Quite Possibly [RPF] (R)
Title: Quite Possibly (Adverbs 2/3) [RPF]
Rating: Hard R, though only in passing.
Word Count: 8,425 (and that's *after* some extensive editing - yegads!)
Spoilers: Can’t spoil something that doesn’t exist, and these versions of Chris and Darren exist only in my mind and on my computer screen.
Warnings: It's RPF, so if you're not down with that, skip it.
Summary: Continuation of what I've dubbed the "Adverbs" 'verse, because I love Daniel Handler a little bit too much. Little bit angsty, little bit fluffy, whole lotta' awkward, and those with lactose intolerance may want to beware of cheese at times.
It’s February fifteenth, two thousand eleven, and Chris’s living room is filled with cast and crew. People are starting to get annoyed with his insistence that we wait until eight fifteen to start the episode, but he’s refusing to budge. “Fifteen minutes is the minimum amount of the episode that has to have already aired if we don’t want to find ourselves stuck sitting through the commercials toward the end. My place, my rules, and before you get any funny ideas, let me just remind you that I’ve hidden the remote.” He’s grinning broadly, and leans in to give Amber a kiss on the cheek as he settles into his seat between us on his sofa. He’s been smiling all night, and even though I know it’s because he’s excited about tonight’s episode, I think I might have something to do with it, too, from the way his hand slips down his thigh before his pinky and ring finger entwine themselves with mine, not that anyone else can see. This is his version of holding hands. Those two fingers tangled in mine, he slips the index finger just against my palm and lightly strokes the top of my hand with his middle finger as his thumbnail slowly brushes against the flesh at the base of my thumb. It’s both awkward and amazing, and it suits him absolutely perfectly.
The episode’s better than I thought it would be when I saw the script, and I’m a little smug when the rest of the cast shrieks as Blaine and Kurt break their duet on ”My Funny Valentine” mid-verse to lean into each other for a kiss that’s both tender and urgent, and I shiver happily as I feel Chris’s fingers sliding against mine throughout the scene. I can’t be sure, but I’d guess that he, like me, is thinking about when we filmed it ten days ago, driving Ryan nuts with our supposed inability to “get it right.” Take after take, we did it “wrong,” because we were really just using it as an excuse to make out as much as we thought we could get away with before anyone started getting suspicious. Like Kurt and Blaine, we were feeling each other out; trying to figure out the right way to navigate the currents of what we were feeling and working out just what the next move should be. When shooting wrapped for the day, we went for a long drive and just talked about everything we’d both spent so much time not talking about for months. That was the first time he held my hand like this, and I couldn’t think of a better possible way to spend the day I turned twenty-four.
As the end credits flash across the screen and the preview for the local news takes over, people begin to filter out amid complains about the next morning’s early call time. The New Directions are filming on a set in San Diego, so Chris and I are the only ones who don’t have to be up about two hours earlier than usual. We both wave everyone goodbye and dole out hugs and kisses to them as they leave, until, finally, we’re alone. “I should probably call a cab,” I say, at the same time Chris makes a move for his car keys.
“It’s okay, I can take you home,” he says “if you want.”
I don’t, particularly, but if the choices life sees fit to give me are a dank cab or a ride home with Chris, the answer seems pretty easy to make. “That’d be great, Chris. I’d like that.”
“Just let me take care of something really quick, okay?” Chris takes a few steps backward and ducks into his hall as I lower myself to the sofa and grab the remote to replay our kiss a few times. It looks natural, and beautiful, and I dare anyone to watch it and not believe those two are utterly, completely, in love. I’m just about to hit the back button again when I hear a noise behind me, and turn to see Chris standing in the hallway.
To be specific, Chris standing in the hallway, wearing only a red towel wrapped around his hips. “Happy day after Valentine’s Day, Darren,” he says quietly, a flush spreading throughout his cheeks. “I know it hasn’t been that long, and I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, but before we go any further I really need to know that this can work. That three months from now, when I’ve really allowed myself to care about you, you won’t start gagging because your illusion shatters and you suddenly realize that I’m not a girl.” My heart aches as I realize what he’s doing, and I all but vault across the room to scoop him into my arms and hold him close. His body is warm and his skin is soft, and it’s all I can do to not send my hands flying all over every exposed inch. I want to touch him so much, but I can’t. Not if I want to prove to him that I’m in this with him for real.
“Shhh, shh…” I whisper into his ear as I stroke his hair and wrap my other arm around his waist. “I know you’re not a girl, Chris. If I weren’t so aware of it, all of this would have happened a lot sooner, believe me.” A wounded look crosses his face, and I’m quick to continue. “I mean…you’re the only guy I’ve ever liked this way, Chris, and it took me a long time to wrap my head around it. Believe me,” I say as I lower my hand from his hair and curl a finger beneath his chin, “I haven’t leapt into this lightly; and I hope you haven’t, either.” At this, I kiss him softly on the lips, and brush my nose against his cheek. “To be honest,” I breathe, saying out loud for the first time that thing I’ve been thinking for so long, “I am absolutely convinced that you’ll ultimately break my heart.”
Chris raises his eyes from the floor to meet mine and his hands silently move from the towel around his waist until they’re slowly inching themselves under the hem of my t-shirt until his palms are resting on the bare skin of my hips, his fingers spanning my lower back. We’ve been stealing kisses for about a week and a half now, but this is the first time either of us has really touched the other, and I’m completely unprepared for the electricity that shoots through my skin at his touch. Gingerly, I allow myself to place my hands on his bare shoulders, and slowly crawl my fingers down his spine until allowing my hands to rest on his lower back in much the same way his are on mine. I take a step back and drink him in with my eyes, hoping I’m not going too far, too soon.
“You,” I growl softly, “look amazing.” His upper body is pale and lean, with a subtle musculature and two soft, perfectly rosy nipples. His arms are surprisingly defined, and the hair that covers them is just this side of thick, but only serves to make them somehow softer and more comforting to the touch. When my eyes lower to rest on the narrow waist that hits just above the expanse of red terrycloth, I find myself staring at his navel, and wondering about that thing Lauren once told me about how you can always tell how big a guy is by how high their navel is. How, when erect, almost every guy ends just below the belly button. It made me uncomfortable at the time, but now? Now, I’m just transfixed by how high his rests above his hips, and how much I want to know if she’s right. Gently, I stroke my ring fingers against his skin as I dip down to press a kiss to the hollow of his throat. “Utterly, completely, amazing.”
His fingers slip away from me, and in one swift movement, I pull my shirt above my head so I can lean into him and feel that rush of skin on skin. Our mouths melt together as we kiss, deeper and more desperately than we have before, and when I feel Chris begin to pant slightly and loop a finger over my belt buckle, I’m barely able to reign myself in long enough to place one of my hands on his and break the kiss to look him in the eye. “Wait,” I groan, “you don’t have to do anything you aren’t ready for.”
“I know,” he says, a little too calmly, and I curse my tendency to be a good guy as I take both of his hands in mine and take a step backward.
“Look,” I say softly “I’m not going anywhere, Chris. I want to be around you for a really, really long time, and I don’t want to do anything you’re going to regret, so I have to know…are you doing this because you really think you’re ready, or are you doing this because you think you have to?”
His right hand grabs tightly at the waistband of my jeans, but his arm goes slack as he looks me in the eye and asks, “don’t you want to?”
I place my fingers back on his hips and knead my fingers into the highest swell of his ass as I take his ear in my teeth and hiss, “I want you so much it hurts, Chris, but I want it to happen because it’s time, not because you’re afraid of what’ll happen if it doesn’t.” My lips and tongue trace the curve of his ear, the rise of his cheek, the angle of his jaw, and finally, the softness of his lips, before I break to lay a kiss against his nose. “I’ve rushed things in the past, Chris. I don’t want to rush anything with you.” He takes my face in his hands and we breathe through each other’s mouths for what feels like forever before Chris wraps his fingers in mine and whispers in my ear.
“Don’t go? Just for tonight?” He brushes his lips against that soft spot where my ear meets my jaw as he tightens his grip on my hands with a soft squeeze.
I smile and give a small nod and he tugs me softly toward his bedroom. He tosses me a pair of sweats and excuses himself to change into a pair of pyjama bottoms and when he returns, we spend an hour or so just holding each other, our hearts beating against each other’s chests in a rhythmic tattoo, until we fall asleep together. I’ve heard the stories about Chris’s strange sleep-time activities, but he sleeps soundly throughout the night, along with every remaining night that week, and I know this beyond all shadow of a doubt, because I’m there for each and every one of them.
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It’s March eighteenth, and I’ve just played a show at the Roxy. Chris is standing inside the closet that passes for my dressing room, a small bundle in his hands and a blush across his cheeks. “I couldn’t think of the right thing to bring,” he says, “but this seemed to work the last time I wanted to wish you luck.”
I look down to see another packet of Red Vines, and it instantly takes me back to the night we met. The first time I began to realize how amazing he was, and how much I’d come to hate saying good-bye. Wrapping my fingers around his as they clench the package, I look into his eyes and whisper softly. “Come home with me tonight?” His eyes grow wide as we both realize what I’ve just asked. I’ve stayed at his place a number of times since last month, but it’s always been something of an afterthought when we’ve already been either there or in his car. If he comes over tonight, it’ll be not just the first time we’ll spend the night at my place, it’ll be the first time we’ve really planned on being together at all.
