Fic (Complete): Down To Zero (NC-17, Glee RPS, Chris Colfer/Darren Criss) 2 of 2
Down To Zero Part 1
***
He didn’t expect to see Darren until they reconvened on set-between the Boston shows and the jet-lag, he anticipated that he’d probably spend most of the next day poking Darren in the side to wake him up-so it was definitely a surprise when Darren knocked on his door at nearly one in the morning, red-eyed and haggard, his small suitcase in tow.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” Darren said quietly, one hand propped against the side of the door jamb as if he didn’t trust himself to stay upright without the support. “I should have called, it’s late, I know, I just… I was at the airport, and I… can I come in?”
He tugged the suitcase out of Darren’s icy fingers, then nodded towards the couch while he went to the kitchen. It was too late for coffee and too cold for beer, so he settled on spiked hot chocolate. Darren was uncharacteristically quiet, and by the time Chris was done making drinks he wouldn’t have been surprised to find Darren sacked out on the couch again.
But no-Darren was just… sitting, slumped in the corner of the couch with his head tilted all the way back, rubbing his eyes with his palms so hard it looked like it must hurt. He accepted a mug when Chris handed one over, and took a giant swallow before coughing.
Chris cleared his throat. “It’s, uh, hot. And kinda boozy.”
“Yeah,” Darren rasped, coughing again, then drinking some more. “Figured that out.”
Chris sat down, and waited. Darren drained his mug efficiently and quickly, and Chris offered his own-he didn’t really want it, anyway; he’d only made two to be hospitable.
Darren accepted it, hesitantly. “You sure?”
“Yep.”
Darren sipped, sighed, and set the mug down. “They have in-jokes I don’t get.”
Chris didn’t need to ask for context. “I see.”
Darren rolled his head toward him, gazing at him with his bright eyes half-lidded. “Experiences I haven’t had. Road stories I wasn’t a part of. They have… them. They have them.” He looked away, staring at the ceiling. “I… don’t, I thought I still did but I don’t, I mean… yeah, it was like coming home, but… home’s been going on while I’ve been… doing other stuff, and it’s… I am so. Torn.”
“Torn.” Chris felt mildly dizzy.
“I hate disappointing people. The people I care about. I hate it.” Darren rubbed his eyes again, looking exhausted and worn-out and ridiculously young, like a boy up past his bedtime. “They weren’t… it’s not like they were mad, or obviously disappointed in me, or anything-they were glad to see me. Really glad. They were wonderful, I love them and they love me and it was wonderful, but-it’s the distance. It hurts.”
Chris wasn’t quite prepared for Darren to come at him, arms around his waist tight and a hot face pressed to his chest-but he went with it, relaxing back into the couch cushions with Darren half on top of him, smoothing both hands up and down Darren’s back, slowly, carefully, as reassuringly as he knew how.
“I can’t fix it,” Darren mumbled against his sternum, hiding there. “I can’t… I can’t make it better or fix what’s really wrong-not unless I… you know. Fix it.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t know if I can do that.”
Chris closed his eyes. There were so many things he could say at this point, things he’d learned, things he’d figured out in the trenches about the high-stakes business of doing something you loved with people you loved, and about attachment, and about making decisions with all possibilities carefully considered; making them from a thoughtful, reasoned place, and not an emotional place-so many things he could say, but none of them would come out of his mouth. The only thing that would come out was something that flew in the face of all those reasoned arguments, the thing that was behind all those other things, a low whisper, barely there at all. “Don’t leave me.”
Darren pushed his face harder into Chris’ stomach. “No,” he said, his voice still husky. His head rocked against Chris’ shirtfront, over and over. “No, I won’t.”
Chris let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Okay.”
***
He had no memory of going to sleep. He certainly hadn’t meant to-but he woke up with a mouthful of Darren’s hair and Darren’s soft snores vibrating his chest, going from dead-asleep to wide-awake in moments, because there was just a whole lot of stuff going on at once. There was bright sunshine in his eyes, and his shirt was wet, and Darren was incredibly solid against him, limp and warm and sleepy-sweet in his arms-and both of them had a raging case of morning wood.
Chris swallowed, pondering the likelihood that either one or both of them would perish of embarrassment once both of them were awake-but of course this was Darren, the boy with no idea of personal space and a deep commitment to the enjoyment of all things absurd, so after Darren stirred against him and groaned there was only a soft, confused-sounding interrogative noise, followed by a rueful chuckle.
“God-sorry, dude,” Darren said, pulling back from him slowly, sitting up with a sigh and shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to pass out on you like that. Literally. I think I drooled on you.” Darren adjusted himself through his pants with an apparent total lack of self-consciousness, scratching his beard growth with his other hand. “Mind if I use your shower?”
“Fine. Yeah. It’s fine. No problem,” Chris said mindlessly, curling up on his side around his aching groin, hoping he sounded more nonchalant than he felt.
“Chris?” Darren was standing in the bathroom doorway, a tousle-haired silhouette backlit by the flood of light from the heat lamps.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
Darren disappeared inside the bathroom and closed the door. Chris sat up on the couch and breathed deep, rubbing his face with both hands. “You’re welcome,” he said mildly to the closed bathroom door. “Don’t mention it.”
***
Something was wrong. He was waiting, working, tapping away on his laptop and waiting for Darren to finally get around to talking about whatever it was that had his shoulders slumped and his head hanging low (even his curls seemed dejected, lying limply against his skull like they couldn’t be bothered to do more)-only Darren wasn’t holding up his end of the deal. He was just… sitting on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Not moving. And not talking.
So something was wrong. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Darren looked mildly surprised at being spoken to. “About what?”
Chris stared at him. “About whatever’s wrong.”
“Oh.” Darren looked back at the ceiling, and put his hands in his pockets. “Nothing’s wrong.”
Chris stopped typing, and flipped his laptop shut. “Okay.”
He waited. When nothing else was forthcoming, he got up and went to the kitchen, returning with a beer for Darren and a Diet Coke for himself. He handed the beer over and sat down on the opposite end of the couch, leaning back and staring at his ceiling. It was pretty spectacularly uninteresting.
“I’m a… I’m not a very good boyfriend,” Darren said finally, quietly.
Oh. He swallowed. “Are you two fighting?”
Darren laughed softly, a jagged, sad sound. “No. Never. We… don’t really fight.”
Chris blinked. “Uh. Okay. Is that somehow a problem?”
“She’s amazing.” It wasn’t an answer, but that was okay-Darren was talking, at least, finally talking. “I mean it-she’s one of the strongest, smartest, funniest, ballsiest people I’ve ever met. She’s… she’s fucking awesome.”
Chris took a breath. “Okay, so you’re not-fighting with your super-awesome girlfriend. You know, Darren, I’d tell you I feel your pain, but I-”
“I don’t do enough for her.”
Darren’s eyes were closed. Chris took a careful sip of his soda. “Is she… unhappy?”
