ??
Chrissy! 12.08 sent from Blackberry device
Are you or are you not wandering around Coachella shirtless, smothered in body paint, sweaty, tanned and possibly sans underwear???
Darren <3 12.12 sent from iPhone
Maaaaybe … did you send spies after me?!
Chrissy! 12.19 sent from Blackberry device
No, the Internet has well and truly got its perv on and you are everywhere. This will not do.
Darren <3 12.24 sent from iPhone
I had no idea people were taking pictures of me!
Chrissy! 12.30 sent from Blackberry device
It’s not that, dumbass. Jesus, do you KNOW what these pictures are doing to me?! I am holed up in my childhood bedroom at my grandparents’ house with a shelf full of stuffed toys and a raging erection. That is just not right.
Chrissy! 12.31 sent from Blackberry device
I suggest you stop being sickeningly sexy all over the place and I may retain my sanity.
Darren <3 12.35 sent from iPhone
Oh my god. Well. I might have to go and have some tent-based alone time with just the thought of you for company.
Chrissy! 12.42 sent from Blackberry device
YOU ARE MAKING IT WORSE. Fuck, Darren.
Darren <3 12.47 sent from iPhone
;)
Chrissy! 12.51 sent from Blackberry device
I hate you.
Darren <3 12.54 sent from iPhone
No you don’t xxxx
Chrissy! 12.56 sent from Blackberry device
I know, that’s what makes it so annoying xxxx
~
Spending almost every moment of the day on set with someone forces you to bond incredibly quickly. Of course, it also means that as soon as that someone goes away for an extended period of time, you miss them all the more acutely. On top of that, when that someone happens to be the boy you’ve recently fallen head over heels for - and have spent the last five weeks kissing into oblivion - the whole situation basically becomes really fucking frustrating.
He’d only been gone four days, and had Chris not made the mistake of typing ‘coachella’ into tumblr he might have made it out the other end with his brain intact. Alas, the Internet had come up trumps with photos of Darren posing for Chord, his chest agonisingly toned and smeared with paint, his hair wild and his hipbones practically flaunting themselves at him. Chris had spent a shameful amount of his weekend locked in the bathroom with his Blackberry.
So, come Tuesday, back in New York, his phone vibrates on the counter and he almost breaks his ankle in his haste to reach it.
Darren <3 18.23 sent from iPhone
I’m back! I’m in the hotel, can you come? Xxxx
Chrissy! 18.24 sent from Blackberry device
I’m there xxxx
Darren <3 18.27 sent from iPhone
Excellent. I have a surprise for you xxx
Chris doesn’t read the last message until he’s in the cab, and spends the rest of the journey with his legs surreptitiously crossed.
~
He knocks on Darren’s door and a yell from the en suite bathroom invites him in. He sheds his coat and stands in the centre of the carpet looking at those closed door, thoroughly unimpressed.
‘What a delightful welcome. You couldn’t have come out to greet me?’ His tone is sharp.
The bathroom door flies open and all annoyance drops out of him like a stone.
Darren strides into the bedroom and stops right in front of him. He has flip flops on his feet and linen shorts hang to his knees, the waistband grasping his hips, agonisingly low. A fine trail of hair runs from the zipper to his navel, and his torso ripples upwards, that freshly tanned pinkish glow radiating from his slightly-damp skin. His shoulders are bare, and a black cord hangs from his neck, a feather at its end skitting across his chest in the light breeze. His neck stretches upwards and Chris follows it with his eyes, drinking in every sinew, before finding a smug grin, dark, wide eyes and, eventually, hands that are holding … body paint.
‘Oh my god.’
Chris can barely function. He has never felt so preposterously turned on in his entire life. In fact, he feels quite faint.
Darren struts towards him, milking the reaction.
‘I didn’t want you to miss out.’
His tone is teasing and cocky and, fuck, Chris is gone. He reaches forwards and drags Darren towards him, nails biting at the bare skin. Their mouths clash, fiery and desperate as Chris’ hands run almost hysterically over every inch of Darren’s chest and back, Darren’s hands enmeshed in Chris’ hair in grateful response.
He pulls Darren close, immediately regretting his decision as he quickly backs away, whips off his own shirt with staggering speed and repeats the action, the feel of Darren’s damp torso on his, of the pressure of each individual muscle on his own skin, driving him wild. Their tongues slide together clumsily, frantically, as they stammer words into each other’s lips.
