Work Text:
Dublin, July 2011
The Glee Live Tour is over. The entire cast is crammed into Lea and Heather’s adjoining hotel rooms, the door between them propped open with someone’s suitcase. Empty champagne bottles litter the counters. Everyone is smiling and laughing and joking around, drunk and exhilarated from the last show.
Chris is standing with Mark and Ashley, only half-listening as they discuss their favourite hangover cures. He’s watching Darren. Darren, who somehow managed to acquire one of those “Kiss me I’m Irish” T-shirts and a matching leprechaun hat, and who is making his way through both rooms and securing cheek kisses from everyone. Right now he has Curt kissing one cheek and Dom the other, all three boys holding the pose for Cory’s camera. Chris smiles, feels the warmth of affection bubbling up inside him.
His champagne glass is empty. Chris excuses himself to get a refill, and instead of returning to Ashley’s side he makes his way out onto one of the balconies. He leans against the railing, sipping his drink and taking it all in. The night air is cooler than he’s used to for July, but it’s refreshing. And the view is simply wonderful. Dublin is beautiful. Chris wishes they had more time to explore the city, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn't anxious to get home to his own bed. He’s had quite enough of hotel beds, thank you very much.
The door slides open and Chris turns to see Darren popping his head out. When he sees Chris he grins widely and steps outside. He slides the glass door closed behind him, cutting off the noise from the party, and goes to stand beside Chris. He bumps their shoulders together. “Hey, Chris,” he says, drawing his words out in that way he does when he’s been drinking.
Chris smiles and turns back to watch what’s happening down on the street. The hotel is in a very busy part of downtown. It must be nearly 2am but there are still people everywhere; he can hear shouting and laughter from up here. He thinks he sees the attendees of a bachelorette party piling into a limo down the street. One of them is definitely wearing a crown.
Darren nudges him again. “Chris,” he whispers. When Chris merely hums in acknowledgement, Darren whines a little. “Chris! You have to- come on, look at me!”
Chris sighs but he’s smiling again when he turns to face Darren. “Alright, what?”
Darren grins and points at his T-shirt. “You, sir, owe me a kiss.”
Chris laughs. “Nice try, buddy, but you already got your kiss from me tonight.”
“No, no, that one doesn't count.” Darren’s shaking his head vehemently. “That was me kissing you. I was the initiator. The kisser. You were the… kissee.”
Chris splutters a little and Darren raises his eyebrows as if he’s challenging Chris to work his way out of that logic. But it’s late and Chris is tipsy and it’s Darren. So he leans over and gives him a chaste peck on the cheek. “There. Satisfied?”
Darren looks hilariously outraged. Chris has to bite back a laugh. “What? Oh, come on, Darren. Everyone else gave you cheek kisses.”
“Dianna didn't!”
“Only because you turned your head at the last second!”
Darren huffs. Then he pouts a little and cocks his head to the side. “Please, Chris?”
Chris eyes him warily. Darren’s a devious little fucker, using those puppy eyes like that. Chris tries to think of a reasonable objection, but it’s not like they haven’t kissed on-camera before. Or off-camera, if tonight is anything to go by. They’re friends. One little kiss won’t make things weird. Making a big deal out of it will make things weird.
Chris rolls his eyes, mutters fine and leans over to press his lips against Darren’s. It’s supposed to be another peck, but Darren’s bottom lip is still pushed out in a pout when Chris kisses him. It’s instinct when Chris sucks it into his mouth. Darren’s mouth drops open in surprise and Chris’s lips part in kind, and then they’re really kissing, open mouths and tentative swipes of tongue. Darren’s mouth tastes like the champagne they've both been drinking and like the strawberries from the fruit tray Naya ordered from room service. Chris’s left hand slides around Darren’s neck and into his hair, knocking the leprechaun hat askew. His right hand is still clutching the champagne glass. Some part of his brain is impressed with himself for not spilling any.
Darren’s hands are gripping Chris’s hips, and when nibbling on Chris’s bottom lip draws out a gasp that sounds a lot like a moan, he uses that grip to push Chris back and break the kiss. They stare at each other for a second or two, both breathing heavily, before Chris inhales sharply. “Oh my God, Darren, I’m so sorry. God, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me, I don’t even-” Chris blabbers on as Darren gently pries the champagne glass from his hand, tosses what’s left over the railing, and sets it on the ground by the door. He’s still talking as Darren walks over to him, keeps walking so Chris has to step backwards until he’s up against the brick wall.
“Chris?” Darren interrupts. Chris stops mid-sentence and licks his lips. He tastes Darren and it sends heat shooting up his spine. Darren leans in, slowly, until their lips are almost touching. “Shhhh,” he breathes, and then he’s cupping his face with both hands and kissing him again.
These aren’t the same sweet, exploratory kisses as before. These kisses are intense, hard enough to be bruising. Darren is liberal with his use of tongue, and soon enough it’s getting sloppy and wet and perfect. With both his hands free, Chris twines the fingers of one hand through Darren’s curls, loving the way Darren grunts when Chris pulls on them a little. His other hand slides down his back and grabs at his ass. Darren presses in even closer, nudging his thigh against Chris’s groin. Chris is moaning now, they both are, and he’s just starting to rock against Darren’s thigh when the door to the balcony slides open. They break apart.
Lea stumbles out, sloshing the champagne in her flute and just barely avoiding stepping on Chris’s discarded glass. Once she has righted herself, she eyes them suspiciously. “There you boys are! Am I…” she pauses, clearly for dramatic effect. “…interrupting something?” She hiccups. It sort of ruins the effect.
Darren’s the first to recover. “Lea, darling! I was just trying to drag Chris back inside. Help me?”
Lea, of course, complies. They each grab one of his arms and march him indoors. Almost as soon as the door slides shut behind them Lea spots Cory and skips over to join him.
Chris can tell Darren is trying to catch his eye, so he saves him the trouble and turns to him with a too-bright smile. “I’m going to get some more champagne.”
Darren gives him an indecipherable look. He seems to be trying to read him, but his drunkenness has impaired his people-reading skills. This is probably a good thing, since Chris isn't sure if he wants to be read right now.
Without waiting for a response, Chris turns and disappears into the other room. He drinks one last glass of champagne, talks to Heather briefly, finds Ashley to let her know that he’s turning in for the night, and escapes to his room. He doesn't fall asleep for a very long time.
He thinks he hears a soft knock at the door around 3am, but he doesn't get up to check.
***
The next day they fly home. Chris and Darren sit next to each other on the plane. They don’t speak; Chris is reading and Darren is listening to his iPod. But after take-off Darren hooks his ankle around Chris’s. Neither of them moves for the entire flight.