“Fuck no.” Darren shook his head, his brows lowered. “Not at all, as far as I can tell. She’s just… doing her own thing, loving the fuck out of me whenever we manage to get together, and just… doing her thing.” He sighed. “It’s me; it’s all me. I just, I feel like I should… be better, do more for her, or, or really commit, you know? I could do that. I could… make some kind of gesture.”
Chris took a breath. “A… gesture.”
Darren looked at him then, eyes overly bright, then looked away, his face pained. “Gesture. I said gesture.”
“Darren-”
“A gesture. Like that would work. Like that would be better than the… benign neglect I’ve been-”
“Darren.”
“She deserves more than that,” Darren said fiercely, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. “She deserves… more. She deserves someone who’s… hers, you know? Hers. I think… I don’t think I’ve ever really been hers; I think I-” he stopped then, as abruptly as if his air had been cut off, adam’s apple bobbing as his throat worked.
Chris bit his bottom lip, trying to choose his words carefully-only there was no need to, because all of a sudden Darren was up and off the couch, tossing a single, rough-voiced ‘sorry’ over his shoulder as he left the room, left the house.
The silence in the wake of the slamming door vibrated in Chris’ ears for a long, long time.
***
Three hours later, his doorbell rang. The instant Chris looked through the peephole and saw Darren’s drawn, miserable face, he knew-immediately and instantaneously, knew so many things-but he doubted just as quickly, disbelief eating up certainty as soon as it was created, because: no. Just… no. He opened the door.
“I lied to you,” Darren said in a voice that sounded about two seconds from cracking. “I lied, or I… a lie of omission, whatever-I never wanted to lie to you. Not to you.” He squinted his eyes closed, pressing the fingertips of both hands to his own temples, and took a deep breath. “But… I knew. The second I said it, the second I said what I said about not being hers, I just-I knew.”
Chris held onto the door tightly, leaning against it, letting it take his weight. His head was spinning. “Oh,” he said, and he really was going to stop right there, he needed to stop right there, only then Darren opened his eyes and looked at him, really looked at him, and something in his expression was so hungry and half-desperate and half-panicked that Chris’ heart sped up to a gallop, because-he couldn’t stop there. “You’re-” that made no sound, no sound at all, so he tried again. “You’re… mine-is that it?”
Darren’s hand flew to his own chest, rubbing there like it hurt. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then just nodded, his eyes bright and wet, long lashes damp against his cheeks. “Yeah,” He was panting a little, out of breath. “Yes. Is it… am I too late?”
Chris squeezed the doorknob so tightly his hand cramped. “Too late…” He thought, for a moment, that Darren was talking about the time. “For what?”
Darren licked his lips. “For you… for you to. Love me.”
He let go of the doorknob without a second thought, reaching out, as Darren was reaching out, and their hands met halfway, latching onto each other. “No,” he said, his voice scratchy and raw. “No, you’re not… You’re not too late.”
He took a step backwards into the house without letting go of Darren’s hand. “Come in, okay?”
“Okay.” Darren came in, still holding tight, holding fast. Chris closed the door one-handed, flipped the deadbolt, and set the alarm for the night. He turned to Darren-and then it was just the two of them, hand-in-hand, face-to-face, staring at each other.
Staring like they were seeing each other for the very first time.
***
They ended up stretched out on his bed, facing each other on their sides with their feet tangled together, still fully dressed-but God, he felt so naked.
In the low light, across the short space between them afforded by their shared pillow, Darren looked pale, even though his cheeks were flushed. Chris cleared his throat. “Are you scared?”
Darren looked down, long lashes and stubble and licked, rosy lips. Chris swallowed hard. “Fucking petrified,” Darren said softly, then reached out for his hand, lacing their fingers together. “But not… you have to know-not because of you, not because you’re a guy, okay? It’s just-” he took a deep breath. “It’s… us. You and me. I couldn’t stand… I’ve got so much to lose.”
The words struck home low in his belly, reverberating there. “You won’t,” he said quietly (promised-it felt so much like a promise). “You won’t, okay?”
Darren squeezed his hand. “Okay.”
***
He remembered lying there, holding Darren’s hand, feeling the tug of connection that seemed to go from his fingers to somewhere deep in his chest. He remembered looking, finally looking his fill (and that’s what it felt like, like he was somehow gorging himself visually), the soft light-and-shadow chiaroscuro of Darren’s face well-known, well-loved, but somehow entirely new. He didn’t remember falling asleep, didn’t remember Darren falling asleep, but they must have, because he opened his eyes to see Darren slowly, sleepily blinking awake, surfacing bit by bit until those wide, remarkable eyes took him in, surprise and then wonder and then just simple gladness-and then, in the space of time between one blink and the next, something more.
Darren stared at his mouth and licked his lips, and all at once everything that was now possible hit Chris like a cramp, sudden and intense and near-painful, the awareness that he didn’t have to push it away or deny it or pretend it wasn’t what it was. He could hear his own heartbeat in his breath, blood-heavy and rhythmic, and there was a heat and rush in his veins that made him tingle, made him reach out-but Darren was already there, meeting him halfway, arms and legs and the sweet, warm crush of coming together.
Chris swallowed fast before they kissed because his mouth was flooding, wet and wanting and suddenly starving, moaning when Darren rolled on top of him and pressed him deep into the bed. Darren’s hands were callus-rough around his face and Darren’s tongue was silky-sexy and intoxicating, and Chris got hard so fast it made him dizzy, so fast it would have embarrassed him if Darren hadn’t already been hard, rocking against him with lush, slow rolls of his hips.
“Fuck.” He bit his lip. He hadn’t meant to say that.
Darren lifted his head, licking his lips. He looked flushed and fevered, his pupils wide. “I want to make you come. I want… to watch you. Please-”
Chris closed his eyes and arched his head back into the pillow, then slid his hands from Darren’s shoulders down his narrow waist and around, gently, to the swells of Darren’s ass, both of them groaning a little. “Okay,” he managed, controlling the strength in his arms, fighting off the urge to just grab-and-get while the grabbing-and-getting was good. “Kiss me again, okay?”
Darren kissed him, devouring his mouth softly, then gasping against his lips before dipping back in again. Chris felt something silently explode in his brain when he let his hands do what they wanted to, sliding over the curves of Darren’s muscular ass and pulling, working them together, spreading his legs wide and dragging Darren’s hard bulge over his own.
“Oh, fucking hell.” Darren looked almost shocked.
Chris froze. “Okay?”
“Please don’t stop.” Chris went back to what he’d been doing. Darren blinked rapidly, gasping. “Uh… I think I might come before you do.”
“It’s not a contest.”
“Good thing-because that feels fucking fantastic and I would totally lose and I wouldn’t even care oh God-”
Somehow, tragically, Chris had left one very important thing out of his calculations-Darren was Darren, open and vulnerable and responsive to everything, so responsive that everything showed-every touch, every taste, every sensation. On Darren everything showed and nothing was held back, and that was honestly something Chris loved so much-only now Darren’s eyelids were fluttering and his breath was catching and his brows were drawn delicately down and there was moaning and he was actually getting off-and somehow it hadn’t occurred to Chris that watching that happen was going to possibly kill him and definitely destroy any form of self-control he had. His cock twitched hard in his pants and his balls ached and his nipples tightened to fierce little tingling points, and by the time Darren kissed him again he was already almost gone, rocking on a delirious edge and squeezing Darren’s ass and rutting them against each other, completely unable to control the soft cries coming out of his throat.
