Moving to the Night
Pairing: Chris/Darren
Rating/Length: PG-13 / ~970
Summary: Chris and Darren escape the world for a dance.
The sweat is sliding down Darren’s neck, between his shoulder blades, and pooling in the small of his back. He’s hot all over and he can’t seem to quite catch his breath. The air is thick and humid with the heat of hundreds of writhing bodies and it catches in his throat before he swallows it down. It tastes like smoke and sex. It tastes like a few moments of freedom.
The heavy beat of the music throbs in his chest and belly, moving his hips and making his hands grasp eagerly at slick, naked skin. He’s dizzy with it - with want and touch and the burn of Scotch in his veins. He has no idea where he is - somewhere in the middle of California - but he’s not lost. He’s exactly where he wants to be. Where he needs to be.
Then we danced underneath the candelabra
Chris is pressed close against him, long and lean, and his whole body is moving with the kind of sensual abandon no one ever gets to see. No one but Darren. Chris’ stubbled cheeks are flushed with heat and tequila, shining with sweat under the dim, flashing lights of the tiny club. He’s loose and relaxed, undulating against Darren, rubbing against every inch of him. His pale shirt is soaked with sweat and clinging to the lines and planes of his body, showing every muscle, every delicious curve. Darren can just see the darker smudges of his nipples through the thin fabric. The deep v-neck lets Darren see the flush traveling down Chris’ chest and lower still. Darren wants to follow that flush as far down as it goes, down to where he knows Chris is hard and aching. Beads of sweat glisten along his solid collarbones and gather in the hollow of his throat. He’s beyond gorgeous and Darren can’t breathe for a whole other set of reasons.
She takes the lead
Chris’ hands are on his hips and Darren twists and sways his hips to the rhythm of the song, letting Chris feel the smooth shifting of muscle and bone under his palms. Darren has his arms over Chris’ shoulders, holding him close, but he wants to feel skin, not the damp fabric of his shirt. He wants heat and sweat-slick skin. He wants Chris’ strong body under his hands like they’re moving against each other in bed and not grinding, slow snd dirty, in the middle of a club Darren can’t remember the name of. Darren gasps when Chris’ thumbs dip under the low riding waist of Darren’s too-tight jeans, rubbing over the sensitive tendons leading down to his groin and brushing against the coarse hair. He’s hard and he knows Chris can feel it against his thigh. Darren rubs against him with a whine that neither of them can hear and Chris grins, slow and devious.
Then she said te amo
Darren leans in and opens his mouth over Chris’ throat, panting hot and damp against the wet skin. Chris smells sharply of sweat and liquor, of a dark, cramped club and Darren’s own cologne. He smells like sex and they haven’t even fucked. Chris’ long, flushed throat works beneath his mouth and Darren thinks Chris might be trying to say something that Darren can’t possibly hear. But Darren doesn’t need words, not that night. He doesn’t need anything at all except the solid weight of Chris’ familiar body against his, the scent of his skin, and the taste of his mouth. They’re hardly dancing anymore, just pulsing and moving against each other, following the beat of the music and the aching throb in their veins. Darren wants to stay all night.
Then she put her hand around my waist
The need for skin is too strong to ignore and Darren slides his hands down Chris’ long back. He grasps the hem of his shirt in eager fingers and pulls it up enough for him to get his hands on naked flesh. Chris pushes in closer to him, cock digging into his hip as Darren’s hands splay wide and urgent across Chris’ lower back. Darren’s shirt is opened down to his sternum, exposing the flushed, smooth skin of his chest. It’s Chris’ shirt, actually, and Darren couldn’t have buttoned it up all the way even if he wanted to. He feels Chris’ darkened eyes on his bare skin, where he’s freshly waxed. He’s always so sensitive afterwards and the sweat stings as the heat grows and grows between them. The tequila shots Chris did off him earlier had stung worse and the rough swipes of his tongue had made Darren’s eyes roll back and his hips thrust up against nothing. Chris had put a heavy hand low on his belly to hold him down for the second shot and Darren had felt himself leaking all over the front of his underwear.
I told her I’m not gonna run away
Darren doesn’t remember making the decision to come to this place. He remembers a random, quick, and quiet getaway. He remembers the growing itch of the deep need to touch, to fuck, and Chris telling him he knew where they could go and escape any watchful, prying eyes. And then he remembers a dark club and Chris taking his hand and pulling him through the writhing throng of groping bodies to a spot on the dance floor. After that it’s a haze of movement and heat and desire. Chris nuzzles at his temple, silently asking him to tilt his head back. Darren does and gasps when Chris’ hot, damp mouth finds his. His tongue tastes like salt and tequila and Darren moans into it. He doesn’t care where they are or what they’re doing, as long as they’re together.
