The Things That Cost You Too Much 1/5
---October 2010---
"I hear you're my new co-star."
Chris's voice is friendly, but reserved, and Darren is flushed in spite of himself when he looks up into his new co-star's face. "Yeah," he breathes, head bobbing up and down. "Looks that way." His palms itch even through the sweat coating them, and they seem intent on making up for the desert that has suddenly taken over his mouth.
"I loved your musicals," Chris says, shifting the messenger bag on his shoulder.
"You don't have to say that, man, I mean, it's cool-"
"No," Chris insists. "I've watched them both about a hundred times. Ask Amber. Ask Jenna. Neither of them have seen them, but they know most of the songs and lines because I've subjected them so many times."
"Really?" Darren asks, narrowing his eyes. "You're not just saying that?"
"Why would I do that?" Chris asks in return, eyes glinting with amusement as he leans in a little closer. "I'm a nice person, Darren, but I never do anything just to be nice."
"Yeah," Darren says, rocking back and forth on his heels with his fists crammed deep into his pockets. "So, I guess we have our first scene tomorrow, don't we? I've been in choreography with the Warblers all day, and I think it's gonna be really cool. Nice guys, all of them. I mean, some are nicer than others, but they're all really talented and cool and-"
"Darren?" Chris asks, interrupting Darren's frantic babbling.
"Yes, Chris?" Darren asks quietly, eyes locked and unmoving as he continues to rock back and forth.
"Do you want to come back to my place?" Chris asks, face softened and cheeks slightly pink.
"Yeah." Darren nods breathlessly. "Yeah, I really do."
---
"I like what you've done with the place," Darren says when they step through the door and Chris drops his keys into the glass tray that rests beside the door. "It's…mature," he finally finishes, maybe a few seconds later than he should have.
"Well, we can't stay young forever, can we?" Chris says, slipping out of his jacket and resting it on the rack over the strap of his bag. "We all have to grow and change. Like your hair," he says, stepping closer to Darren and reaching out to take one short curl in his fingers. "What would Harry Potter say?" he asks, giving it a little tug.
Darren sighs. "Harry would say that I'm a total sell-out who gave up everything that made him cool and fun so he could go work for The Man."
"Is that right?" Chris asks, sinking into the right side of his sofa - the side he never sits on - and stretching his arms across the back and armrest. "What would Darren say?"
"Darren," Darren says, tucking his right leg under him as he sits in the left corner of the sofa facing Chris, "would say that he cut his hair for something that he thinks is worth the sacrifice."
"Sampson lost his strength when he cut his hair," Chris says quietly. "When it was long and wild, he could do whatever he wanted. Once it was gone…" he trails off, tilting his head and taking in the sight of Darren's closely cropped head, "he couldn't do much of anything at all."
"Chris?" Darren says quietly, propping his head on his right arm as he reaches out carefully with his left and strokes his index finger against Chris's wrist.
"Yes, Darren?"
"Tell me the sacrifice was worth it?"
That's all it takes before they're rushing at each other, hands cradling faces and holding necks in place as their mouths pant against each other between desperate kisses. Darren presses forward, urging Chris further onto his back, and he falls between his legs as if they've done this a hundred times, their bodies flush and warm and breathing in unison as they kiss and kiss and kiss and kiss and only stop for the shortest, simplest of words. Words like 'please,' and 'yes,' and 'want,' and 'need,' and it's only a matter of minutes before they're breaking away, gasping as they look into each other's eyes to say more than their monosyllabic whispers ever could before they get up and Chris leads Darren to his room without another word.
---
It's tentative at first. A whispered 'can I…?' as one slips a button open on the other's collar. A questioning glance as one feels the other on his thigh. A nervous hitch of breath as hand meets cock and the rhythmic stroking begins to make nothing else seem important. As the rhythm grows, so does the unspoken agreement that 'this is okay,' this is better than okay, will always be better than okay.
Through it all, their lips find each other. Gliding together or parting to tug on an ear when the other touches him just so. They stay connected, skin and sweat and breath and air all melding as their bodies move together, gentle gentle gentle and then so rough and desperate as the tears spill from both of their eyes. Chris falls onto Darren's chest with a soft cry and showers his face with kisses.