Chris nods slowly, and as I get my things together, he heads to his car to follow me when I leave.
It’s a short drive, and once we get to my place, I begin to have some doubts. I know Chris isn’t the superficial sort, but in all honesty, my place is kind of a dump. It’s a third floor walkup that generously calls itself a one-bedroom, though I’m pretty sure the “bedroom” could easily fit inside Chris’s guest room closet.
“It’s uh…not as nice as your place,” I say, placing my guitar case on the floor beside the door and hanging my messenger bag on the hook behind the door. “It’s functional, but not much more, I’m afraid.” He hangs his sweater over my bag, and though he doesn’t say much, I can tell he’s trying to take it all in and find something nice to say. It’s kind of awkward, so I excuse myself and run to make sure my bedroom’s presentable. It is, but only barely, so I do my best to straighten things up in a hurry. I’m in the middle of pulling the covers into place over the bed when I hear a noise from the kitchen, so I drop them and run to see what it is, only to be pretty horrified when I see that Chris is lying in a puddle of grayish liquid beneath my window.
Shit.
Since I’ve been spending so much time with Chris, I’ve kind of stopped trying to get my landlord to fix the fridge, and have been using an ice chest to keep stuff like juice and fruit cool. Problem is, it’s got a slow leak, and I’ve barely been home all week. Plenty of time for it to create the small lake that Chris appears to have slipped in. “Oh, man, Chris…I’m so, so sorry.” I help him up from the floor and help him to the futon I use as a couch in the living room, doing my best to keep his weight off of his ankle, which looks like it might be starting to swell.
“No, it’s fine,” he says, his face full of frustration. “It’ll be okay, don’t worry about it.” He stretches out one of his legs and turns his ankle this way and that, wincing slightly. “It’s going to hurt for a few hours, but if I keep off of it for the rest of the night, it should be fine by morning. Really, Darren,” he puts his hand on my knee “I’ve danced on it when it’s been worse. It’ll be okay.”
I slide an arm beneath his knees and wrap the other underneath his arms. “If you’ve got to keep off of it,” I say, and shift my weight to better lift him up, “you’d probably be better off in bed.” He’s clearly embarrassed, but he wraps his arms around my neck and holds on as I do my best to carry him into my bedroom and lower him onto my bed. Chris isn’t a big guy, but he’s still heavier than I’m used to carrying, so I’m a little sore when I climb onto the bed and curl beside him. His eyes are closed and his breathing is steady, and I feel like the biggest ass for thinking about how this means I’m probably not getting laid tonight.
I meant it when I told Chris I wanted to take it slow, but that doesn’t mean it’s been easy. He’s worth it, of course, but for one reason or another, it just hasn’t happened yet. Mostly, we end up at his place after a long day’s work, and we’re both just too tired to even think about much more than just getting some much needed sleep. Chris, especially, seems to value his rest, since he claims that it’s only when I’m with him that he actually sleeps through the night. People have noticed the difference in him - he’s more energetic in interviews and the bags that were hanging below his eyes have almost completely disappeared - but they’re mostly in the dark about anything beyond his admissions to sleeping better. It’s not that we’re hiding what’s going on between us, but we haven’t exactly broadcast it, either, so people seem to be going with the assumption that we’re “just friends.” It’s a given that the paparazzi will be on us constantly once they catch on, so we’re doing our best to just enjoy this time alone as much as we can. Still, that doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes wish we could go on a proper date and walk around holding hands without looking over our shoulders.
I’m tossing all of this around in my head as I play with the hair that’s falling into his eyes, and just about to lean in for a kiss when he breaks the silence. “Darren?”
“Yeah, Chris?”
“Promise me something?”
“Anything,” I say, scooting closer and draping a thigh across his hips.
“From now on, we stay at my place.”
“Deal,” I laugh, and go in for that kiss, after all. I may not be getting laid, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to get as close as I possibly can.
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It’s April twenty-second, and we’re filming our last scene ever at Dalton Academy. Blaine’s explaining to Kurt why he’s giving up its safe haven for the slushie-riddled halls of McKinley, and though the monologue starts out very much in Blaine’s typical reserved and cool fashion, it breaks near the end and becomes a chaotic word salad that culminates in a little bit of babbling, followed by the one thing that Kurt’s always wanted, but never really believed he’d hear while still living in Ohio.
“I need to prove to you that I’m serious. That I’ve meant everything that I’ve said, and the stuff that I haven’t been able to say just yet. That I’m going to do whatever it takes to make you see just how much I love you.”
At this last line, Blaine is supposed to cup Kurt’s cheeks and kiss him, but I’m having trouble getting it just right. I keep breaking, or shaking, or just going overboard in general. Each take I screw up, I get more and more angry with myself, and not just because I’m not doing my job properly, but because I know what’s making me screw up, but can’t seem to stop it.
In less than a week, we’re going our separate ways for about a month. Chris has some work to do on his first feature film, and I’m going to Chicago to do some work with Starkid. I’ve been spending almost every night at Chris’s place, just swinging by my own for a night or two a week to get my mail and do some laundry, and the thought of being away from him for more than a couple of days is just…weird. I’ve tried brushing it off once or twice by saying I’m just worried about him getting enough sleep, but I know I’m going to have a few sleepless nights of my own while we’re apart. I’ve gotten used to the sound of him breathing, the warmth that radiates from his side of the bed, the way his feet always seem to wander over and tuck themselves behind my knees - there’s a million of these little things that make spending the night with him so incredible, and a million ways I’ll miss him when we’re apart.
I haven’t used that word since I accidentally blurted it out that day in my trailer, but every time I think about the upcoming separation, it climbs to the tip of my tongue, and refuses to go away. I haven’t told him yet. I don’t want to risk scaring him or seeming manipulative or any of the other things that might make it come off the wrong way. Mostly, if I’m being honest, I’m just scared that he won’t say it back.
So when Ryan takes me aside and asks me what’s wrong with me, I can’t really bring myself to answer. He’s clearly getting irritated with me, and it’s all I can do to try and keep my cool. “Look, Darren, you’re better than this. I know you are. You’re a good-looking guy; you have to have had a few girlfriends, right? Hasn’t there ever been a time you’ve had trouble letting them know how you felt?” I see Chris looking at us intently from across the set, and I give a nod. “Good. Just…use that. Okay? This is a really important moment for these two, and you’ve got to make it believable. Do what it takes, kid, just get it done.” He gives me a little half-pat, half-shove on the shoulder and walks away, leaving me there with my arms wrapped around myself and the awareness that there really is only one way out of this spreading through me like ice.
Well…here goes nothing. I start the scene off just as it’s written, but when the babbling kicks in and Blaine really lets go, I veer completely off course. ”Go big or go home,” I think to myself, and brace myself for whatever wrath’s about to come my way. Kurt’s worth it to Blaine, and Chris is more than worth it to me.
“I need to prove to you that I’m serious. That I mean everything I’ve said, and the stuff I haven’t been able to say just yet. Especially the stuff I haven’t been able to say; because it’s the most important. Because no matter how many times I kiss you, or hold you, or curl up beside you, they don’t take the place of saying what I mean each time I do them.” I lift my fingers to lightly trace the sides of his face, looking him directly in the eye and giving him a look that I hope he understands isn’t coming from Blaine, and move in as if to kiss him, stopping just short enough to murmur just loudly enough for the mic to pick it up as I tell him, “I am so incredibly, painfully in love with you, and I really don’t care who knows it.”
Chris dives in to close the distance and kisses me with a fierceness he hasn’t before, and I think we’re both a little shell-shocked when we hear the yell of “CUT” ringing through the set. We break apart, faces flushed and eyes shining, and Ryan makes his way over to us with an unreadable expression on his face. “Don’t ever ad-lib on my set again. You’re paid to read the lines you’re given, not make up your own.” He pauses for a moment to give us both the once-over, his eyes finally raising to ours after a glance at our hands and the way our fingers have entwined, and gives a little smile. “That said; I think that it’s a wrap. Good job, guys,” looks from Chris’s eyes to our fingers, and back to me, and takes the both of us into a hug as he whispers “and good luck,” before turning and walking away.
“I think,” Chris breathes as everyone around us begins getting ready to break the set down and go home “that Kurt would probably tell Blaine he loves him, too, and has known it ever since he caught him in that towel.”
“But Kurt’s never seen Blaine in a towel,” I say, half-teasing him, and he gives me a grin.
“Yeah, well, Blaine’s never curled up against Kurt, so we’re even.”
He wraps his fingers around mine in that familiar way of his, and we head for our trailers to get ready for the ride back to his place. We’ve got six days before I fly out to Chicago, and we’ve got to make them count.
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It’s May twenty-sixth, and we’ve just arrived in London to begin working with the crew for our tour. We’re not doing anything we haven’t already done on the show, so it’s really more a matter of getting the cues right and making sure we’ve properly adjusted our choreography for the larger venue than anything else. Harry’s teasing Chris about last year, when he was discovered knocking on strangers’ doors in his sleep during their stop in Phoenix, while Heather and Amber grin and tell him that they don’t think it’ll be a problem this time.