“Chris-fuck-come-please-”
He did, shuddering hard, moaning and using his grip on Darren’s ass to grind them together right where everything was just… perfect, sliding tight-hot-hard against him right where he needed it while he came until his toes curled and cramped up, wet spreading mess inside his boxer-briefs and he didn’t care at all, then a wet, messy, delicious kiss while Darren groaned deeply and half-sobbed and came apart, his face angelic and wounded and needful.
More kisses, lazy, indulgent kisses, tender and soft and breathy. He was still petting Darren’s ass, and while he knew he should probably stop, it just didn’t seem likely to happen anytime soon.
“I kind of can’t believe that just happened,” he said when he could, nuzzling Darren’s cheekbone with his nose.
“I have proof,” Darren said, wiggling a little. “It’s in my pants.” Chris snickered, and Darren kissed him quiet, sucking on his tongue until they were both short of breath. “Take a shower with me.”
“Okay.”
***
Darren’s strong hands on his waist pinned him to the tile wall in the shower, held him there while they kissed until he was dizzy and hard all over again, and he couldn’t even manage a decent case of embarrassment over being naked because-Darren was naked, touching him and naked, gently biting and sucking his neck until Chris shivered and slumped against the tile, then on down while he panted and moaned and petted Darren’s head and wondered when, exactly, he was going to put a stop to this-“Darren,” he said when Darren went to his knees, staring at his erection like someone entranced by a cobra. “Uh-advanced class, okay?”
“Oh, fuck that noise right in the ear,” Darren said defiantly, and then tried to commit suicide-by-cock-asphyxia, attempting to take all of him in at once.
Chris gasped and almost slid down the wall, but Darren’s hands on his hips tightened and then he-really-couldn’t move much. “Darren-” Darren didn’t stop. Of course he didn’t stop-he was Darren Criss, and he joyfully did things like eating stewed pig-bladders or jumping out of planes or doing impromptu concerts in public or going to Nepal for pie-cocksucking was obviously just another grand adventure. Chris loved him so much it hurt.
Darren was enthusiastic and sloppy and eager until Chris started groaning, fists in Darren’s wet hair because, sloppy or not, Darren’s mouth on him was hot and slippery-wet and hungry-and then everything changed in a blink, reserve melting away and something breaking open in him so that he had to move, had to slide his thumb over the hinge of Darren’s jaw, pressing there, opening him wider, working in and fucking his mouth and curling into the heat and steam and cascading water with his eyes closed tight.
When he opened them Darren was there, mouth full and eyes closed and water matting the hair on his chest, muscular thighs flexed and spread dark against the pale cream tile of the shower floor while he jerked off, his hand nearly a blur on his flushed, swollen cock. Chris moaned helplessly and went a little deeper into Darren’s mouth, and Darren groaned around him and started bucking into his own fist, and then Chris had to look away. Had to. Because this was Darren, grand-adventurer and first-time-blowjob-giver, not some seasoned, cock-hungry WeHo prettyboy, no matter what it felt like, no matter what-
Darren cupped his balls, pulling lightly, then slid his fingers back further, two fingertips circling his ass with lazy deliberation before they pressed in gently. Chris slammed himself back against the wall and came, no time for a warning, his ass throbbing with each pulse into Darren’s hot, wet mouth.
“Fuck-sorry-fuck. Darren-God, I’m-” he cut off with a slight yelp when Darren yanked him down, knees buckling as he slid and landed practically in Darren’s lap, choking a little as the water spray hit him right in the face. Darren grabbed his hair hard enough to hurt and kissed him voraciously, held him there and pulled his head back tight and ate his mouth and arched and-fuck-came on him, groaning and stroking himself and Chris kind of seized up a little because he’d just gotten off but his body didn’t seem to care, his dick was twitching and throbbing and his hips were rocking and his nipples ached because that was just-so fucking hot.
There was a lot of half-drowned, waterlogged nuzzling in the aftermath, waves of everything from shyness to awkwardness to mild post-coital panic to sweet, desperately grateful kisses to mutually awed we-rock-at-orgasms giggling to just-holding on, holding on to Darren while his heart overflowed with a thousand different things, none of which he said, all of which he meant.
***
It was automatic, putting clothes on after he’d dried off (his legs were so wobbly he had to steady himself against the wall). He chose his softest sweats and a thermal Henley worn nearly translucent, and Darren looked him over and nodded approvingly-then stripped him with brisk efficiency, ignoring his sputtering, and dragged him back to bed while he giggled.
“For God’s sake, Darren-I’m not some kind of debauched sensualist-”
“You can get there,” Darren said earnestly, grinning. “I have faith. You just need a lot more practice.”
“Darren!”
“Or we could compromise,” Darren rolled on top of him, naked and glowing golden in the soft light, heartbreakingly gorgeous. “I’ll do the sensualist part-” strong hands slid up his arms, pressing his wrists into the pillow. “You can just focus on being debauched.”
His breath was so high and light in his throat that he barely had air to speak with. “I don’t… I normally don’t do that-”
Darren pulled back from him, letting go of his wrists, his face dark with dismay. “Oh, no-Chris, no, I wasn’t… that wasn’t what I meant, I was just-”
“I don’t because it’s… uh, intense. For me. Really intense.” He swallowed. “Intimate. It’s not something I-”
“God, no-Chris, you have to know, I’m not trying to-”
“I don’t usually, but-I’d like to.” He reached up, cupping Darren’s cheek in his palm, brushing his thumb over that rosy, pretty lower lip. “With you. I’d like to, with you. If you want. If you… want that.”
Darren caught his hand, kissed the pad of his thumb, and then curved down over him again, close and then closer, and Chris didn’t want to shut his eyes, but when their lips touched softly and they both gasped a little, he couldn’t help it.
“Anything,” Darren whispered to him. “Everything.” One more kiss. “Just… you.”
***
It was easier when he was face-down, a pillow clutched in his arms so he’d have a convenient place to hide, a place to stifle the things that tended to come out of his mouth when he did this.
And he was fine, he did fine while Darren touched him, slow, patient touches and strokes and squeezes-slightly less fine when Darren’s tongue slid from the small of his back right on down, strong, warm hands holding him gently but firmly open and then-tongue, wet and hot and soft and he was moaning, they were both moaning, he was rocking and spreading and Darren worked down to his balls and then back to his ass with that killer, sweet-wicked tongue and-pillow, Chris put his face in the pillow and breathed into it, groaned into it, cool fabric turning quickly hot from his flaming face.
He held on, his cock dripping into the sheets and his ass aching from the gentle, wet tease of Darren’s tongue on him there, coaxing him open, seducing soft cries and groans out of him and unlocking the joints of his hips when his legs spread so wide his inner thigh muscles quivered with strain.