"I hated you for leaving," he whispers, gazing deep into Darren's eyes.
"I hated doing it," Darren says in response, voice thick and tight with everything he wants to say. Wanted to say then. Has wanted to say every day since the end of last year. "But I knew if I didn't leave when I did, I wouldn't be able to later."
"Yeah," Chris says, tracing a finger idly in the dark curls dusting Darren's chest. "I think you're probably right."
---December 2009---
"Wait, what?" Darren asked, blinking as if repeatedly opening and closing his eyes would somehow clear whatever was obviously clogging his ears.
"I’m ready," Chris said, patting the bed beside him even as he looked down and into his own lap. "For that. We’ve been doing other things for a while, but I want more. I want you to be my first. Your first time should mean something, shouldn't it? What could mean more than my first-"
"Don't say it," Darren said, eyes pleading as he hung in the doorway of Chris's room, arms wrapped tightly around himself as his chest rose and fell.
"My first love," Chris said, the quaver in his voice betraying the calm expression on his face when he lifted it to meet Darren's eyes. "I love you, Darren. I think I have for a while. I don’t know. All I know is that I want this. I want you. To be my first," he continued, swirling one fingertip against the duvet and glancing down at the bed. "It doesn't mean forever, it just has to mean…now, I guess. I love you now and that's enough."
Darren rubbed his hands up and down his arms, biting his own lip as he frowned and looked through the window next to the door to Chris’s en suite bathroom. "Why now?" he asked quietly, still not returning Chris's gaze.
"Because I can tell that things are going to change," Chris answered. "I want us to share this before that happens."
"I love you, too," Darren murmured, walking over to kneel and rest his head on the worn knee of Chris's jeans. "I just-" he broke off, face clouded with something he couldn't say. He took hold of Chris's neck and rose as he brought Chris closer, their lips meeting in between. He took his time, doing his best to commit every sensation to memory. "You're not the same kid I met six months ago," he whispered, looking up into Chris's eyes. "You're gonna run the world someday, you know that?"
"Seven," Chris corrected, giving a soft laugh even as the first tear showed itself. "And yeah, that's been my plan all along."
Darren stood, then rested his knees on the bed as he straddled Chris's thighs and took his face in his hands, thumbs stroking the softness of his cheeks as they kissed and Darren urged Chris onto his back. "Love you," he breathed against Chris's ear as he undid the buttons of the blue plaid shirt Chris wore and pushed it from his shoulders. "Always will. I'm not gonna hold you back," he said, and that was when the first of his own tears fell, splashing against Chris's ear and sliding along the curve, "but I will never stop loving you."
"I know," Chris said, undoing his jeans and shimmying out of them as best as he could beneath the weight of Darren's body. "That's why I wanted it to be you. Now. Before…things change."
"Someday," Darren said, even as he slid off his sweats and ground his cock against Chris'. "Someday, we'll make it work. Someday, none of the things that matter now will be a problem anymore. Promise me, Chris. Promise me-"
"I promise," Chris said, feeling strangely calm for someone whose heart had never beat so hard. "Someday, Darren. Someday, none of this will matter."
"No," Darren said. "It won't."
---
The next morning, Chris had woken up to light filtering through the window and an instant awareness that he was alone. He bit his lip as he thought about everything that had been said and done the night before. He gave himself a moment to stare at the ceiling and take a deep breath or two (or five, or twenty,) before he turned to his nightstand and saw a folded sheet of paper beneath two keys. He picked up the keys first, tightening his hand around them in a fist until he could feel every angle and line of them digging into his palm. If he held them long enough, maybe they'd disappear. Maybe they'd find their way back to where they'd been the day before. He hoped, he wished, he pleaded, but he knew it wasn't any use. Darren was gone, just like Chris had known he soon would be.
He allowed himself a few more minutes of blinking at the ceiling as the tears fell from his eyes, then dropped the keys into his nightstand drawer and unfolded the sheet of paper. He took the words in and didn't even try to keep the sobs inside as they broke free and echoed through his room.
Better to have loved and lost, his ass.