As the vans pull up to our hotel, our handler begins to hand out itinerary packets and keycards for our rooms. “You’re sharing, but the rooms are big, so it shouldn’t be too bad,” she says, as we begin to file in between the rows of security staff the hotel has hired on our behalf. It’s not until the elevator when we all fid out who our roommates are, and when it’s announced that Chris and I are sharing, Chord asks if I’m sure I’m okay with that.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” I ask, giving him something just this side of a death glare. I know I should be thankful the guy’s mouth works faster than his brain because if it didn’t I wouldn’t even be here, but I can’t help it. The guy just bugs me, especially when it comes to Chris. He shrugs and I keep my eyes on him as I find Chris’s hand and wrap his fingers in mine before I continue. “I’ve got the best roommate. Try not to be too jealous that I get to spend the next week waking up with my boyfriend on the company dime while you deal with Mark’s snoring.” Chris flicks his eyes at me in surprise, and the way everyone’s heads are whipping back and forth to one another’s is like a two-hundred and fifty watt light bulb instantly turning on above just about everyone’s heads. The elevator doors open, and Chris and I are the first ones out as the crowd parts for us in silence. When Chris slides his key card into the door, I turn the handle, and even without looking back at anyone’s expressions, we know that as far as that proverbial cat is concerned? It’s officially out of the bag.
“So…boyfriend?” Chris asks me as he puts his bag down and lowers himself to the corner of a bed.
“Uh…yeah. I mean, aren’t you?” I try to read his face for clues to what he thinks of this sudden announcement of mine, but it’s equal parts of so many different emotions - curious, amused, pleased, shocked - that it’s hard to tell for sure. “I mean, I think we kind of passed ‘just friends’ months ago, didn’t we?”
Chris gives me a tight-lipped smile and leans back on his hands as he looks up at me. “Yeah, I’d say we did. It was just nice to get confirmation, is all. I’ve got to say, though, you’ve really got a way of picking moments to let me know what you’re thinking. It took catching you in a towel to tell me you liked me, Ryan’s frustration with you to let me know you…you know, and now, Chord’s unfortunate tendency toward foot in mouth disease to let me know you consider me your boyfriend. Promise me something?”
“Anything,” I tell him as I finally put down my things and sit as close to him as possible.
“When - if, you’re ready to…you know,” he blushed, “just promise to give me some advance notice. I don’t need an engraved invitation or anything, just so long as it’s not like we’re making out and then all of a sudden, ‘surprise, buttsex!’ because I hear that can be really, really painful.” He practically spits this last bit out, he says it so fast; and his face is so incredibly red that it looks like he might just explode from embarrassment, if he doesn’t pass out first. “Not -“ he blurts out “not that I’m saying we have to, or that I even expect you want to. Just that…”
I wrap my fingers around his and lean in to him a little. “I do, Chris.” I whisper in his ear. “I’m a little nervous, because it’s uncharted territory for me, too, but I mean…you have to have noticed what you do to me, right?” He blushes even harder at this, but he still manages to look at least a little more comfortable; a little less nervous. “Look,” I say, nudging him to meet my eyes, “whenever you think you’re ready, just let me know. I’ve been waiting since last fall, and I’ll wait longer, if I have to. Just don’t complain when I take so many cold showers or use up all your lotion, okay?” He smiles, gives a little laugh, and nods before leaning in to give me a soft kiss.
“You know…it’s my birthday, tomorrow.”
“I know,” I tell him with a smile, thinking about the surprise I’ve already got planned for him.
“It’d be kind of nice to celebrate one milestone with another, don’t you think?” Chris asks in a voice that somehow manages to be both soft and bold at once. He’s clenching my fingers tightly and looking directly into my eyes, and it’s kind of all I can do to not push him down onto the bed and kiss him all over until his entire body is sore.
“I’ve always been a fan of milestones,” I say, and dive in to kiss him until I realize I’ve forgotten to breathe.
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It’s May twenty-seventh, and Chris is just finishing up in the bathroom when I fling myself onto the bed and wait for him to enter the room. I’d made a point of waking up before him and showering after ordering breakfast from room service. It arrived just as Chris was waking up, and the timing was perfect for me to fill the giant, sunken bath for him. “Come on, Birthday Boy,” I’d told him, “the next week is going to be utter chaos, so enjoy your relaxation while you can get it, okay?” He’s not really a fan of baths, but he slid into the frothy bubbles anyway, sipping a glass of champagne and humming to himself as I busied myself in our room.
I’d arranged for us to share a room before most of the others realized we wouldn’t have our own rooms, and had made probably half a dozen calls with the concierge over the last week, so once I was sure Chris was safely out of the way for a while, it had only taken one call to get everything I needed delivered to our room. I’d raced around, trying to get everything right, and eventually called Heather to come help, but still…I finished with about three minutes to spare. Now that it was actually at hand, however, I began to have second thoughts. ”This is so stupid,” I find myself thinking, ”what the hell was going through my head when I decided to do this?” I’m just trying to figure out how much time it would take to gather everything and hide it somewhere when I hear the sounds of Chris stepping out of the tub, and I know there’s no alternative now but to just go for it, so I do.
Giving one more adjustment to what I’m wearing, I position myself on the bed, and wait for him to enter the room. When he does, a few seconds later, his eyes go wide and his mouth forms a little “o” shape as he takes everything in with a look of utter confusion on his face. “Happy birthday, Chris,” I say from my place on the bed, and he turns to face me.
“Darren, what- what’s all this?” He tightens the belt of the robe he’s wearing as he gestures to the room around us. “I don’t understand…”
I feel a flush spread across my cheeks as I sit up a little straighter and twirl the rose I’m holding in my hands. “Well, you know how people make a lot of ‘Pretty in Pink’ jokes about my character’s name being Blaine?” He nods, but still looks completely lost. “I just thought…it might be nice if I were to take a cue from another page in the Molly Ringwald playbook and uh…give you the chance to do it on a cloud, the way her friend talks about in ’Sixteen Candles.’” At this, his head spins around the room and takes it all in with a new understanding. The curtains and bedding were already white, but every available surface has been draped in white sheets, cotton batting, and tissue paper. The curtains have been thrown open to offer a faint glimpse of the world outside through the sheer privacy panels, and if the effect isn’t quite cloud-like, it’s definitely something.
“You…gave me a cloud?” Chris’s voice is full of disbelief as he takes it all in and leans slightly against the doorframe. “A Cloud?”
“I’d give you the moon, if I could,” I say without thinking. ”Great, Darren, you’re not making yourself look even stupider or anything,” I think to myself as I lean backward on my hands and look away from him. This isn’t going the way I thought it would when I’d first come up with the idea. I’m not a hundred percent sure what I thought would happen, but I know it wasn’t this awkward uncertainty.
It feels like forever before Chris breaks the silence. “This…this is amazing, Darren. No one’s ever done anything like this for me before. It’s…” he swallows thickly, “I’ll never forget it, Darren. Thank you.” He blinks a few times, then looks me over again. “What exactly is that you’ve got around your waist?”
I get up carefully and make my way to him. “It’s a very large satin bow, and whether or not you unwrap it is completely up to you.”
The sentence isn’t even all the way off of my lips when he grips one end and gives it a tug, sending it fluttering to the floor.
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It’s about ten hours later, and we’re at Chris’s birthday party. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he wanted to go all out for this one, and both the crowd and the atmosphere are incredible. There are tons of people here, and while the Queen isn’t among them, the list of people who are is pretty amazing. Gwyneth Paltrow, Anne Hathaway, pretty much everyone who’s ever guested on the show, plus Russell Brand and Katy Perry, who are both clearly delighted with her obvious pregnancy. She wastes no time in giving me an enormous hug while Russell wraps his arms around Chris and grabs onto his rear end so hard that he actually manages to lift him off the ground. Chris winces just a little bit, but gives a big laugh that I’m pretty sure only I really understand. Katy and I talk about music while the two catch up, and before I know it, Chris has been pulled away from me by throngs of well-wishers.
I know I shouldn’t be upset, but I am. It’s Chris’s party, but I thought we’d be spending it together, and I’m not really getting much chance to glimpse him, much less spend time with him. We’d locked ourselves in our room for most of the day, exploring and enjoying each other in various ways, and likely would have continued much longer if we hadn’t had that press conference before dinner. Hell, if I’d had my way, we’d probably still be in there. It was a little strange, and kind of awkward at first, and it took us an hour or so to really get comfortable with things, but there just came a point when everything clicked, and it was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before.
With Chris, everything else just seemed to fade away, and I found myself sinking into this amazing world where nothing else could touch me. Not work, not friends, not even wondering about what would happen next, because I just knew it would be obvious when it came time for it to happen. The first time he shuddered against me and pressed his forehead to mine as his lips parted to give a guttural moan, I’d held him with my eyes swimming in my head and my breath in my throat, unable to think of anything except “please let this be forever,” as I brought my mouth to his and took his breath as my own.
It was just a few hours ago, and now, for all anyone else could tell, I was nothing more than the friendly co-worker. I knew we weren’t really public yet, but I couldn’t help but feel like a dirty secret, and I didn’t like it one bit. Heather did her best to distract me, dragging me out to the dance floor with the others, and I think even Kevin tried to help by insisting I do shots with him at the bar, but all I could do was scan the crowd for Chris, wondering where he was and when I’d get to see him again. I’m trying my hardest not to think about how much I don’t want to be here when the DJ (who apparently has something of a musical boner for glam) starts spinning some song I vaguely recognize from that movie where Ewan MacGregor is Iggy Pop, only not really, and I turn to head off the dance floor only to find myself staring right at Chris, dancing with a guy who I don’t care that I don’t recognize, because all I care about is that he isn’t me.
