rivers_bend

Title: Feel the Beat
Pairing: Chris Colfer/Darren Criss
Rating: NC17
Words: 5,500
The Obvious: I do not know any of the people whose public personas are used in this story and neither believe nor mean to imply this actually happened.
A/N: This is for miss_begonia because her enthusiasm for Chris and Darren is both boundless and compelling. Also she totally gave me the plot bunny all perky and ready to go. (for day two of mmom)
Summary: Darren's seen Chris dance before, of course he has, but, wow. This is-- It's new.



It's hot in the club, and getting late, and Darren would totally still be dancing, except he'd hate to leave Mark at the bar all alone. All alone with Cory and Chord, but whatever. He can have another drink if he wants. Nothing at all to do with finding himself dancing next to Harry while half the dance floor looked on. Not that Darren minds making a fool of himself, but, really, when Harry's dancing, the thing to do is sit back and watch.

Or, apparently, if you're Chris, up your game. Damn. He hasn't got Harry's sharpness or seeming lack of joints, but he's all rolling shoulders and slinky hips, and touching himself like he likes how he feels moving like that. Darren's seen Chris dance before, of course he has, but, wow. This is-- It's new.

Someone--Lea and Dianna would be Darren's guess--has talked Chris into wearing a too-small white t-shirt with his ridiculously tight jeans and a pair of Kurt's boots. It's obviously a hit with the ladies, because he's been surrounded by a crowd of them all night, on the dance floor and off, and, huh, now he's got Heather's right leg around his waist, her arms around his neck, and her very fine ass in her own tight jeans under his palms. Darren is maybe a little jealous.

He jumps when Mark elbows him in the ribs and says, "Wishing you were in Heather's shoes right now, eh?"

Darren totally doesn't spill his drink. At all. Well, none of it lands on his clothes anyway.

"Wow. Okay." Mark is looking at him with narrowed eyes and raised eyebrows. "You'd totally break an ankle in those heels, but if you want Colfer riding your thigh, I bet he'd say okay and let you wear your saddle shoes."

"They're wingtips," Darren says, because Mark was totally kidding, and he thought Darren wanted to be in Chris's shoes with Heather's leg around his waist. Which-- he would not actually say no to that. It's just not what he was thinking.

"Well you might want to take your wingtips over there and get all up on that before--" Mark waves a hand at where some guy has come over and grabbed Chris and started grinding on his ass without so much as a by your leave. "Before that happens," he finishes, like he thinks maybe Darren can't see that some random is totally mauling their friend.

"Who does he think he is?" doesn't sound much at all like the "whatever" Darren was planning on saying. Chris can dance with whomever he wants. But that isn't even dancing. And the dude totally horned in on Heather's turn. Heather's a sweet girl, though, and she won't say anything.

"I can't imagine," Mark says. "He must think he's a hot gay dude who can rub up on other hot gay dudes if he wants. It's totally inappropriate. You should do something about that."

Darren's so going to do something about that. He doesn't care that Mark is totally fucking with him. Or, now that Darren is shoving his drink into Mark's free hand, totally laughing at him.

The DJ's put on a floor-filler, and Darren has to elbow his way through the crowd of people trying to squeeze onto the dance floor, but finally he's standing in front of Chris, who's all glowing skin and damp clinging cotton and his hair perfectly not so perfect anymore, looking at Darren through lowered eyelashes. Mr. Grabby hands is now waving said hands in the air over his head, but his dick is still really really close to Chris's ass. "Hey," Darren says, smooth as-- whatever. Not smooth. "Is this guy bothering you?"

Chris laughs a little, and doesn't stop dancing. He's got his hands on his hips, touching himself again, and without even consulting with his brain, Darren's hands slide between Chris's wrists and his waist, tugging him closer.

"Woah, there, tiger," Chris says, stumbling on Darren's foot. Darren thinks about Heather, thinks, fuck it, and pulls out his own dance moves to get his leg between Chris's thighs, their hips moving together, almost touching, the air between them hot and thick. Over Chris's shoulder Darren sees Lea and Dianna move in on Mr. Grabby hands, dance him another few feet away. Chris will so never need to hire bodyguards.

"I can go if you want," Darren says, forgetting Mr. Grabby hands exists. His words are a lie, though, because he's pretty sure his palms are totally stuck to the fabric of Chris's shirt, and his pinkies won't come untucked from Chris's waistband.

"Is that you offering to stay?" Chris asks, coming even nearer. His face is so close. Like, Darren could just tip his head a little and they'd be kissing. "Because, that guy was totally bothering me."

Chris's smile says the guy wasn't bothering him that much, but that Darren isn't exactly bothering him either. His smile, and the way his hands have moved from his own hips to Darren's, pulling him closer there too, getting all Patrick Swayze on Darren's ass. Darren bites back the urge to say, "I carried a watermelon," because now is really not the time. He closes his eyes.