---October 2010---
The room is bright and warmer than Chris is used to when he wakes up the next morning. He blinks as he turns to see the curtains thrown wide, letting in the morning sun his insulated drapes usually keep out. His heart sinks as he remembers the night before and realizes he's the only one in his bed.
"You sleep better now," Darren's voice comes from the doorway, giving Chris a start. "You didn't get up at all. You didn't even move. Not much, anyway."
"Not much?" Chris asks, lifting the covers and holding them beneath his arms to shield himself from view.
"Just to hold me tighter," Darren says, walking in with a glass of orange juice. "I liked it," he smiles, climbing back onto the bed and resting the glass on Chris's nightstand. He's still nude, and Chris is all too aware of how few layers separate them. "I like you."
"You once said more than that," Chris says before he can help himself. He sucks in a quick breath and instantly colors at the sound of his own words. "Sorry," he says. "That was out of-"
Darren doesn't let him finish before he's once again stretched on top of him and cupping his face as he brings their lips together. He kisses Chris with the same kind of intensity Darren brings to everything he does. "I still do," he says quietly. "Never stopped. Don't think I ever will." He peppers Chris's face with kisses, only breaking away to give a small laugh as he notices how tightly Chris is clutching the sheets to his chest. "You don't have to do that," he says, lowering a hand to run it down Chris's side. "This is me. You should always feel safe with me."
"I do," Chris says quietly. "That's why I'm so scared." For a moment, he silently chastises himself for holding back. This is Darren. Darren. His first boyfriend - first everything. Darren, who loved him - still loves him - and made good on his promise that they'd be together again. He knows there's no reason to be scared but can't stop himself from feeling it, no matter how hard he tries.
Darren purses his lips for a second, but shakes his head as if pushing the thoughts away before rolling onto his side beside Chris. "There's a lot to be scared of." He takes one of Chris's hands and runs his thumb over the knuckles. "Maybe it's good to be scared," he says, looking up into Chris's eyes. "It means we aren't taking it too lightly."
---
It's a good thing so many of their scenes are together. It makes the time they spend laughing and talking apart from the others seem a little less suspect and more like they're working on developing their on-screen rapport. They're careful not to get too comfortable. No stolen kisses or lingering touches if they aren't safely behind closed doors.
In interviews, they're always full of praise for the other. Sometimes they have to fight to keep it toned down and not say too much. They're supposed to be recent acquaintances. It would be weird if they knew too much about one another. They bite back details and force their smiles to be a little smaller, and if they ever let their excitement betray them, it's always an easy out to say they're proud to be part of such an important story. It isn't lying. Not really. It just isn't the entire truth.
It isn't that they're embarrassed or feel they have anything to hide. It's just that this second chance feels so precious, so rife with possibility that they can't bear to let anyone in.
Someday, they say in whispered voices when they're alone. Someday, the time will be right.
That day just hasn't come yet.
---May 2009---
He was nursing his fifth soda of the night when a cloud of dark curls surrounding what had to be the goofiest face Chris had ever seen suddenly blocked his view of the dance floor. Not that he could see much of said face, but the big, stupid grin was more than enough to tell him what he needed to know.
"You wanna dance?" the stranger called out above the din, and Chris turned his head to see who else could be the object of the invitation. "Yeah, you," the guy said as if reading Chris's mind.
Chris squinted and tried to get a better look. The guy was an inch or two taller and looked friendly enough. If nothing else, at least he looked more human than the obviously lab-generated specimens filling the club.
"What's wrong?" the guy asked, noticing Chris's hesitation. "Not much of a dancer?"
Chris laughed in spite of himself. "I'll have you know I do an excellent 'Single Ladies,'" he called out, leaning over to ditch his now-empty glass onto the floor. "Too bad it's eighties' night. I'm just not really into this whole…scene," he finished lamely. "I've never done this kind of thing before."
"First time for everything," the guy enthused, grabbing hold of Chris's hands and pulling him in close enough to throw Chris a little off-balance. It wasn't really the way Chris had pictured his first dance with a boy, but very little in his life was turning out the way he'd always pictured - including the things that had. The boy kept his grip on him, twirling and bouncing and grinning that stupid, dopey, (okay, kind of adorable) grin every time their eyes met.