Heather reaches out to stop me, but her fingers just graze my arm as I brush past them, my shoulder banging into the guy just enough to send him off-balance, but not enough to make it obvious that it was intentional. My eyes find Chris’s, and he mutters something I can’t hear to his dance partner before running after me. “What was that all about?”
“I don’t know, Chris. You tell me. You’ve barely said two words to me since we got here. At first, I thought it was because there were just too many people needing photo ops, but that-” I point out onto the floor “didn’t look like it was being posed for any pictures.”
“That’s Harris,” Chris says, slightly dumbfounded. “He was part of our security when we visited last time, and he’s just a friend.”
“Yeah, well that’s what everyone thinks I am, isn’t it?” The words are out of my mouth before I know it, and I’m not sure which one of us is more surprised.
“I thought that’s what you wanted,” Chris says in a low voice. “To keep things under wraps as long as possible.”
I screw my hands into fists and turn on my heel to face the wall before spinning back around to yell. “Yeah, well…maybe I did, but don’t anymore. Maybe I think having some cameras in my face is a price I’m willing to pay in order to hold your hand, or walk a red carpet with you, or jesus fuck, dance with you at your birthday party hours after we just made love for the first time and not hide in the shadows like something you’re ashamed of!”
“You think I’m ashamed of you?” It’s that tone of his that manages to be both soft and powerful, and I can’t even bring myself to meet his gaze. “I,” he reaches out to hook his finger under my chin and tilting my face upward “have always had nothing but pride in having you in my life, Darren. I just didn’t want to push you into anything you weren’t ready for. Going public is going to have a lot more ramifications for you than it is for me, so sue me for trying to keep that in mind.”
“Is this our first fight?” I ask.
He nods. “It appears to be a day of firsts.”
“Yeah, for me, too, don’t forget…and I think we’re due for one more.” Twining my fingers with his and spotting a flash from across the room, I chew a little on my lower lip and begin to pull him away from our hiding place. Most people don’t seem to notice, but a few heads turn as Chris stumbles after me on my way to the backdrop set up just for the press photographers. Once we’re standing before the throng of eager photographers, I come to a halt and put my hands on Chris’s waist to help keep him from falling over from the sudden stop.
“Chris! Darren!” Photographers are shouting our names and questions that we can’t even understand because there’s so much noise, so I’m not even sure if anyone will hear when I open my mouth and begin to shout.
“Hey!” I give a little jump and wave one of my arms to get everyone to try and focus. “My name’s Darren, and this here’s Chris, and I’m super excited to help him celebrate his twenty-first birthday!” People begin cheering loudly, and I have to wave my hand around again to try and get them to calm down a little. “But there’s something else you should know. See, Chris isn’t just the most amazing talent to work with, and one of the coolest guys I’ve ever known,” and at this, I pull him close and look directly into his eyes, “but I am absolutely in love with him, and I don’t really care anymore who knows it.” I stretch on tiptoe just enough to reach his lips, then run away wildly, Chris almost stumbling in his efforts to keep up.
“You’re certifiably insane, you know that?” Chris’s face is white as the sheets still covering our hotel room as he looks at me. “You do understand that’ll be all over the internet oh…about now, don’t you?”
“Yeah, well…maybe that’s a good thing,” I retort, rocking on my heels a little. “Look, you yourself said back in February that you couldn’t do this if there was a chance I wasn’t really in it for the long haul, and now it’s my turn to say the same to you. I love you, Chris, and I don’t want to have to hide anymore. Go big or go home, kemosabe, and since I’ve barely been home for months...figured it was time to go really fucking big.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“Absolutely,” I tell him, allowing a playful glint into my eye, “and you know, we did just have our first fight, which I also believe that means we’re due for another first.”
Chris raises an eyebrow and gives me a once-over. “What first would that be, pray tell?”
I take both of his hands in mine and draw him close. “First make-up sex, of course.”
-----------------
It’s September twentieth, and Chris and I are sitting side by side on Amber’s sofa as everyone crowds around to watch the season premiere. Amber’s not quite as obsessive about avoiding commercials as Chris is (though he’s admittedly loosened up since he stopped worried about ordering a dozen Slap Chops in his sleep), so we count down to eight o’clock as if it were the ball dropping on Times Square, and the whole room goes silent as the doors of McKinley high creak open, flooding the dark halls with light as two figures step into the hall, hand in hand, walking in perfect step as Chris’s voice sings Donovan’s ”Hurdy Gurdy Man” in the background. Kurt (in one of his more fabulous outfits) and Blaine (in basic jeans, button up shirt, and red v-neck sweater) catch the attention of everyone they walk past, and heads can’t help but turn as they make their way to their lockers, when the music suddenly cuts and a burly arm throws a slushie directly into Blaine’s face.
“Welcome to McKinley,” Kurt deadpans as Blaine licks his lips and shakes his head, and the screen goes black, save the word “Glee” in plain white letters.
“To everyone’s favorite new New Direction,” Harry cheers, and Chris snorts with laughter. I know it’s because he’s thinking of nude erections, and I’m kind of hoping they come into play when we get back to his place when I realize I’ll have to swing by my place, because I haven’t been there in a couple of weeks, and I really need some clean clothes.
----------------------------------------
It’s late at night on December thirty-first, and we’re in San Francisco, sitting in the corner of Sparky’s diner. I’ve been coming here for years, even though the food’s not that great, and it’s one of the few places I know no one will bother me when I’m in town. Granted, San Francisco’s a lot more low key than Los Angeles is, but even here, it can still be hard to find a way to avoid unwanted attention at times.
Still, Sparky’s is old and reliable, and since part of this trip was to try and show Chris where I’m from, and why I love it here, it had to be included. On our walk here, I pointed out various places that stick out in my memory. Like the Safeway where someone once arranged a sofa and ancient television and pretended to watch a football game with his friends until security threatened to call the cops. The karaoke lounge my friend Ted swears by. The corner where, when I was still just in high school, my mom and I were once surrounded by drunken people in Santa suits who demanded that Santa needed beer, and how I slipped one (who kind of resembled French Stewart) the ten dollar bill I’d just been given for my allowance because I wished I’d been old enough to join them. He drinks it all in, and it’s with a faint buzz of pleasure that I realize I’m just as proud to share my city with him, as I am to share him with it. We’ve been mostly left alone on our journeys since we got here a few days ago, following a visit with Chris’s family in Clovis, where he’d shown me the places that made him who he’d become.
Seeing his reaction to San Francisco brings so much into focus. With almost every look, I can hear the thought ringing in his head - “what would life have been like if I’d been able to grow up here?” - and part of me mourns for what could have been for him, for the thought that he could have grown up always knowing how amazing he’s always been. The other part, though, the selfish one, can’t help but think of how if he hadn’t grown up in a place like Clovis, he’d never have developed the wit, the charm, the sheer force of will that makes him such a miracle. I had it easy, but he’s fought for every success he’s had, including just getting out of high school in one piece.
“So, I’ve been thinking,” Chris says, breaking me from my reverie. He drags a French fry through the dregs of gravy on his plate and drops it into his mouth, practically swallowing it whole before he goes on. “I don’t think it’s really a good idea for you to stay at my place so much anymore.”
I blink a few times, not really sure I understand what he’s saying before I wrinkle my brow and look at him as if to ask ”what exactly do you mean?”
“I know I should have talked to you about it first,” he says, clearly flustered, “but I just didn’t really know how to bring it up, and it just kind of turned up, and I…” he stops, bites his lower lip, and pulls a small silver keychain from his pocket before sliding it across the table to me. I pick it up, more than a little confused, and flip it between my fingers before he breaks the silence.
“I bought a new place, and I know I should have talked to you about it first, or at least shown you pictures…but I wasn’t sure how you’d react and I didn’t want you to think I was assuming anything, and I just…I want you to move in, for real.”
“You want me to move in?” I ask, confused.
“Yeah,” he says, shifting in his seat. “I’m kind of used to you being around, and it would make things easier, wouldn’t it? It’s the penthouse, which I know is kind of ridiculous, but it was actually a really good price for the area, and it’s a good investment, and I want to know that at the end of the day, I’ll have someone to fight with about whose turn it is to take out the trash or do the dishes.” He places his hand on mine, pressing the key into my palm. “I want that person to be you. I want to know that if I come home from a stretch of monotonous, repetitive interviews, you’ll be there when I walk through the door. That I’ll get to hear your new songs before anyone else. That there will be the random Starkid on my living room sofa from time to time.” He gives a small laugh and rolls his eyes, a blush spreading on his cheeks. “I want to know that I won’t buy any more life-sized portraits of dead people in my sleep.” He goes quiet for a second, before lifting his eyes to stare deep into mine and saying one more thing, just barely loud enough to be heard. “Mostly, I just want to know that you’ll always be there.”
I curl my hand into a fist, feeling the sharp edges of the key digging into my palm, and raise my head as everyone around us begins to shout their countdowns to the new year. I think back to last year at this time, and how desperately I wanted to be with him, to be the person he looked forward to spending the rest of his year with, and just before the count reaches zero, I lean across the table and kiss him hard. “That,” I whisper in his ear “is quite possibly the best New Year’s resolution I’ve ever heard.”
health insurance
Rating: Hard R, though only in passing.