When he can't see how close Chris is, it's much easier to move with him, let his body go loose and let Chris set the rhythm. When he can't see, he doesn't have to think about whether or not it's a good idea to let his hands move around to Chris's ass, center his palms on Chris's pockets, let his fingers curl down to rest where the shifting of his glutes becomes the shifting of his--

"It's like that, is it?" Chris says in his ear, maybe a little surprised, hopefully in a good way.

Darren squeezes--Chris has a seriously nice ass, not that this is news exactly--and grinds a little harder against Chris's thigh, in case he missed that Darren's not entirely in this for the dancing. The music changes again and Darren's not paying enough attention and his eyes fly open when their grinding gets a whole lot more intimate for a moment before Chris settles Darren back against his thigh.

"Hi," Darren says. Chris shakes his head and gives him another one of those not-as-cryptic-as-he-thinks smiles.

Then Lea is right there, head tipped against where Chris and Darren's arms cross, smiling up at them all sweet and innocent, until she opens her mouth and says, "No one likes a cock tease, boys."

"Or a clit tease," Dianna shouts over the music from Lea's other side.

"Neither of them have a clit though," Lea points out, loudly, head lurching back upright on her neck so she can focus on Dianna.

Darren likes how he can feel Chris's laugh through his chest. "I'm pretty sure that's not her point," Chris says, shoving Lea away gently. When his hand comes back, he slips his fingers in Darren's back pocket. It's not nearly as obvious a grope as Darren's doing, but Darren counts it as a win anyway.

"Mark said you'd dance with me in wingtips," Darren says into the collar of Chris's t-shirt.

"He what?"

Darren lifts his face to repeat himself, but Chris is right there again, and Lea's not wrong, and it was a stupid thing to say anyway, so he changes course and lands on Chris's lips instead of near his ear.

It doesn't go nearly as smoothly as kissing Kurt had gone. Partly because Chris is taller from this angle than Darren was expecting, but mostly because Chris freezes and then lurches back to stare at Darren's mouth.

"I'm not a cock tease," Darren says.

Chris is still staring, but he hasn't let go of Darren's hip or taken his hand out of Darren's pocket, and they're still pressed together from the waist down, though the dancing has definitely stopped. "Blaine?" he asks.

"Noooo," Darren says. He's an actor; he's not living in the United States of Tara. "Blaine probably is a cockblock. Look how long he waited to kiss you."

Chris is getting better at the cryptic-smile thing.

Or, oh. "Kurt. How long he waited to kiss Kurt."

"Have you been waiting to kiss me?" Chris's hands are on the move now, heels of his palms on Darren's hips pushing him away. Gently, but definitely pushing.

"Should we maybe finish this conversation outside?" The answer to the kissing question is obviously important, and Darren would rather not have a thumping bass line stealing half his words.

"Is there more conversation to have?" Chris asks, and now he's walking away. If the glare Cory is shooting in Darren's direction is any indication, Chris doesn't look happy.

"Yes, there is," Darren calls after him, eeling between two girls doing a retro-80s dance thing, and elbowing aside the guy watching them. He catches Chris's wrist about six feet away from where Mark, Cory and Ashley are standing in a protective-looking huddle. "There is," he repeats, making sure Chris is looking him in the eye.

"You know I like you, Criss," Ashley says, getting up in their space, "but the Zizes can crush you like a bug if she needs to."

"What did I do?" Darren wants to know.

"What did he do?" Ashley asks Chris.

"Criss wants to get in our boy's pants," Mark says. Darren's not sure it's said helpfully or not.

"You know it would be a lot less confusing if you called him Darren," Chris says. "Just as a point of interest."

"Seriously. Can we go outside and talk?" Darren asks, tugging Chris's wrist a little.

"Fine," Chris says, like it's a major hardship.

The last thing Darren sees before he turns to drag Chris outside is the united front of Cory and Ashley. That he doesn't want to back down at all is a pretty good indication that he's been thinking about this for longer than he knew.

They skirt around the bouncers and the smokers and end up in the entrance to, of all things, a knitting store. Chris is standing in front of a sweater that even Rachel Berry wouldn't wear, and it's distracting for a second, but then Darren remembers why they're here.

"I wanted to kiss you," he says. "Not just tonight. It's just tonight--with the dancing. Chris, ugnh, when did you--I forgot that it might be a good idea to find out if you want to kiss me, too." Now he feels like a total dick. "I'm not a cocktease, but I'm not that guy, either." He waves a hand in the general direction of the club, not really sure what he's trying to indicate there, except that he's not an asshole who pushes himself on people.