"I'm Chris," he said breathily, looking up into the boy's eyes.
"Darren," he answered, bending Chris backward into a dip without warning. "Hey, I got you," he laughed when Chris shrieked. "I'm not gonna let you fall or anything. I'm stronger than I look."
Chris placed a hand on one of Darren's upper arms and gave what he hoped was an imperceptible squeeze. "I'm sure you are," he replied, surprised by how solid it felt. "What brings you here?" he called out, feeling more than a little stupid for trying to have a conversation in a place where lips and tongues seemed best suited for other uses.
"Graduated from college last week," Darren smiled. "Moved out here with some friends and thought I'd start checking things out. You?"
“Friend dragged me here,” Chris said. “Says I need to lighten up, that there’s more to life than work.”
"Yeah?" Darren asked, obviously intrigued. "What do you do? Are you like, some sort of child prodigy or something?"
"Actor," Chris shook his head.
"Me too," Darren grinned. "Trying anyway. You do anything I might have seen?"
"Not yet," Chris hedged, figuring it wasn't really a lie since none of the episodes had aired. "Soon, maybe."
"Yeah," Darren nodded. "Maybe."
Chris took another look around them and leaned in close. "I'm not trying to be rude," he began, "but how did you get in? You actually look like a real person."
"I paid two guys fifty bucks to cause a scene, then bolted past the bouncer while he was distracted." He eyed Chris up and down. "I could ask you the same thing."
“My friend is very popular here,” Chris said, his stomach giving a little flip as Darren's eyes narrowed inquisitively. “She’s also very persistent.” This seemed to satisfy Darren, and he smiled as he brushed a stray bit of hair from Chris's forehead. Chris’s cheeks (stupid, round, cherubic, not even remotely sexy cheeks) burned with nervousness, and he had to take a minute to bring himself back to Earth. "Why are we doing this?" Chris asked a few songs later, leaning in just close enough to speak into the guy's ear without yelling over the music when he'd finally worked up the nerve. "I mean, why are you doing this? With me?"
Darren paused for just a beat before sliding an arm around Chris's waist and bringing them cheek to cheek, slow-dancing in a rhythm that was completely out of pace with the music surrounding them. "You looked sad," he said honestly. "I wanted you to have some fun."
Chris felt an angry flush fall over him. Great. His first dance with a boy, and it was done out of pity. "Don't do me any favors," he said stiffly, bracing his hands against Darren's arms and pushing himself away.
"Hey," Darren frowned, reaching out to grab at Chris and pull him back. "Who says I'm doing you any favors now?" he asked, eyes huge and soft and somehow warm even under the strange blue and yellow lights of the club. "If this was a favor, I would have let you go by now."
Chris felt a lump in his throat, and he had to look away when he asked his next question. "Then what's keeping you now?"
"Maybe," he said, snapping his arm and pulling Chris tightly against him with a grin, "I just like dancing with you."
"Oh," Chris said stupidly as whatever moisture had previously occupied his mouth seemed to make its way to his forehead and the palms of his hands. The song changed, and they continued to sway slowly and completely out of step with the music before he found himself able to speak. "I think I like dancing with you, too."
Darren laughed, grinning as he brushed aside another piece of hair then ran the tip of his finger down the side of Chris's face. He looked down at him, lids halfway lowered and eyes barely visible through the thickest lashes Chris had ever seen. "Oh, you've got green eyes, oh, you've got blue eyes, oh, you've got grey eyes," he sang softly, gazing into Chris's eyes before closing his own and leaning close in a way that made Chris's entire body stiffen as he realized what was about to happen. Darren's lips brushed against his, once, twice, three times, and Chris just stood there, frozen like a statue. "You're cute," Darren grinned, and Chris barely managed to register the next line of lyrics before he broke away.
Chris didn't even know he was running until he felt the rush of air against his face as he stumbled out onto the street. He hailed the first cab he saw and headed straight home, sending Lea a brief text to say he'd left because he wasn't feeling well. It might not have been the whole truth, but it wasn't a lie either. As he sat in the cab and stared out the window, he touched his fingers to his lips and sang softly to himself.