Word Count: 8,425 (and that's *after* some extensive editing - yegads!)
Spoilers: Can’t spoil something that doesn’t exist, and these versions of Chris and Darren exist only in my mind and on my computer screen.
Warnings: It's RPF, so if you're not down with that, skip it.
Summary: Continuation of what I've dubbed the "Adverbs" 'verse, because I love Daniel Handler a little bit too much. Little bit angsty, little bit fluffy, whole lotta' awkward, and those with lactose intolerance may want to beware of cheese at times.
It’s February fifteenth, two thousand eleven, and Chris’s living room is filled with cast and crew. People are starting to get annoyed with his insistence that we wait until eight fifteen to start the episode, but he’s refusing to budge. “Fifteen minutes is the minimum amount of the episode that has to have already aired if we don’t want to find ourselves stuck sitting through the commercials toward the end. My place, my rules, and before you get any funny ideas, let me just remind you that I’ve hidden the remote.” He’s grinning broadly, and leans in to give Amber a kiss on the cheek as he settles into his seat between us on his sofa. He’s been smiling all night, and even though I know it’s because he’s excited about tonight’s episode, I think I might have something to do with it, too, from the way his hand slips down his thigh before his pinky and ring finger entwine themselves with mine, not that anyone else can see. This is his version of holding hands. Those two fingers tangled in mine, he slips the index finger just against my palm and lightly strokes the top of my hand with his middle finger as his thumbnail slowly brushes against the flesh at the base of my thumb. It’s both awkward and amazing, and it suits him absolutely perfectly.
The episode’s better than I thought it would be when I saw the script, and I’m a little smug when the rest of the cast shrieks as Blaine and Kurt break their duet on ”My Funny Valentine” mid-verse to lean into each other for a kiss that’s both tender and urgent, and I shiver happily as I feel Chris’s fingers sliding against mine throughout the scene. I can’t be sure, but I’d guess that he, like me, is thinking about when we filmed it ten days ago, driving Ryan nuts with our supposed inability to “get it right.” Take after take, we did it “wrong,” because we were really just using it as an excuse to make out as much as we thought we could get away with before anyone started getting suspicious. Like Kurt and Blaine, we were feeling each other out; trying to figure out the right way to navigate the currents of what we were feeling and working out just what the next move should be. When shooting wrapped for the day, we went for a long drive and just talked about everything we’d both spent so much time not talking about for months. That was the first time he held my hand like this, and I couldn’t think of a better possible way to spend the day I turned twenty-four.
As the end credits flash across the screen and the preview for the local news takes over, people begin to filter out amid complains about the next morning’s early call time. The New Directions are filming on a set in San Diego, so Chris and I are the only ones who don’t have to be up about two hours earlier than usual. We both wave everyone goodbye and dole out hugs and kisses to them as they leave, until, finally, we’re alone. “I should probably call a cab,” I say, at the same time Chris makes a move for his car keys.
“It’s okay, I can take you home,” he says “if you want.”
I don’t, particularly, but if the choices life sees fit to give me are a dank cab or a ride home with Chris, the answer seems pretty easy to make. “That’d be great, Chris. I’d like that.”
“Just let me take care of something really quick, okay?” Chris takes a few steps backward and ducks into his hall as I lower myself to the sofa and grab the remote to replay our kiss a few times. It looks natural, and beautiful, and I dare anyone to watch it and not believe those two are utterly, completely, in love. I’m just about to hit the back button again when I hear a noise behind me, and turn to see Chris standing in the hallway.
To be specific, Chris standing in the hallway, wearing only a red towel wrapped around his hips. “Happy day after Valentine’s Day, Darren,” he says quietly, a flush spreading throughout his cheeks. “I know it hasn’t been that long, and I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, but before we go any further I really need to know that this can work. That three months from now, when I’ve really allowed myself to care about you, you won’t start gagging because your illusion shatters and you suddenly realize that I’m not a girl.” My heart aches as I realize what he’s doing, and I all but vault across the room to scoop him into my arms and hold him close. His body is warm and his skin is soft, and it’s all I can do to not send my hands flying all over every exposed inch. I want to touch him so much, but I can’t. Not if I want to prove to him that I’m in this with him for real.
“Shhh, shh…” I whisper into his ear as I stroke his hair and wrap my other arm around his waist. “I know you’re not a girl, Chris. If I weren’t so aware of it, all of this would have happened a lot sooner, believe me.” A wounded look crosses his face, and I’m quick to continue. “I mean…you’re the only guy I’ve ever liked this way, Chris, and it took me a long time to wrap my head around it. Believe me,” I say as I lower my hand from his hair and curl a finger beneath his chin, “I haven’t leapt into this lightly; and I hope you haven’t, either.” At this, I kiss him softly on the lips, and brush my nose against his cheek. “To be honest,” I breathe, saying out loud for the first time that thing I’ve been thinking for so long, “I am absolutely convinced that you’ll ultimately break my heart.”
Chris raises his eyes from the floor to meet mine and his hands silently move from the towel around his waist until they’re slowly inching themselves under the hem of my t-shirt until his palms are resting on the bare skin of my hips, his fingers spanning my lower back. We’ve been stealing kisses for about a week and a half now, but this is the first time either of us has really touched the other, and I’m completely unprepared for the electricity that shoots through my skin at his touch. Gingerly, I allow myself to place my hands on his bare shoulders, and slowly crawl my fingers down his spine until allowing my hands to rest on his lower back in much the same way his are on mine. I take a step back and drink him in with my eyes, hoping I’m not going too far, too soon.
“You,” I growl softly, “look amazing.” His upper body is pale and lean, with a subtle musculature and two soft, perfectly rosy nipples. His arms are surprisingly defined, and the hair that covers them is just this side of thick, but only serves to make them somehow softer and more comforting to the touch. When my eyes lower to rest on the narrow waist that hits just above the expanse of red terrycloth, I find myself staring at his navel, and wondering about that thing Lauren once told me about how you can always tell how big a guy is by how high their navel is. How, when erect, almost every guy ends just below the belly button. It made me uncomfortable at the time, but now? Now, I’m just transfixed by how high his rests above his hips, and how much I want to know if she’s right. Gently, I stroke my ring fingers against his skin as I dip down to press a kiss to the hollow of his throat. “Utterly, completely, amazing.”
His fingers slip away from me, and in one swift movement, I pull my shirt above my head so I can lean into him and feel that rush of skin on skin. Our mouths melt together as we kiss, deeper and more desperately than we have before, and when I feel Chris begin to pant slightly and loop a finger over my belt buckle, I’m barely able to reign myself in long enough to place one of my hands on his and break the kiss to look him in the eye. “Wait,” I groan, “you don’t have to do anything you aren’t ready for.”
“I know,” he says, a little too calmly, and I curse my tendency to be a good guy as I take both of his hands in mine and take a step backward.
“Look,” I say softly “I’m not going anywhere, Chris. I want to be around you for a really, really long time, and I don’t want to do anything you’re going to regret, so I have to know…are you doing this because you really think you’re ready, or are you doing this because you think you have to?”
His right hand grabs tightly at the waistband of my jeans, but his arm goes slack as he looks me in the eye and asks, “don’t you want to?”
I place my fingers back on his hips and knead my fingers into the highest swell of his ass as I take his ear in my teeth and hiss, “I want you so much it hurts, Chris, but I want it to happen because it’s time, not because you’re afraid of what’ll happen if it doesn’t.” My lips and tongue trace the curve of his ear, the rise of his cheek, the angle of his jaw, and finally, the softness of his lips, before I break to lay a kiss against his nose. “I’ve rushed things in the past, Chris. I don’t want to rush anything with you.” He takes my face in his hands and we breathe through each other’s mouths for what feels like forever before Chris wraps his fingers in mine and whispers in my ear.
“Don’t go? Just for tonight?” He brushes his lips against that soft spot where my ear meets my jaw as he tightens his grip on my hands with a soft squeeze.
I smile and give a small nod and he tugs me softly toward his bedroom. He tosses me a pair of sweats and excuses himself to change into a pair of pyjama bottoms and when he returns, we spend an hour or so just holding each other, our hearts beating against each other’s chests in a rhythmic tattoo, until we fall asleep together. I’ve heard the stories about Chris’s strange sleep-time activities, but he sleeps soundly throughout the night, along with every remaining night that week, and I know this beyond all shadow of a doubt, because I’m there for each and every one of them.
------------------
It’s March eighteenth, and I’ve just played a show at the Roxy. Chris is standing inside the closet that passes for my dressing room, a small bundle in his hands and a blush across his cheeks. “I couldn’t think of the right thing to bring,” he says, “but this seemed to work the last time I wanted to wish you luck.”
I look down to see another packet of Red Vines, and it instantly takes me back to the night we met. The first time I began to realize how amazing he was, and how much I’d come to hate saying good-bye. Wrapping my fingers around his as they clench the package, I look into his eyes and whisper softly. “Come home with me tonight?” His eyes grow wide as we both realize what I’ve just asked. I’ve stayed at his place a number of times since last month, but it’s always been something of an afterthought when we’ve already been either there or in his car. If he comes over tonight, it’ll be not just the first time we’ll spend the night at my place, it’ll be the first time we’ve really planned on being together at all.