Don’t it mean I love you
Rating/Length: PG-13 / ~970
Summary: Chris and Darren escape the world for a dance.
The sweat is sliding down Darren’s neck, between his shoulder blades, and pooling in the small of his back. He’s hot all over and he can’t seem to quite catch his breath. The air is thick and humid with the heat of hundreds of writhing bodies and it catches in his throat before he swallows it down. It tastes like smoke and sex. It tastes like a few moments of freedom.
The heavy beat of the music throbs in his chest and belly, moving his hips and making his hands grasp eagerly at slick, naked skin. He’s dizzy with it - with want and touch and the burn of Scotch in his veins. He has no idea where he is - somewhere in the middle of California - but he’s not lost. He’s exactly where he wants to be. Where he needs to be.
Then we danced underneath the candelabra
Chris is pressed close against him, long and lean, and his whole body is moving with the kind of sensual abandon no one ever gets to see. No one but Darren. Chris’ stubbled cheeks are flushed with heat and tequila, shining with sweat under the dim, flashing lights of the tiny club. He’s loose and relaxed, undulating against Darren, rubbing against every inch of him. His pale shirt is soaked with sweat and clinging to the lines and planes of his body, showing every muscle, every delicious curve. Darren can just see the darker smudges of his nipples through the thin fabric. The deep v-neck lets Darren see the flush traveling down Chris’ chest and lower still. Darren wants to follow that flush as far down as it goes, down to where he knows Chris is hard and aching. Beads of sweat glisten along his solid collarbones and gather in the hollow of his throat. He’s beyond gorgeous and Darren can’t breathe for a whole other set of reasons.
She takes the lead
Chris’ hands are on his hips and Darren twists and sways his hips to the rhythm of the song, letting Chris feel the smooth shifting of muscle and bone under his palms. Darren has his arms over Chris’ shoulders, holding him close, but he wants to feel skin, not the damp fabric of his shirt. He wants heat and sweat-slick skin. He wants Chris’ strong body under his hands like they’re moving against each other in bed and not grinding, slow snd dirty, in the middle of a club Darren can’t remember the name of. Darren gasps when Chris’ thumbs dip under the low riding waist of Darren’s too-tight jeans, rubbing over the sensitive tendons leading down to his groin and brushing against the coarse hair. He’s hard and he knows Chris can feel it against his thigh. Darren rubs against him with a whine that neither of them can hear and Chris grins, slow and devious.
Then she said te amo
Darren leans in and opens his mouth over Chris’ throat, panting hot and damp against the wet skin. Chris smells sharply of sweat and liquor, of a dark, cramped club and Darren’s own cologne. He smells like sex and they haven’t even fucked. Chris’ long, flushed throat works beneath his mouth and Darren thinks Chris might be trying to say something that Darren can’t possibly hear. But Darren doesn’t need words, not that night. He doesn’t need anything at all except the solid weight of Chris’ familiar body against his, the scent of his skin, and the taste of his mouth. They’re hardly dancing anymore, just pulsing and moving against each other, following the beat of the music and the aching throb in their veins. Darren wants to stay all night.
Then she put her hand around my waist
The need for skin is too strong to ignore and Darren slides his hands down Chris’ long back. He grasps the hem of his shirt in eager fingers and pulls it up enough for him to get his hands on naked flesh. Chris pushes in closer to him, cock digging into his hip as Darren’s hands splay wide and urgent across Chris’ lower back. Darren’s shirt is opened down to his sternum, exposing the flushed, smooth skin of his chest. It’s Chris’ shirt, actually, and Darren couldn’t have buttoned it up all the way even if he wanted to. He feels Chris’ darkened eyes on his bare skin, where he’s freshly waxed. He’s always so sensitive afterwards and the sweat stings as the heat grows and grows between them. The tequila shots Chris did off him earlier had stung worse and the rough swipes of his tongue had made Darren’s eyes roll back and his hips thrust up against nothing. Chris had put a heavy hand low on his belly to hold him down for the second shot and Darren had felt himself leaking all over the front of his underwear.
I told her I’m not gonna run away
Darren doesn’t remember making the decision to come to this place. He remembers a random, quick, and quiet getaway. He remembers the growing itch of the deep need to touch, to fuck, and Chris telling him he knew where they could go and escape any watchful, prying eyes. And then he remembers a dark club and Chris taking his hand and pulling him through the writhing throng of groping bodies to a spot on the dance floor. After that it’s a haze of movement and heat and desire. Chris nuzzles at his temple, silently asking him to tilt his head back. Darren does and gasps when Chris’ hot, damp mouth finds his. His tongue tastes like salt and tequila and Darren moans into it. He doesn’t care where they are or what they’re doing, as long as they’re together.
Don’t it mean I love you