He thought it would be easier when Darren switched over to lube and fingers-and it would have been, if Darren hadn’t just kept on licking him at the same time, stretching him and flickering his evil, evil tongue at the edges of stretched-taut skin, sliding hot and wet over nerves that were already throbbing with pleasure. “Fuck,” he managed, and then he just kept saying it, moaning it into the pillow while he tried not to hump the bed.
He was still saying it when Darren finally pulled back from him, when he heard (hazily, fuzzily) the sound of a condom packet being torn open. He kept saying it right up until Darren took the pillow away from him and flipped him over. Then he stopped, fisting the sheets and panting, open-mouthed with shock.
“Like this, okay?” Darren was soft-voiced and gentle, but his eyes were burning dark, his mouth swollen and his nipples and cock flushed-red and hard, and just looking at his twitching, sheathed erection made Chris’ ass ache.
“Uhh…” was the most coherent thing he could come up with-because of course it wasn’t okay; he was face-up and naked and pillowless and Darren was right there-only by then Darren was right there, Chris’ legs over his shoulders and Chris’ ass resting on his strong thighs and one hand softly cupping Chris’ balls while the other slid the tip of his cock gently, teasingly back and forth and over and around Chris’ wet, twitching hole. “Oh-Jesus-Darren-fuck-me-God-don’t-tease-I-want-it-want-you-fuck-me-do-it-please-ohh.” He slapped a hand over his own mouth but Darren took it away, took it and kissed it and then pressed it gently down beside his head and held it there, held both his wrists and kissed him wet and deep while working into him bit by bit, easing into him with slow, deliberate rolls of his hips.
Not fair. Not at all fair that a man with such a big, gorgeous cock should actually know how to use it-in his experience, most of them counted on their size to do the work for them, and had no thought of patience or control or timing or actual skill. But Darren was reading him, soaking him up, fucking him slowly and gently like he was feeling his way along, shifting as he went, giving him everything, working so hard to make it good for him.
“Darren-” was all Chris managed to get out between kisses before he turned his head to the side and groaned and came helplessly, his hips bucking and his dick shooting all over both of them between their bellies. He was dizzy and hot and lost and overwhelmed, still doing his level best to screw himself on Darren’s cock even while his nerves were shrieking from oversensitivity. “Don’t stop-fuck-please-”
Darren kissed him and moaned in his mouth and didn’t stop, and it hurt and it was too much and it was so fucking good and he never, ever would have enough of it. He gave up, a terrifying abandonment of everything he counted on to keep himself whole and safe, gave up and gave himself over and let himself sink, let himself feel, let himself take in everything that Darren gave him.
His cock didn’t even soften afterwards; it just ached, like his balls and his thighs and his heart, catching in his throat when he swallowed between messy kisses. Darren was petting and squeezing his thighs and moaning endlessly, shaking over him and fucking him so perfectly, his thrusts more ragged now, control more of an obvious struggle. Chris got lost in watching, watching Darren slowly but surely lose it, watching Darren get seduced-and watching it happen was a seduction in itself, a falling-together, and before he knew he meant to move he had lifted his boneless arms and taken Darren’s sweat-wet face in his hands, bringing them close with their eyes open, mouths open, sharing breath and soft, urgent cries.
“Touch me,” he managed, licking salty sweat off his lips. “I want to… to come when you come. Please.”
He shouldn’t have said it-it felt impossible, ridiculous, but then Darren took him in hand and started stroking. Chris wailed softly while his toes curled, and he felt them click-like a tongue in a groove, working so hard together with only one possible destination. He laid back and circled his hips between Darren’s hand and his cock and let himself burn, watching from under half-lowered lids while Darren waited for him and held off and held off and threw his head back, groaning like he was dying, his hips twisting, fucking him hard.
Chris slid one hand down over Darren’s around his cock and squeezed, got the other one fisted into Darren’s wet hair and pulled him down into a rough kiss, and jerked himself ruthlessly for three, four, five strokes before he came hard, all his muscles locked and throbbing. It stung like a sudden wound and drowned him in ecstasy, and Darren shuddered fiercely and took his mouth and came in him, gasping and groaning with everything wet and close and so, so sweet.
***
Afterwards, there was kissing. There was drowsing. There was also a shared, profound need for another shower, but honestly that felt way too much like work. Darren raided his fridge and came back to bed with a pint of dark chocolate ice cream and a basket of blackberries and only one spoon, so they passed everything back and forth and tried not to drop anything on the sheets.
He watched Darren have a tiny, eye-fluttering oral orgasm over a blackberry, and smiled. “When did you fall in love with me?”
It wasn’t a question he thought he’d ever ask. It wasn’t a question he was comfortable asking. But his filter was gone, fucked right out of him, and he might as well take advantage of the situation.
Darren chewed, swallowed. “Intuitively, or cognitively?”
Chris just grinned. “Whatever.”
Darren sucked his thumb and finger clean, his face solemn. “Intuitively, I think… I think it started the first time you ever reached out and touched me.”
Chris blinked. “That… that was a long time ago.”
“Yeah, but-I could see, in your eyes, how hard that was for you. But you did it.” He shrugged. “It meant a lot to me.”
“Oh. And, uh, cognitively?”
Darren’s cheeks went pink. “About five minutes after I walked out your door earlier tonight.” He shook his head. “Sometimes I’m slow.”
Chris dug up the last of the ice cream. “It’s okay-you were worth the wait.”
Darren’s eyes were dark, aimed right at him. “How about you?”
Chris put the empty container down on his nightstand, and tilted his head, squinting. “Let’s see… I think, maybe, immediately after the third orgasm? Or maybe it was the fourth-”
“Oh my God, you dick,” Darren said, laughing, then ditched the berries and tackled him to the bed, kissing him soundly.
They rolled around a bit, giggling, then settled with Chris on top, scooted down far enough that he could rest his head on Darren’s chest. “I don’t… I’m not really entirely sure, honestly,” he said quietly. “I just… it feels like always. It’s… that’s how it feels.”
Darren’s arms closed around him, hands smoothing up his back and down again, lulling him. “Always. Always… always is good. I’ll take it.”
Chris barely caught the last word before he drifted off to sleep.
~End
***
Author’s endnotes:
After defiantly embracing my identity as a one-trick pony for writing story after story about resolving emotional problems through sexual intimacy, I started thinking about what it might be like to write a story where the intimacy developed before the sex did. I’m a rebel and I’ll never-ever be any good.
A note on the timeline: I am aware that this story would be a lot clearer if I had attached dates to show the progression of things. However, I resisted that suggestion (made by two of the four advance readers) for this reason: I really wanted this story to ‘float’, timewise, particularly the ending-I really didn’t want to put a date on ‘and here’s when they got together’. So I stitched in date-referential things here and there (and hopefully didn’t chronologically screw the pooch on those), and let the end just… be. I’m an asshole. Just go with it.
This is yet another in my series of weird/internal/minimalist CrissColfer fics brought on my listening moonily to way too much Joan Armatrading. In this case, Down to Zero. Hence the title.