Chris nods slowly, and as I get my things together, he heads to his car to follow me when I leave.
It’s a short drive, and once we get to my place, I begin to have some doubts. I know Chris isn’t the superficial sort, but in all honesty, my place is kind of a dump. It’s a third floor walkup that generously calls itself a one-bedroom, though I’m pretty sure the “bedroom” could easily fit inside Chris’s guest room closet.
“It’s uh…not as nice as your place,” I say, placing my guitar case on the floor beside the door and hanging my messenger bag on the hook behind the door. “It’s functional, but not much more, I’m afraid.” He hangs his sweater over my bag, and though he doesn’t say much, I can tell he’s trying to take it all in and find something nice to say. It’s kind of awkward, so I excuse myself and run to make sure my bedroom’s presentable. It is, but only barely, so I do my best to straighten things up in a hurry. I’m in the middle of pulling the covers into place over the bed when I hear a noise from the kitchen, so I drop them and run to see what it is, only to be pretty horrified when I see that Chris is lying in a puddle of grayish liquid beneath my window.
Shit.
Since I’ve been spending so much time with Chris, I’ve kind of stopped trying to get my landlord to fix the fridge, and have been using an ice chest to keep stuff like juice and fruit cool. Problem is, it’s got a slow leak, and I’ve barely been home all week. Plenty of time for it to create the small lake that Chris appears to have slipped in. “Oh, man, Chris…I’m so, so sorry.” I help him up from the floor and help him to the futon I use as a couch in the living room, doing my best to keep his weight off of his ankle, which looks like it might be starting to swell.
“No, it’s fine,” he says, his face full of frustration. “It’ll be okay, don’t worry about it.” He stretches out one of his legs and turns his ankle this way and that, wincing slightly. “It’s going to hurt for a few hours, but if I keep off of it for the rest of the night, it should be fine by morning. Really, Darren,” he puts his hand on my knee “I’ve danced on it when it’s been worse. It’ll be okay.”
I slide an arm beneath his knees and wrap the other underneath his arms. “If you’ve got to keep off of it,” I say, and shift my weight to better lift him up, “you’d probably be better off in bed.” He’s clearly embarrassed, but he wraps his arms around my neck and holds on as I do my best to carry him into my bedroom and lower him onto my bed. Chris isn’t a big guy, but he’s still heavier than I’m used to carrying, so I’m a little sore when I climb onto the bed and curl beside him. His eyes are closed and his breathing is steady, and I feel like the biggest ass for thinking about how this means I’m probably not getting laid tonight.
I meant it when I told Chris I wanted to take it slow, but that doesn’t mean it’s been easy. He’s worth it, of course, but for one reason or another, it just hasn’t happened yet. Mostly, we end up at his place after a long day’s work, and we’re both just too tired to even think about much more than just getting some much needed sleep. Chris, especially, seems to value his rest, since he claims that it’s only when I’m with him that he actually sleeps through the night. People have noticed the difference in him - he’s more energetic in interviews and the bags that were hanging below his eyes have almost completely disappeared - but they’re mostly in the dark about anything beyond his admissions to sleeping better. It’s not that we’re hiding what’s going on between us, but we haven’t exactly broadcast it, either, so people seem to be going with the assumption that we’re “just friends.” It’s a given that the paparazzi will be on us constantly once they catch on, so we’re doing our best to just enjoy this time alone as much as we can. Still, that doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes wish we could go on a proper date and walk around holding hands without looking over our shoulders.
I’m tossing all of this around in my head as I play with the hair that’s falling into his eyes, and just about to lean in for a kiss when he breaks the silence. “Darren?”
“Yeah, Chris?”
“Promise me something?”
“Anything,” I say, scooting closer and draping a thigh across his hips.
“From now on, we stay at my place.”
“Deal,” I laugh, and go in for that kiss, after all. I may not be getting laid, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to get as close as I possibly can.
-------------------
It’s April twenty-second, and we’re filming our last scene ever at Dalton Academy. Blaine’s explaining to Kurt why he’s giving up its safe haven for the slushie-riddled halls of McKinley, and though the monologue starts out very much in Blaine’s typical reserved and cool fashion, it breaks near the end and becomes a chaotic word salad that culminates in a little bit of babbling, followed by the one thing that Kurt’s always wanted, but never really believed he’d hear while still living in Ohio.
“I need to prove to you that I’m serious. That I’ve meant everything that I’ve said, and the stuff that I haven’t been able to say just yet. That I’m going to do whatever it takes to make you see just how much I love you.”
At this last line, Blaine is supposed to cup Kurt’s cheeks and kiss him, but I’m having trouble getting it just right. I keep breaking, or shaking, or just going overboard in general. Each take I screw up, I get more and more angry with myself, and not just because I’m not doing my job properly, but because I know what’s making me screw up, but can’t seem to stop it.
In less than a week, we’re going our separate ways for about a month. Chris has some work to do on his first feature film, and I’m going to Chicago to do some work with Starkid. I’ve been spending almost every night at Chris’s place, just swinging by my own for a night or two a week to get my mail and do some laundry, and the thought of being away from him for more than a couple of days is just…weird. I’ve tried brushing it off once or twice by saying I’m just worried about him getting enough sleep, but I know I’m going to have a few sleepless nights of my own while we’re apart. I’ve gotten used to the sound of him breathing, the warmth that radiates from his side of the bed, the way his feet always seem to wander over and tuck themselves behind my knees - there’s a million of these little things that make spending the night with him so incredible, and a million ways I’ll miss him when we’re apart.
I haven’t used that word since I accidentally blurted it out that day in my trailer, but every time I think about the upcoming separation, it climbs to the tip of my tongue, and refuses to go away. I haven’t told him yet. I don’t want to risk scaring him or seeming manipulative or any of the other things that might make it come off the wrong way. Mostly, if I’m being honest, I’m just scared that he won’t say it back.
So when Ryan takes me aside and asks me what’s wrong with me, I can’t really bring myself to answer. He’s clearly getting irritated with me, and it’s all I can do to try and keep my cool. “Look, Darren, you’re better than this. I know you are. You’re a good-looking guy; you have to have had a few girlfriends, right? Hasn’t there ever been a time you’ve had trouble letting them know how you felt?” I see Chris looking at us intently from across the set, and I give a nod. “Good. Just…use that. Okay? This is a really important moment for these two, and you’ve got to make it believable. Do what it takes, kid, just get it done.” He gives me a little half-pat, half-shove on the shoulder and walks away, leaving me there with my arms wrapped around myself and the awareness that there really is only one way out of this spreading through me like ice.
Well…here goes nothing. I start the scene off just as it’s written, but when the babbling kicks in and Blaine really lets go, I veer completely off course. ”Go big or go home,” I think to myself, and brace myself for whatever wrath’s about to come my way. Kurt’s worth it to Blaine, and Chris is more than worth it to me.
“I need to prove to you that I’m serious. That I mean everything I’ve said, and the stuff I haven’t been able to say just yet. Especially the stuff I haven’t been able to say; because it’s the most important. Because no matter how many times I kiss you, or hold you, or curl up beside you, they don’t take the place of saying what I mean each time I do them.” I lift my fingers to lightly trace the sides of his face, looking him directly in the eye and giving him a look that I hope he understands isn’t coming from Blaine, and move in as if to kiss him, stopping just short enough to murmur just loudly enough for the mic to pick it up as I tell him, “I am so incredibly, painfully in love with you, and I really don’t care who knows it.”
Chris dives in to close the distance and kisses me with a fierceness he hasn’t before, and I think we’re both a little shell-shocked when we hear the yell of “CUT” ringing through the set. We break apart, faces flushed and eyes shining, and Ryan makes his way over to us with an unreadable expression on his face. “Don’t ever ad-lib on my set again. You’re paid to read the lines you’re given, not make up your own.” He pauses for a moment to give us both the once-over, his eyes finally raising to ours after a glance at our hands and the way our fingers have entwined, and gives a little smile. “That said; I think that it’s a wrap. Good job, guys,” looks from Chris’s eyes to our fingers, and back to me, and takes the both of us into a hug as he whispers “and good luck,” before turning and walking away.
“I think,” Chris breathes as everyone around us begins getting ready to break the set down and go home “that Kurt would probably tell Blaine he loves him, too, and has known it ever since he caught him in that towel.”
“But Kurt’s never seen Blaine in a towel,” I say, half-teasing him, and he gives me a grin.
“Yeah, well, Blaine’s never curled up against Kurt, so we’re even.”
He wraps his fingers around mine in that familiar way of his, and we head for our trailers to get ready for the ride back to his place. We’ve got six days before I fly out to Chicago, and we’ve got to make them count.
-------------------
It’s May twenty-sixth, and we’ve just arrived in London to begin working with the crew for our tour. We’re not doing anything we haven’t already done on the show, so it’s really more a matter of getting the cues right and making sure we’ve properly adjusted our choreography for the larger venue than anything else. Harry’s teasing Chris about last year, when he was discovered knocking on strangers’ doors in his sleep during their stop in Phoenix, while Heather and Amber grin and tell him that they don’t think it’ll be a problem this time.