‘Fuck - you bastard - oh my god-’
‘Jesus, Chris - I never knew you - fuuuuuck -’
Chris pauses and pulls the feathered necklace over Darren’s head with a murmur of ‘get that stupid thing off you ridiculous hipster’, before pulling Darren close again and wrapping his fingers into his curls, drinking in the boy’s scent - Darren has showered, briefly, but Chris can still smell the heat of the sun on him, the rawness of the outdoors, pure exhilaration. Then Darren starts to kiss down his neck and suddenly Chris can’t sense anything beyond the surge of blood to his cock, his hips yearning for Darren’s.
Darren breaks away and stumbles backwards, his own erection aching at the sight of Chris, whose eyes are dark and pleading, his lips flushed a dark red. He bends down and sweeps up a small pot, discarded in the heat of the moment, but now, he feels, thoroughly necessary.
‘Oh god,’ Chris says, mouth dropping open, ‘are you serious?’
‘You need the full festival experience,’ Darren replies, unscrewing the lid and dipping his fingers into the blue paint.
He stands just-too-far-away and sweeps his hand across Chris’ torso, forming a vivid blue S-shape that finishes tantalisingly close to the top of Chris’ chinos. Chris bucks at the touch - the paint is cold, but Darren’s fingers are painfully hot on his skin. His chest heaves as his breath gets heavier, before he steadies himself, smirking back at a grinning Darren and taking some of the paint onto his own fingers.
He runs them around the curved base of Darren’s neck, dipping them into his clavicle and smearing the paint across his shoulder. Darren closes his eyes and rolls his head back at the touch, biting his lip, clearly having reached the point of agony at which Chris has been hovering for several minutes.
Delighted at having regained some of the power, Chris takes the pot from Darren and douses both of his hands in the paint before placing the pot back on the ground. He steps forward and presses his palms onto Darren’s ribcage, curling his fingers around his the edges of his chest and kissing him hard on the mouth. Darren’s hands slip around Chris’ back to press him close, so close that he has to remove his own hands, which are sandwiched between the two of them. Skin meets painted skin and Darren’s torso slides across Chris’ as he pushes his hands down to curl under Chris’ ass.
‘Oh god,’ he says suddenly, ‘your trousers! I think I’ve got paint on them.’
‘Right now, I really could not give a shit,’ Chris replies, and pulls him in once more, hot and determined, pressing hard against Darren’s thigh, the boy moaning appreciatively. Deciding that this kissing stuff has been going on far too long, Chris starts to manoeuvre Darren towards the bed, and he goes freely, though careful to keep his hips firmly pressed to Chris’.
They pause at the edge of the bed; their lips still slide together as Chris starts to fumble with his trousers, shedding them, and his underwear, rapidly, if awkwardly. Darren pulls back to take it in; Chris is achingly hard, his chest a mess of sweat and paint, his hair wild. Darren’s cock lurches and he decides it’s high time to shed his own remaining clothes.
He does so, Chris staring.
‘Oh my god, you really were going commando. You fucking tease.’
And with that Chris pushes Darren backwards onto the bed. He rights himself and kneels squarely in the centre, his hips jerking involuntarily, drawing Chris’ eyes down to his waiting cock. Chris joins him on the bed, their entire bodies from knees to lips flush against each other, skin slippery with paint, mouths moaning together, heads dizzy and buzzing.
Darren curls one hand tightly around Chris’ ass while the other pressed between their torsos, separating them just enough to grasp around Chris’ cock. Chris cries out into Darren’s neck and pushes his hips up, sliding his cock through Darren’s palm, slick with paint, while reaching down to take Darren in his own hand. Their mouths meet again, moans echoing against lips as they twist and pump at each other’s cocks, hipbones and shoulders clashing together at the uncoordinated haste of it all. The paint is everywhere now, and their bodies slip away from each other, only to be pulled back together each time.
Chris feels Darren start to tremble and tightens his grip, anchoring him by wrapping his free hand around his neck, pressing their foreheads together as their gasping breaths fog their senses. Darren twists his hand just so and Chris can feel himself slipping further away from lucidity and he surges closer, Darren with him. Their cries are loud and their hands frantic as their whole bodies sting with pleasure, pushing each other closer and closer.
Darren unleashes a sharp, loud cry and shudders violently, his orgasm crashing over him with almost painful intensity; his hand grips hard, vice-like, around Chris who comes with a stammered scream, spilling himself over Darren’s hand and chest, paint and come and sweat drenching them both.
Darren’s knees go weak and he falls backwards onto the bed, bringing a still-panting Chris with him. Darren arches his shoulders and lets out a high groan before collapsing flat onto his back; Chris sprawls across him, sticky and satiated, and sure that, despite not being there himself, he got to experience the very best parts of the festival anyway.
***
Could I please have an author tag? Thank you!