***
He didn’t expect to see Darren until they reconvened on set-between the Boston shows and the jet-lag, he anticipated that he’d probably spend most of the next day poking Darren in the side to wake him up-so it was definitely a surprise when Darren knocked on his door at nearly one in the morning, red-eyed and haggard, his small suitcase in tow.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” Darren said quietly, one hand propped against the side of the door jamb as if he didn’t trust himself to stay upright without the support. “I should have called, it’s late, I know, I just… I was at the airport, and I… can I come in?”
He tugged the suitcase out of Darren’s icy fingers, then nodded towards the couch while he went to the kitchen. It was too late for coffee and too cold for beer, so he settled on spiked hot chocolate. Darren was uncharacteristically quiet, and by the time Chris was done making drinks he wouldn’t have been surprised to find Darren sacked out on the couch again.
But no-Darren was just… sitting, slumped in the corner of the couch with his head tilted all the way back, rubbing his eyes with his palms so hard it looked like it must hurt. He accepted a mug when Chris handed one over, and took a giant swallow before coughing.
Chris cleared his throat. “It’s, uh, hot. And kinda boozy.”
“Yeah,” Darren rasped, coughing again, then drinking some more. “Figured that out.”
Chris sat down, and waited. Darren drained his mug efficiently and quickly, and Chris offered his own-he didn’t really want it, anyway; he’d only made two to be hospitable.
Darren accepted it, hesitantly. “You sure?”
“Yep.”
Darren sipped, sighed, and set the mug down. “They have in-jokes I don’t get.”
Chris didn’t need to ask for context. “I see.”
Darren rolled his head toward him, gazing at him with his bright eyes half-lidded. “Experiences I haven’t had. Road stories I wasn’t a part of. They have… them. They have them.” He looked away, staring at the ceiling. “I… don’t, I thought I still did but I don’t, I mean… yeah, it was like coming home, but… home’s been going on while I’ve been… doing other stuff, and it’s… I am so. Torn.”
“Torn.” Chris felt mildly dizzy.
“I hate disappointing people. The people I care about. I hate it.” Darren rubbed his eyes again, looking exhausted and worn-out and ridiculously young, like a boy up past his bedtime. “They weren’t… it’s not like they were mad, or obviously disappointed in me, or anything-they were glad to see me. Really glad. They were wonderful, I love them and they love me and it was wonderful, but-it’s the distance. It hurts.”
Chris wasn’t quite prepared for Darren to come at him, arms around his waist tight and a hot face pressed to his chest-but he went with it, relaxing back into the couch cushions with Darren half on top of him, smoothing both hands up and down Darren’s back, slowly, carefully, as reassuringly as he knew how.
“I can’t fix it,” Darren mumbled against his sternum, hiding there. “I can’t… I can’t make it better or fix what’s really wrong-not unless I… you know. Fix it.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t know if I can do that.”
Chris closed his eyes. There were so many things he could say at this point, things he’d learned, things he’d figured out in the trenches about the high-stakes business of doing something you loved with people you loved, and about attachment, and about making decisions with all possibilities carefully considered; making them from a thoughtful, reasoned place, and not an emotional place-so many things he could say, but none of them would come out of his mouth. The only thing that would come out was something that flew in the face of all those reasoned arguments, the thing that was behind all those other things, a low whisper, barely there at all. “Don’t leave me.”
Darren pushed his face harder into Chris’ stomach. “No,” he said, his voice still husky. His head rocked against Chris’ shirtfront, over and over. “No, I won’t.”
Chris let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Okay.”
***
He had no memory of going to sleep. He certainly hadn’t meant to-but he woke up with a mouthful of Darren’s hair and Darren’s soft snores vibrating his chest, going from dead-asleep to wide-awake in moments, because there was just a whole lot of stuff going on at once. There was bright sunshine in his eyes, and his shirt was wet, and Darren was incredibly solid against him, limp and warm and sleepy-sweet in his arms-and both of them had a raging case of morning wood.
Chris swallowed, pondering the likelihood that either one or both of them would perish of embarrassment once both of them were awake-but of course this was Darren, the boy with no idea of personal space and a deep commitment to the enjoyment of all things absurd, so after Darren stirred against him and groaned there was only a soft, confused-sounding interrogative noise, followed by a rueful chuckle.
“God-sorry, dude,” Darren said, pulling back from him slowly, sitting up with a sigh and shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to pass out on you like that. Literally. I think I drooled on you.” Darren adjusted himself through his pants with an apparent total lack of self-consciousness, scratching his beard growth with his other hand. “Mind if I use your shower?”
“Fine. Yeah. It’s fine. No problem,” Chris said mindlessly, curling up on his side around his aching groin, hoping he sounded more nonchalant than he felt.
“Chris?” Darren was standing in the bathroom doorway, a tousle-haired silhouette backlit by the flood of light from the heat lamps.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
Darren disappeared inside the bathroom and closed the door. Chris sat up on the couch and breathed deep, rubbing his face with both hands. “You’re welcome,” he said mildly to the closed bathroom door. “Don’t mention it.”
***
Something was wrong. He was waiting, working, tapping away on his laptop and waiting for Darren to finally get around to talking about whatever it was that had his shoulders slumped and his head hanging low (even his curls seemed dejected, lying limply against his skull like they couldn’t be bothered to do more)-only Darren wasn’t holding up his end of the deal. He was just… sitting on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Not moving. And not talking.
So something was wrong. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Darren looked mildly surprised at being spoken to. “About what?”
Chris stared at him. “About whatever’s wrong.”
“Oh.” Darren looked back at the ceiling, and put his hands in his pockets. “Nothing’s wrong.”
Chris stopped typing, and flipped his laptop shut. “Okay.”
He waited. When nothing else was forthcoming, he got up and went to the kitchen, returning with a beer for Darren and a Diet Coke for himself. He handed the beer over and sat down on the opposite end of the couch, leaning back and staring at his ceiling. It was pretty spectacularly uninteresting.
“I’m a… I’m not a very good boyfriend,” Darren said finally, quietly.
Oh. He swallowed. “Are you two fighting?”
Darren laughed softly, a jagged, sad sound. “No. Never. We… don’t really fight.”
Chris blinked. “Uh. Okay. Is that somehow a problem?”
“She’s amazing.” It wasn’t an answer, but that was okay-Darren was talking, at least, finally talking. “I mean it-she’s one of the strongest, smartest, funniest, ballsiest people I’ve ever met. She’s… she’s fucking awesome.”
Chris took a breath. “Okay, so you’re not-fighting with your super-awesome girlfriend. You know, Darren, I’d tell you I feel your pain, but I-”
“I don’t do enough for her.”
Darren’s eyes were closed. Chris took a careful sip of his soda. “Is she… unhappy?”
“Fuck no.” Darren shook his head, his brows lowered. “Not at all, as far as I can tell. She’s just… doing her own thing, loving the fuck out of me whenever we manage to get together, and just… doing her thing.” He sighed. “It’s me; it’s all me. I just, I feel like I should… be better, do more for her, or, or really commit, you know? I could do that. I could… make some kind of gesture.”