As the vans pull up to our hotel, our handler begins to hand out itinerary packets and keycards for our rooms. “You’re sharing, but the rooms are big, so it shouldn’t be too bad,” she says, as we begin to file in between the rows of security staff the hotel has hired on our behalf. It’s not until the elevator when we all fid out who our roommates are, and when it’s announced that Chris and I are sharing, Chord asks if I’m sure I’m okay with that.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” I ask, giving him something just this side of a death glare. I know I should be thankful the guy’s mouth works faster than his brain because if it didn’t I wouldn’t even be here, but I can’t help it. The guy just bugs me, especially when it comes to Chris. He shrugs and I keep my eyes on him as I find Chris’s hand and wrap his fingers in mine before I continue. “I’ve got the best roommate. Try not to be too jealous that I get to spend the next week waking up with my boyfriend on the company dime while you deal with Mark’s snoring.” Chris flicks his eyes at me in surprise, and the way everyone’s heads are whipping back and forth to one another’s is like a two-hundred and fifty watt light bulb instantly turning on above just about everyone’s heads. The elevator doors open, and Chris and I are the first ones out as the crowd parts for us in silence. When Chris slides his key card into the door, I turn the handle, and even without looking back at anyone’s expressions, we know that as far as that proverbial cat is concerned? It’s officially out of the bag.
“So…boyfriend?” Chris asks me as he puts his bag down and lowers himself to the corner of a bed.
“Uh…yeah. I mean, aren’t you?” I try to read his face for clues to what he thinks of this sudden announcement of mine, but it’s equal parts of so many different emotions - curious, amused, pleased, shocked - that it’s hard to tell for sure. “I mean, I think we kind of passed ‘just friends’ months ago, didn’t we?”
Chris gives me a tight-lipped smile and leans back on his hands as he looks up at me. “Yeah, I’d say we did. It was just nice to get confirmation, is all. I’ve got to say, though, you’ve really got a way of picking moments to let me know what you’re thinking. It took catching you in a towel to tell me you liked me, Ryan’s frustration with you to let me know you…you know, and now, Chord’s unfortunate tendency toward foot in mouth disease to let me know you consider me your boyfriend. Promise me something?”
“Anything,” I tell him as I finally put down my things and sit as close to him as possible.
“When - if, you’re ready to…you know,” he blushed, “just promise to give me some advance notice. I don’t need an engraved invitation or anything, just so long as it’s not like we’re making out and then all of a sudden, ‘surprise, buttsex!’ because I hear that can be really, really painful.” He practically spits this last bit out, he says it so fast; and his face is so incredibly red that it looks like he might just explode from embarrassment, if he doesn’t pass out first. “Not -“ he blurts out “not that I’m saying we have to, or that I even expect you want to. Just that…”
I wrap my fingers around his and lean in to him a little. “I do, Chris.” I whisper in his ear. “I’m a little nervous, because it’s uncharted territory for me, too, but I mean…you have to have noticed what you do to me, right?” He blushes even harder at this, but he still manages to look at least a little more comfortable; a little less nervous. “Look,” I say, nudging him to meet my eyes, “whenever you think you’re ready, just let me know. I’ve been waiting since last fall, and I’ll wait longer, if I have to. Just don’t complain when I take so many cold showers or use up all your lotion, okay?” He smiles, gives a little laugh, and nods before leaning in to give me a soft kiss.
“You know…it’s my birthday, tomorrow.”
“I know,” I tell him with a smile, thinking about the surprise I’ve already got planned for him.
“It’d be kind of nice to celebrate one milestone with another, don’t you think?” Chris asks in a voice that somehow manages to be both soft and bold at once. He’s clenching my fingers tightly and looking directly into my eyes, and it’s kind of all I can do to not push him down onto the bed and kiss him all over until his entire body is sore.
“I’ve always been a fan of milestones,” I say, and dive in to kiss him until I realize I’ve forgotten to breathe.
-------------
It’s May twenty-seventh, and Chris is just finishing up in the bathroom when I fling myself onto the bed and wait for him to enter the room. I’d made a point of waking up before him and showering after ordering breakfast from room service. It arrived just as Chris was waking up, and the timing was perfect for me to fill the giant, sunken bath for him. “Come on, Birthday Boy,” I’d told him, “the next week is going to be utter chaos, so enjoy your relaxation while you can get it, okay?” He’s not really a fan of baths, but he slid into the frothy bubbles anyway, sipping a glass of champagne and humming to himself as I busied myself in our room.
I’d arranged for us to share a room before most of the others realized we wouldn’t have our own rooms, and had made probably half a dozen calls with the concierge over the last week, so once I was sure Chris was safely out of the way for a while, it had only taken one call to get everything I needed delivered to our room. I’d raced around, trying to get everything right, and eventually called Heather to come help, but still…I finished with about three minutes to spare. Now that it was actually at hand, however, I began to have second thoughts. ”This is so stupid,” I find myself thinking, ”what the hell was going through my head when I decided to do this?” I’m just trying to figure out how much time it would take to gather everything and hide it somewhere when I hear the sounds of Chris stepping out of the tub, and I know there’s no alternative now but to just go for it, so I do.
Giving one more adjustment to what I’m wearing, I position myself on the bed, and wait for him to enter the room. When he does, a few seconds later, his eyes go wide and his mouth forms a little “o” shape as he takes everything in with a look of utter confusion on his face. “Happy birthday, Chris,” I say from my place on the bed, and he turns to face me.
“Darren, what- what’s all this?” He tightens the belt of the robe he’s wearing as he gestures to the room around us. “I don’t understand…”
I feel a flush spread across my cheeks as I sit up a little straighter and twirl the rose I’m holding in my hands. “Well, you know how people make a lot of ‘Pretty in Pink’ jokes about my character’s name being Blaine?” He nods, but still looks completely lost. “I just thought…it might be nice if I were to take a cue from another page in the Molly Ringwald playbook and uh…give you the chance to do it on a cloud, the way her friend talks about in ’Sixteen Candles.’” At this, his head spins around the room and takes it all in with a new understanding. The curtains and bedding were already white, but every available surface has been draped in white sheets, cotton batting, and tissue paper. The curtains have been thrown open to offer a faint glimpse of the world outside through the sheer privacy panels, and if the effect isn’t quite cloud-like, it’s definitely something.
“You…gave me a cloud?” Chris’s voice is full of disbelief as he takes it all in and leans slightly against the doorframe. “A Cloud?”
“I’d give you the moon, if I could,” I say without thinking. ”Great, Darren, you’re not making yourself look even stupider or anything,” I think to myself as I lean backward on my hands and look away from him. This isn’t going the way I thought it would when I’d first come up with the idea. I’m not a hundred percent sure what I thought would happen, but I know it wasn’t this awkward uncertainty.
It feels like forever before Chris breaks the silence. “This…this is amazing, Darren. No one’s ever done anything like this for me before. It’s…” he swallows thickly, “I’ll never forget it, Darren. Thank you.” He blinks a few times, then looks me over again. “What exactly is that you’ve got around your waist?”
I get up carefully and make my way to him. “It’s a very large satin bow, and whether or not you unwrap it is completely up to you.”
The sentence isn’t even all the way off of my lips when he grips one end and gives it a tug, sending it fluttering to the floor.
--------------
It’s about ten hours later, and we’re at Chris’s birthday party. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he wanted to go all out for this one, and both the crowd and the atmosphere are incredible. There are tons of people here, and while the Queen isn’t among them, the list of people who are is pretty amazing. Gwyneth Paltrow, Anne Hathaway, pretty much everyone who’s ever guested on the show, plus Russell Brand and Katy Perry, who are both clearly delighted with her obvious pregnancy. She wastes no time in giving me an enormous hug while Russell wraps his arms around Chris and grabs onto his rear end so hard that he actually manages to lift him off the ground. Chris winces just a little bit, but gives a big laugh that I’m pretty sure only I really understand. Katy and I talk about music while the two catch up, and before I know it, Chris has been pulled away from me by throngs of well-wishers.
I know I shouldn’t be upset, but I am. It’s Chris’s party, but I thought we’d be spending it together, and I’m not really getting much chance to glimpse him, much less spend time with him. We’d locked ourselves in our room for most of the day, exploring and enjoying each other in various ways, and likely would have continued much longer if we hadn’t had that press conference before dinner. Hell, if I’d had my way, we’d probably still be in there. It was a little strange, and kind of awkward at first, and it took us an hour or so to really get comfortable with things, but there just came a point when everything clicked, and it was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before.
With Chris, everything else just seemed to fade away, and I found myself sinking into this amazing world where nothing else could touch me. Not work, not friends, not even wondering about what would happen next, because I just knew it would be obvious when it came time for it to happen. The first time he shuddered against me and pressed his forehead to mine as his lips parted to give a guttural moan, I’d held him with my eyes swimming in my head and my breath in my throat, unable to think of anything except “please let this be forever,” as I brought my mouth to his and took his breath as my own.
It was just a few hours ago, and now, for all anyone else could tell, I was nothing more than the friendly co-worker. I knew we weren’t really public yet, but I couldn’t help but feel like a dirty secret, and I didn’t like it one bit. Heather did her best to distract me, dragging me out to the dance floor with the others, and I think even Kevin tried to help by insisting I do shots with him at the bar, but all I could do was scan the crowd for Chris, wondering where he was and when I’d get to see him again. I’m trying my hardest not to think about how much I don’t want to be here when the DJ (who apparently has something of a musical boner for glam) starts spinning some song I vaguely recognize from that movie where Ewan MacGregor is Iggy Pop, only not really, and I turn to head off the dance floor only to find myself staring right at Chris, dancing with a guy who I don’t care that I don’t recognize, because all I care about is that he isn’t me.