'No, I've never met anyone quite like you before.'
---November 2010---
Chris has never been very big on following the show's press. He'd googled himself in the early days of the show's success, and the results had been so mortifying and hurtful that he'd instantly sworn never to do it again. By extension, he keeps himself fairly ignorant on his co-stars and the show in general. He prefers to take the nominations and awards as a sign that things are going well and leave the specifics to those more suited for it.
He doesn't think he's missing much. Half the things the tabloids and idiot bloggers report are lies anyway (does anyone really think they could get away with saying he’d been killed by a fruit truck? Scandals are pretty hard to disprove, but death - by fruit truck or any other means - would be pretty easily debunked once he showed up on set the next day) and the half that aren't are usually mundane enough that he's not sure why anyone should care. He didn't care for gossip when he was in high school; he cares even less for it now.
Chris's distaste for gossip is part of why he tries so hard now to be candid in his interviews. The more honest he is, he believes, the less ammunition anyone can have with him. Sticks and stones and broken bones and all that jazz are fine, but the truth can never hurt him.
At least, that's what he thought before he read Darren’s latest interview.
---September 2009---
"Shit, hide me," Darren said, ducking behind a pillar as he and Chris walked through the mall.
"What's wrong?" Chris asked, peering around it.
"Amanda," Darren sighed, turning to lean his back against the column and tap the back of his head against it. "Fuck…"
"Who's Amanda?" Chris asked, feeling like he was missing a key piece of the puzzle.
"She's this girl who thinks we're like, meant to be or something," Darren sighed. "I've tried to let her down easy, but she just won't give up."
Chris laughed, feeling strangely nervous over Darren's behavior. "Did you tell her about me?"
"Not yet," Darren admitted. "I met her before you. I mean, after you, obviously, since you're like, the first person I met after I moved here. I met her after that, but before we started hanging out. I haven't said anything to her in months, but she keeps texting me and saying we should get together. It's kind of creeping me out."
Something nagged at the back of Chris's head and even before he asked the question on his mind, he had a sinking feeling he knew the answer, though it made next to no sense. "Why does she think she has a chance?"
Darren squirmed, then took a deep breath. "I met her at this open mic thing. She said she liked one of my songs. I was lonely, one of my roommates had a girl over, so when she invited me back to her place, I said yeah. We had some wine, listened to some Dylan, and…things happened." He shrugged. "She's cute and all, but she’s also desperate and scary and dumber than a box of cotton balls."
"You like girls," Chris said dumbly, his body growing cold as the knowledge washed over him.
"I like people," Darren sighed, "and yes, some of them have been girls."
"Why didn't you ever tell me this?" Chris asked him, arms folded against his chest.
"Because I didn't think it should matter?" Darren asked, crossing his own arms as he slouched against the column and pulled a face. "What does it matter, as long as I'm with you?"
"It matters," Chris said lamely, looking off to the side and grimacing when he saw his own face staring back at him from a digital advertising kiosk. "How do I know you're not going to wake up one day and decide you'd rather make out with someone who doesn't have to shave?"
"I'm not that shallow, Chris," Darren said, eyes narrowing. "This is why I didn't say anything. It makes people all weird." He threw his arms up and drove them into his hair. His fingers completely disappeared in the thick curls, and for a second, Chris found himself thinking back to the night they'd met. How his first glimpse of the man standing in front of him was nothing more than a lot of hair and almost as much smile.
"I'm not weird," Chris said defensively. "I'm just…not sure how this works. You're twenty-two, and you've been to college, and done things, and dated people who are way better looking, and more interesting than me, and-"
"Chris," Darren sighed, stepping forward and placing his hands on Chris's shoulders. "We've been over this. Yeah, I'm older than you. Yeah, I'm more experienced. That doesn't change anything that matters. All that matters is that I like you. You're smart, and funny, and you're like, crazy insane levels of talented." He leaned in to press a kiss to Chris's forehead. "I like people," he repeated, "and right now, you're kind of my favorite." He took Chris's hands in his and took a step to the left once he'd looked around the column and decided the coast was clear. "Come on," he smiled. "Let's get out of here and back to your place, so I can show you just how much I like you."
II
Web Counter