Chris took a breath. “A… gesture.”
Darren looked at him then, eyes overly bright, then looked away, his face pained. “Gesture. I said gesture.”
“Darren-”
“A gesture. Like that would work. Like that would be better than the… benign neglect I’ve been-”
“Darren.”
“She deserves more than that,” Darren said fiercely, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. “She deserves… more. She deserves someone who’s… hers, you know? Hers. I think… I don’t think I’ve ever really been hers; I think I-” he stopped then, as abruptly as if his air had been cut off, adam’s apple bobbing as his throat worked.
Chris bit his bottom lip, trying to choose his words carefully-only there was no need to, because all of a sudden Darren was up and off the couch, tossing a single, rough-voiced ‘sorry’ over his shoulder as he left the room, left the house.
The silence in the wake of the slamming door vibrated in Chris’ ears for a long, long time.
***
Three hours later, his doorbell rang. The instant Chris looked through the peephole and saw Darren’s drawn, miserable face, he knew-immediately and instantaneously, knew so many things-but he doubted just as quickly, disbelief eating up certainty as soon as it was created, because: no. Just… no. He opened the door.
“I lied to you,” Darren said in a voice that sounded about two seconds from cracking. “I lied, or I… a lie of omission, whatever-I never wanted to lie to you. Not to you.” He squinted his eyes closed, pressing the fingertips of both hands to his own temples, and took a deep breath. “But… I knew. The second I said it, the second I said what I said about not being hers, I just-I knew.”
Chris held onto the door tightly, leaning against it, letting it take his weight. His head was spinning. “Oh,” he said, and he really was going to stop right there, he needed to stop right there, only then Darren opened his eyes and looked at him, really looked at him, and something in his expression was so hungry and half-desperate and half-panicked that Chris’ heart sped up to a gallop, because-he couldn’t stop there. “You’re-” that made no sound, no sound at all, so he tried again. “You’re… mine-is that it?”
Darren’s hand flew to his own chest, rubbing there like it hurt. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then just nodded, his eyes bright and wet, long lashes damp against his cheeks. “Yeah,” He was panting a little, out of breath. “Yes. Is it… am I too late?”
Chris squeezed the doorknob so tightly his hand cramped. “Too late…” He thought, for a moment, that Darren was talking about the time. “For what?”
Darren licked his lips. “For you… for you to. Love me.”
He let go of the doorknob without a second thought, reaching out, as Darren was reaching out, and their hands met halfway, latching onto each other. “No,” he said, his voice scratchy and raw. “No, you’re not… You’re not too late.”
He took a step backwards into the house without letting go of Darren’s hand. “Come in, okay?”
“Okay.” Darren came in, still holding tight, holding fast. Chris closed the door one-handed, flipped the deadbolt, and set the alarm for the night. He turned to Darren-and then it was just the two of them, hand-in-hand, face-to-face, staring at each other.
Staring like they were seeing each other for the very first time.
***
They ended up stretched out on his bed, facing each other on their sides with their feet tangled together, still fully dressed-but God, he felt so naked.
In the low light, across the short space between them afforded by their shared pillow, Darren looked pale, even though his cheeks were flushed. Chris cleared his throat. “Are you scared?”
Darren looked down, long lashes and stubble and licked, rosy lips. Chris swallowed hard. “Fucking petrified,” Darren said softly, then reached out for his hand, lacing their fingers together. “But not… you have to know-not because of you, not because you’re a guy, okay? It’s just-” he took a deep breath. “It’s… us. You and me. I couldn’t stand… I’ve got so much to lose.”
The words struck home low in his belly, reverberating there. “You won’t,” he said quietly (promised-it felt so much like a promise). “You won’t, okay?”
Darren squeezed his hand. “Okay.”
***
He remembered lying there, holding Darren’s hand, feeling the tug of connection that seemed to go from his fingers to somewhere deep in his chest. He remembered looking, finally looking his fill (and that’s what it felt like, like he was somehow gorging himself visually), the soft light-and-shadow chiaroscuro of Darren’s face well-known, well-loved, but somehow entirely new. He didn’t remember falling asleep, didn’t remember Darren falling asleep, but they must have, because he opened his eyes to see Darren slowly, sleepily blinking awake, surfacing bit by bit until those wide, remarkable eyes took him in, surprise and then wonder and then just simple gladness-and then, in the space of time between one blink and the next, something more.
Darren stared at his mouth and licked his lips, and all at once everything that was now possible hit Chris like a cramp, sudden and intense and near-painful, the awareness that he didn’t have to push it away or deny it or pretend it wasn’t what it was. He could hear his own heartbeat in his breath, blood-heavy and rhythmic, and there was a heat and rush in his veins that made him tingle, made him reach out-but Darren was already there, meeting him halfway, arms and legs and the sweet, warm crush of coming together.
Chris swallowed fast before they kissed because his mouth was flooding, wet and wanting and suddenly starving, moaning when Darren rolled on top of him and pressed him deep into the bed. Darren’s hands were callus-rough around his face and Darren’s tongue was silky-sexy and intoxicating, and Chris got hard so fast it made him dizzy, so fast it would have embarrassed him if Darren hadn’t already been hard, rocking against him with lush, slow rolls of his hips.
“Fuck.” He bit his lip. He hadn’t meant to say that.
Darren lifted his head, licking his lips. He looked flushed and fevered, his pupils wide. “I want to make you come. I want… to watch you. Please-”
Chris closed his eyes and arched his head back into the pillow, then slid his hands from Darren’s shoulders down his narrow waist and around, gently, to the swells of Darren’s ass, both of them groaning a little. “Okay,” he managed, controlling the strength in his arms, fighting off the urge to just grab-and-get while the grabbing-and-getting was good. “Kiss me again, okay?”
Darren kissed him, devouring his mouth softly, then gasping against his lips before dipping back in again. Chris felt something silently explode in his brain when he let his hands do what they wanted to, sliding over the curves of Darren’s muscular ass and pulling, working them together, spreading his legs wide and dragging Darren’s hard bulge over his own.
“Oh, fucking hell.” Darren looked almost shocked.
Chris froze. “Okay?”
“Please don’t stop.” Chris went back to what he’d been doing. Darren blinked rapidly, gasping. “Uh… I think I might come before you do.”
“It’s not a contest.”
“Good thing-because that feels fucking fantastic and I would totally lose and I wouldn’t even care oh God-”
Somehow, tragically, Chris had left one very important thing out of his calculations-Darren was Darren, open and vulnerable and responsive to everything, so responsive that everything showed-every touch, every taste, every sensation. On Darren everything showed and nothing was held back, and that was honestly something Chris loved so much-only now Darren’s eyelids were fluttering and his breath was catching and his brows were drawn delicately down and there was moaning and he was actually getting off-and somehow it hadn’t occurred to Chris that watching that happen was going to possibly kill him and definitely destroy any form of self-control he had. His cock twitched hard in his pants and his balls ached and his nipples tightened to fierce little tingling points, and by the time Darren kissed him again he was already almost gone, rocking on a delirious edge and squeezing Darren’s ass and rutting them against each other, completely unable to control the soft cries coming out of his throat.