Heather reaches out to stop me, but her fingers just graze my arm as I brush past them, my shoulder banging into the guy just enough to send him off-balance, but not enough to make it obvious that it was intentional. My eyes find Chris’s, and he mutters something I can’t hear to his dance partner before running after me. “What was that all about?”
“I don’t know, Chris. You tell me. You’ve barely said two words to me since we got here. At first, I thought it was because there were just too many people needing photo ops, but that-” I point out onto the floor “didn’t look like it was being posed for any pictures.”
“That’s Harris,” Chris says, slightly dumbfounded. “He was part of our security when we visited last time, and he’s just a friend.”
“Yeah, well that’s what everyone thinks I am, isn’t it?” The words are out of my mouth before I know it, and I’m not sure which one of us is more surprised.
“I thought that’s what you wanted,” Chris says in a low voice. “To keep things under wraps as long as possible.”
I screw my hands into fists and turn on my heel to face the wall before spinning back around to yell. “Yeah, well…maybe I did, but don’t anymore. Maybe I think having some cameras in my face is a price I’m willing to pay in order to hold your hand, or walk a red carpet with you, or jesus fuck, dance with you at your birthday party hours after we just made love for the first time and not hide in the shadows like something you’re ashamed of!”
“You think I’m ashamed of you?” It’s that tone of his that manages to be both soft and powerful, and I can’t even bring myself to meet his gaze. “I,” he reaches out to hook his finger under my chin and tilting my face upward “have always had nothing but pride in having you in my life, Darren. I just didn’t want to push you into anything you weren’t ready for. Going public is going to have a lot more ramifications for you than it is for me, so sue me for trying to keep that in mind.”
“Is this our first fight?” I ask.
He nods. “It appears to be a day of firsts.”
“Yeah, for me, too, don’t forget…and I think we’re due for one more.” Twining my fingers with his and spotting a flash from across the room, I chew a little on my lower lip and begin to pull him away from our hiding place. Most people don’t seem to notice, but a few heads turn as Chris stumbles after me on my way to the backdrop set up just for the press photographers. Once we’re standing before the throng of eager photographers, I come to a halt and put my hands on Chris’s waist to help keep him from falling over from the sudden stop.
“Chris! Darren!” Photographers are shouting our names and questions that we can’t even understand because there’s so much noise, so I’m not even sure if anyone will hear when I open my mouth and begin to shout.
“Hey!” I give a little jump and wave one of my arms to get everyone to try and focus. “My name’s Darren, and this here’s Chris, and I’m super excited to help him celebrate his twenty-first birthday!” People begin cheering loudly, and I have to wave my hand around again to try and get them to calm down a little. “But there’s something else you should know. See, Chris isn’t just the most amazing talent to work with, and one of the coolest guys I’ve ever known,” and at this, I pull him close and look directly into his eyes, “but I am absolutely in love with him, and I don’t really care anymore who knows it.” I stretch on tiptoe just enough to reach his lips, then run away wildly, Chris almost stumbling in his efforts to keep up.
“You’re certifiably insane, you know that?” Chris’s face is white as the sheets still covering our hotel room as he looks at me. “You do understand that’ll be all over the internet oh…about now, don’t you?”
“Yeah, well…maybe that’s a good thing,” I retort, rocking on my heels a little. “Look, you yourself said back in February that you couldn’t do this if there was a chance I wasn’t really in it for the long haul, and now it’s my turn to say the same to you. I love you, Chris, and I don’t want to have to hide anymore. Go big or go home, kemosabe, and since I’ve barely been home for months...figured it was time to go really fucking big.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“Absolutely,” I tell him, allowing a playful glint into my eye, “and you know, we did just have our first fight, which I also believe that means we’re due for another first.”
Chris raises an eyebrow and gives me a once-over. “What first would that be, pray tell?”
I take both of his hands in mine and draw him close. “First make-up sex, of course.”
-----------------
It’s September twentieth, and Chris and I are sitting side by side on Amber’s sofa as everyone crowds around to watch the season premiere. Amber’s not quite as obsessive about avoiding commercials as Chris is (though he’s admittedly loosened up since he stopped worried about ordering a dozen Slap Chops in his sleep), so we count down to eight o’clock as if it were the ball dropping on Times Square, and the whole room goes silent as the doors of McKinley high creak open, flooding the dark halls with light as two figures step into the hall, hand in hand, walking in perfect step as Chris’s voice sings Donovan’s ”Hurdy Gurdy Man” in the background. Kurt (in one of his more fabulous outfits) and Blaine (in basic jeans, button up shirt, and red v-neck sweater) catch the attention of everyone they walk past, and heads can’t help but turn as they make their way to their lockers, when the music suddenly cuts and a burly arm throws a slushie directly into Blaine’s face.
“Welcome to McKinley,” Kurt deadpans as Blaine licks his lips and shakes his head, and the screen goes black, save the word “Glee” in plain white letters.
“To everyone’s favorite new New Direction,” Harry cheers, and Chris snorts with laughter. I know it’s because he’s thinking of nude erections, and I’m kind of hoping they come into play when we get back to his place when I realize I’ll have to swing by my place, because I haven’t been there in a couple of weeks, and I really need some clean clothes.
----------------------------------------
It’s late at night on December thirty-first, and we’re in San Francisco, sitting in the corner of Sparky’s diner. I’ve been coming here for years, even though the food’s not that great, and it’s one of the few places I know no one will bother me when I’m in town. Granted, San Francisco’s a lot more low key than Los Angeles is, but even here, it can still be hard to find a way to avoid unwanted attention at times.
Still, Sparky’s is old and reliable, and since part of this trip was to try and show Chris where I’m from, and why I love it here, it had to be included. On our walk here, I pointed out various places that stick out in my memory. Like the Safeway where someone once arranged a sofa and ancient television and pretended to watch a football game with his friends until security threatened to call the cops. The karaoke lounge my friend Ted swears by. The corner where, when I was still just in high school, my mom and I were once surrounded by drunken people in Santa suits who demanded that Santa needed beer, and how I slipped one (who kind of resembled French Stewart) the ten dollar bill I’d just been given for my allowance because I wished I’d been old enough to join them. He drinks it all in, and it’s with a faint buzz of pleasure that I realize I’m just as proud to share my city with him, as I am to share him with it. We’ve been mostly left alone on our journeys since we got here a few days ago, following a visit with Chris’s family in Clovis, where he’d shown me the places that made him who he’d become.
Seeing his reaction to San Francisco brings so much into focus. With almost every look, I can hear the thought ringing in his head - “what would life have been like if I’d been able to grow up here?” - and part of me mourns for what could have been for him, for the thought that he could have grown up always knowing how amazing he’s always been. The other part, though, the selfish one, can’t help but think of how if he hadn’t grown up in a place like Clovis, he’d never have developed the wit, the charm, the sheer force of will that makes him such a miracle. I had it easy, but he’s fought for every success he’s had, including just getting out of high school in one piece.
“So, I’ve been thinking,” Chris says, breaking me from my reverie. He drags a French fry through the dregs of gravy on his plate and drops it into his mouth, practically swallowing it whole before he goes on. “I don’t think it’s really a good idea for you to stay at my place so much anymore.”
I blink a few times, not really sure I understand what he’s saying before I wrinkle my brow and look at him as if to ask ”what exactly do you mean?”
“I know I should have talked to you about it first,” he says, clearly flustered, “but I just didn’t really know how to bring it up, and it just kind of turned up, and I…” he stops, bites his lower lip, and pulls a small silver keychain from his pocket before sliding it across the table to me. I pick it up, more than a little confused, and flip it between my fingers before he breaks the silence.
“I bought a new place, and I know I should have talked to you about it first, or at least shown you pictures…but I wasn’t sure how you’d react and I didn’t want you to think I was assuming anything, and I just…I want you to move in, for real.”
“You want me to move in?” I ask, confused.
“Yeah,” he says, shifting in his seat. “I’m kind of used to you being around, and it would make things easier, wouldn’t it? It’s the penthouse, which I know is kind of ridiculous, but it was actually a really good price for the area, and it’s a good investment, and I want to know that at the end of the day, I’ll have someone to fight with about whose turn it is to take out the trash or do the dishes.” He places his hand on mine, pressing the key into my palm. “I want that person to be you. I want to know that if I come home from a stretch of monotonous, repetitive interviews, you’ll be there when I walk through the door. That I’ll get to hear your new songs before anyone else. That there will be the random Starkid on my living room sofa from time to time.” He gives a small laugh and rolls his eyes, a blush spreading on his cheeks. “I want to know that I won’t buy any more life-sized portraits of dead people in my sleep.” He goes quiet for a second, before lifting his eyes to stare deep into mine and saying one more thing, just barely loud enough to be heard. “Mostly, I just want to know that you’ll always be there.”
I curl my hand into a fist, feeling the sharp edges of the key digging into my palm, and raise my head as everyone around us begins to shout their countdowns to the new year. I think back to last year at this time, and how desperately I wanted to be with him, to be the person he looked forward to spending the rest of his year with, and just before the count reaches zero, I lean across the table and kiss him hard. “That,” I whisper in his ear “is quite possibly the best New Year’s resolution I’ve ever heard.”
health insurance