“Chris-fuck-come-please-”
He did, shuddering hard, moaning and using his grip on Darren’s ass to grind them together right where everything was just… perfect, sliding tight-hot-hard against him right where he needed it while he came until his toes curled and cramped up, wet spreading mess inside his boxer-briefs and he didn’t care at all, then a wet, messy, delicious kiss while Darren groaned deeply and half-sobbed and came apart, his face angelic and wounded and needful.
More kisses, lazy, indulgent kisses, tender and soft and breathy. He was still petting Darren’s ass, and while he knew he should probably stop, it just didn’t seem likely to happen anytime soon.
“I kind of can’t believe that just happened,” he said when he could, nuzzling Darren’s cheekbone with his nose.
“I have proof,” Darren said, wiggling a little. “It’s in my pants.” Chris snickered, and Darren kissed him quiet, sucking on his tongue until they were both short of breath. “Take a shower with me.”
“Okay.”
***
Darren’s strong hands on his waist pinned him to the tile wall in the shower, held him there while they kissed until he was dizzy and hard all over again, and he couldn’t even manage a decent case of embarrassment over being naked because-Darren was naked, touching him and naked, gently biting and sucking his neck until Chris shivered and slumped against the tile, then on down while he panted and moaned and petted Darren’s head and wondered when, exactly, he was going to put a stop to this-“Darren,” he said when Darren went to his knees, staring at his erection like someone entranced by a cobra. “Uh-advanced class, okay?”
“Oh, fuck that noise right in the ear,” Darren said defiantly, and then tried to commit suicide-by-cock-asphyxia, attempting to take all of him in at once.
Chris gasped and almost slid down the wall, but Darren’s hands on his hips tightened and then he-really-couldn’t move much. “Darren-” Darren didn’t stop. Of course he didn’t stop-he was Darren Criss, and he joyfully did things like eating stewed pig-bladders or jumping out of planes or doing impromptu concerts in public or going to Nepal for pie-cocksucking was obviously just another grand adventure. Chris loved him so much it hurt.
Darren was enthusiastic and sloppy and eager until Chris started groaning, fists in Darren’s wet hair because, sloppy or not, Darren’s mouth on him was hot and slippery-wet and hungry-and then everything changed in a blink, reserve melting away and something breaking open in him so that he had to move, had to slide his thumb over the hinge of Darren’s jaw, pressing there, opening him wider, working in and fucking his mouth and curling into the heat and steam and cascading water with his eyes closed tight.
When he opened them Darren was there, mouth full and eyes closed and water matting the hair on his chest, muscular thighs flexed and spread dark against the pale cream tile of the shower floor while he jerked off, his hand nearly a blur on his flushed, swollen cock. Chris moaned helplessly and went a little deeper into Darren’s mouth, and Darren groaned around him and started bucking into his own fist, and then Chris had to look away. Had to. Because this was Darren, grand-adventurer and first-time-blowjob-giver, not some seasoned, cock-hungry WeHo prettyboy, no matter what it felt like, no matter what-
Darren cupped his balls, pulling lightly, then slid his fingers back further, two fingertips circling his ass with lazy deliberation before they pressed in gently. Chris slammed himself back against the wall and came, no time for a warning, his ass throbbing with each pulse into Darren’s hot, wet mouth.
“Fuck-sorry-fuck. Darren-God, I’m-” he cut off with a slight yelp when Darren yanked him down, knees buckling as he slid and landed practically in Darren’s lap, choking a little as the water spray hit him right in the face. Darren grabbed his hair hard enough to hurt and kissed him voraciously, held him there and pulled his head back tight and ate his mouth and arched and-fuck-came on him, groaning and stroking himself and Chris kind of seized up a little because he’d just gotten off but his body didn’t seem to care, his dick was twitching and throbbing and his hips were rocking and his nipples ached because that was just-so fucking hot.
There was a lot of half-drowned, waterlogged nuzzling in the aftermath, waves of everything from shyness to awkwardness to mild post-coital panic to sweet, desperately grateful kisses to mutually awed we-rock-at-orgasms giggling to just-holding on, holding on to Darren while his heart overflowed with a thousand different things, none of which he said, all of which he meant.
***
It was automatic, putting clothes on after he’d dried off (his legs were so wobbly he had to steady himself against the wall). He chose his softest sweats and a thermal Henley worn nearly translucent, and Darren looked him over and nodded approvingly-then stripped him with brisk efficiency, ignoring his sputtering, and dragged him back to bed while he giggled.
“For God’s sake, Darren-I’m not some kind of debauched sensualist-”
“You can get there,” Darren said earnestly, grinning. “I have faith. You just need a lot more practice.”
“Darren!”
“Or we could compromise,” Darren rolled on top of him, naked and glowing golden in the soft light, heartbreakingly gorgeous. “I’ll do the sensualist part-” strong hands slid up his arms, pressing his wrists into the pillow. “You can just focus on being debauched.”
His breath was so high and light in his throat that he barely had air to speak with. “I don’t… I normally don’t do that-”
Darren pulled back from him, letting go of his wrists, his face dark with dismay. “Oh, no-Chris, no, I wasn’t… that wasn’t what I meant, I was just-”
“I don’t because it’s… uh, intense. For me. Really intense.” He swallowed. “Intimate. It’s not something I-”
“God, no-Chris, you have to know, I’m not trying to-”
“I don’t usually, but-I’d like to.” He reached up, cupping Darren’s cheek in his palm, brushing his thumb over that rosy, pretty lower lip. “With you. I’d like to, with you. If you want. If you… want that.”
Darren caught his hand, kissed the pad of his thumb, and then curved down over him again, close and then closer, and Chris didn’t want to shut his eyes, but when their lips touched softly and they both gasped a little, he couldn’t help it.
“Anything,” Darren whispered to him. “Everything.” One more kiss. “Just… you.”
***
It was easier when he was face-down, a pillow clutched in his arms so he’d have a convenient place to hide, a place to stifle the things that tended to come out of his mouth when he did this.
And he was fine, he did fine while Darren touched him, slow, patient touches and strokes and squeezes-slightly less fine when Darren’s tongue slid from the small of his back right on down, strong, warm hands holding him gently but firmly open and then-tongue, wet and hot and soft and he was moaning, they were both moaning, he was rocking and spreading and Darren worked down to his balls and then back to his ass with that killer, sweet-wicked tongue and-pillow, Chris put his face in the pillow and breathed into it, groaned into it, cool fabric turning quickly hot from his flaming face.
He held on, his cock dripping into the sheets and his ass aching from the gentle, wet tease of Darren’s tongue on him there, coaxing him open, seducing soft cries and groans out of him and unlocking the joints of his hips when his legs spread so wide his inner thigh muscles quivered with strain.
He thought it would be easier when Darren switched over to lube and fingers-and it would have been, if Darren hadn’t just kept on licking him at the same time, stretching him and flickering his evil, evil tongue at the edges of stretched-taut skin, sliding hot and wet over nerves that were already throbbing with pleasure. “Fuck,” he managed, and then he just kept saying it, moaning it into the pillow while he tried not to hump the bed.
He was still saying it when Darren finally pulled back from him, when he heard (hazily, fuzzily) the sound of a condom packet being torn open. He kept saying it right up until Darren took the pillow away from him and flipped him over. Then he stopped, fisting the sheets and panting, open-mouthed with shock.
“Like this, okay?” Darren was soft-voiced and gentle, but his eyes were burning dark, his mouth swollen and his nipples and cock flushed-red and hard, and just looking at his twitching, sheathed erection made Chris’ ass ache.
“Uhh…” was the most coherent thing he could come up with-because of course it wasn’t okay; he was face-up and naked and pillowless and Darren was right there-only by then Darren was right there, Chris’ legs over his shoulders and Chris’ ass resting on his strong thighs and one hand softly cupping Chris’ balls while the other slid the tip of his cock gently, teasingly back and forth and over and around Chris’ wet, twitching hole. “Oh-Jesus-Darren-fuck-me-God-don’t-tease-I-want-it-want-you-fuck-me-do-it-please-ohh.” He slapped a hand over his own mouth but Darren took it away, took it and kissed it and then pressed it gently down beside his head and held it there, held both his wrists and kissed him wet and deep while working into him bit by bit, easing into him with slow, deliberate rolls of his hips.
Not fair. Not at all fair that a man with such a big, gorgeous cock should actually know how to use it-in his experience, most of them counted on their size to do the work for them, and had no thought of patience or control or timing or actual skill. But Darren was reading him, soaking him up, fucking him slowly and gently like he was feeling his way along, shifting as he went, giving him everything, working so hard to make it good for him.
“Darren-” was all Chris managed to get out between kisses before he turned his head to the side and groaned and came helplessly, his hips bucking and his dick shooting all over both of them between their bellies. He was dizzy and hot and lost and overwhelmed, still doing his level best to screw himself on Darren’s cock even while his nerves were shrieking from oversensitivity. “Don’t stop-fuck-please-”
Darren kissed him and moaned in his mouth and didn’t stop, and it hurt and it was too much and it was so fucking good and he never, ever would have enough of it. He gave up, a terrifying abandonment of everything he counted on to keep himself whole and safe, gave up and gave himself over and let himself sink, let himself feel, let himself take in everything that Darren gave him.
His cock didn’t even soften afterwards; it just ached, like his balls and his thighs and his heart, catching in his throat when he swallowed between messy kisses. Darren was petting and squeezing his thighs and moaning endlessly, shaking over him and fucking him so perfectly, his thrusts more ragged now, control more of an obvious struggle. Chris got lost in watching, watching Darren slowly but surely lose it, watching Darren get seduced-and watching it happen was a seduction in itself, a falling-together, and before he knew he meant to move he had lifted his boneless arms and taken Darren’s sweat-wet face in his hands, bringing them close with their eyes open, mouths open, sharing breath and soft, urgent cries.
“Touch me,” he managed, licking salty sweat off his lips. “I want to… to come when you come. Please.”
He shouldn’t have said it-it felt impossible, ridiculous, but then Darren took him in hand and started stroking. Chris wailed softly while his toes curled, and he felt them click-like a tongue in a groove, working so hard together with only one possible destination. He laid back and circled his hips between Darren’s hand and his cock and let himself burn, watching from under half-lowered lids while Darren waited for him and held off and held off and threw his head back, groaning like he was dying, his hips twisting, fucking him hard.
Chris slid one hand down over Darren’s around his cock and squeezed, got the other one fisted into Darren’s wet hair and pulled him down into a rough kiss, and jerked himself ruthlessly for three, four, five strokes before he came hard, all his muscles locked and throbbing. It stung like a sudden wound and drowned him in ecstasy, and Darren shuddered fiercely and took his mouth and came in him, gasping and groaning with everything wet and close and so, so sweet.
***
Afterwards, there was kissing. There was drowsing. There was also a shared, profound need for another shower, but honestly that felt way too much like work. Darren raided his fridge and came back to bed with a pint of dark chocolate ice cream and a basket of blackberries and only one spoon, so they passed everything back and forth and tried not to drop anything on the sheets.
He watched Darren have a tiny, eye-fluttering oral orgasm over a blackberry, and smiled. “When did you fall in love with me?”
It wasn’t a question he thought he’d ever ask. It wasn’t a question he was comfortable asking. But his filter was gone, fucked right out of him, and he might as well take advantage of the situation.
Darren chewed, swallowed. “Intuitively, or cognitively?”
Chris just grinned. “Whatever.”
Darren sucked his thumb and finger clean, his face solemn. “Intuitively, I think… I think it started the first time you ever reached out and touched me.”
Chris blinked. “That… that was a long time ago.”
“Yeah, but-I could see, in your eyes, how hard that was for you. But you did it.” He shrugged. “It meant a lot to me.”
“Oh. And, uh, cognitively?”
Darren’s cheeks went pink. “About five minutes after I walked out your door earlier tonight.” He shook his head. “Sometimes I’m slow.”
Chris dug up the last of the ice cream. “It’s okay-you were worth the wait.”
Darren’s eyes were dark, aimed right at him. “How about you?”
Chris put the empty container down on his nightstand, and tilted his head, squinting. “Let’s see… I think, maybe, immediately after the third orgasm? Or maybe it was the fourth-”
“Oh my God, you dick,” Darren said, laughing, then ditched the berries and tackled him to the bed, kissing him soundly.
They rolled around a bit, giggling, then settled with Chris on top, scooted down far enough that he could rest his head on Darren’s chest. “I don’t… I’m not really entirely sure, honestly,” he said quietly. “I just… it feels like always. It’s… that’s how it feels.”
Darren’s arms closed around him, hands smoothing up his back and down again, lulling him. “Always. Always… always is good. I’ll take it.”
Chris barely caught the last word before he drifted off to sleep.
~End
***
Author’s endnotes:
After defiantly embracing my identity as a one-trick pony for writing story after story about resolving emotional problems through sexual intimacy, I started thinking about what it might be like to write a story where the intimacy developed before the sex did. I’m a rebel and I’ll never-ever be any good.
A note on the timeline: I am aware that this story would be a lot clearer if I had attached dates to show the progression of things. However, I resisted that suggestion (made by two of the four advance readers) for this reason: I really wanted this story to ‘float’, timewise, particularly the ending-I really didn’t want to put a date on ‘and here’s when they got together’. So I stitched in date-referential things here and there (and hopefully didn’t chronologically screw the pooch on those), and let the end just… be. I’m an asshole. Just go with it.
This is yet another in my series of weird/internal/minimalist CrissColfer fics brought on my listening moonily to way too much Joan Armatrading. In this case, Down to Zero. Hence the title.