"Why do you want to kiss me?" Chris asks. He's watching Darren's hands make unconscious shapes in the air between their bodies.

"Have you seen you?" Darren asks. He gets that Chris didn't have the easiest time in high school, but he owns a mirror.

"I know I sound like a girl, but I'm not a girl," Chris says.

Darren touches his hip again, echo of the way they were dancing. "I'm pretty clear you're not a girl." He says it softly, though it's hard, because when has he ever indicated he thought Chris was a girl?

"You're not gay, Darren." Chris pushes Darren's hand away.

"Wow," Darren says. "Okay." But he's not reenacting the frankly insane argument Kurt and Blaine had about sexuality. They can talk about this under less fraught circumstances. "Is this about you not wanting to kiss me or wanting to kiss me?"

"It's about not wanting to kiss you and then have you say, 'Sorry, but I don't suck dick.' Not that I-- Can we just--" Chris looks up at the ceiling of the alcove, resting his head against the window glass. "It's about being done having pathetic gay-boy crushes on unobtainable straight boys. I'm over that."

It's hearing that--not, after all, back when Cory looked at him like he'd grind his bones to dust--that Darren realizes he might be in over his head, and he maybe doesn't get Chris's life as much as he thought he did. The last thing he ever does is turn back from a challenge, though. "I'm not unobtainable, Chris."

That gets a flick of Chris's eyes, but then Darren loses him to the ceiling again. "I will totally suck your dick," he adds. And wow. He really means it.

Chris scoffs, but Darren's pretty sure that's a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth there. "I will suck you right here in front of that god-awful sweater, as long as you promise to watch out for cops. I'm pretty sure it wouldn't do our careers any favors if we got arrested on public indecency charges."

"You're not... doing that in the street," Chris says, and that is definitely a hint of smile.

"How about in your hotel room?" Darren takes the smile as an invitation to step a little closer.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves." Chris reaches out again and Darren thinks he's gone too far, but instead of pushing him away, his hands land on the small of Darren's back and pull.

Darren is going to ask if that means he can try kissing again, but apparently it does, because that would be Chris's hand sliding up between his shoulder blades, and Chris's lips right there where the words were going to be. It works much better this time, even without anyone to helpfully say, action first.

Chris doesn't kiss like Kurt. He's not as hesitant, and there's more tongue, but their lips fit together the same way, and he smells like Kurt, and Darren spends a few moments thinking about how it's weird to kiss someone for the first time when you've already kissed them like twelve different ways. But then Chris is tilting his hips so Darren's riding his thigh again, and his thumb is rubbing Darren's jaw, and Darren isn't thinking about anything except how he'd like to get closer.

They kiss for minutes, longer, slow and thorough, Chris's thumb on Darren's face grounding him, making him believe this is real; kiss while Darren wedges his hands between Chris's back and the window, up under his shirt, palms warming the glass-cooled skin of his back; kiss until a honking horn and burst of laughter from the club make them pull apart.

"Oh," Chris says, filled with wonder, and Darren wants to make him say it again.

"I really, really want to come back to your room with you," Darren whispers, forehead resting against Chris's cheek. "There are things, lots and lots of things we could do if you want to, but you need to have less of this." Darren fumbles at the hem of Chris's t-shirt and the belt loops on his jeans.

"Fewer love handles?"

Darren pinches him, hard, because Chris doesn't need to do that shit with him. And he hasn't got any love handles. "Fewer clothes. And stop deflecting. Tell me to fuck off, or tell me we're getting in a taxi."

"The others will wonder where we've gone."

"The others probably think we're already back at the hotel gettin' busy."

"You did not just say gettin' busy," Chris says.

"I totally didn't," Darren agrees. "That would just be embarrassing." Threading their fingers together, he pulls Chris back out into the street.

The trouble with getting in a taxi is their coats are checked inside. Darren holds out hope that they'll be able to grab them and head out without too much delay, but, of course, the whole gang is in line at the coat check already, and it only makes sense to leave together since they're all at the same hotel. On the plus side, Chris is smiling like the diva who won the Tony, and still holding Darren's hand, so no one is glowering and threatening to crush him like a bug. Darren also, somehow--the fates are surely finally smiling on him tonight--gets them in a cab with Chord and Harry, neither of whom is interested in asking any questions. Darren cannot actually imagine what it would have been like if Lea got her way and he'd ended up on a twenty-minute taxi ride with her and Dianna and Chris. "No one expects the Spanish Inquisition," he mutters, but Chris is siding with Harry in an argument with Chord about Fred Astaire and stereotypes, so no one hears him.

When the goodnights have been said, and the door shuts behind them, Darren realizes they're actually doing this. It isn't like the nights they've ended up in the others room to watch TV, or the times Darren's turned up on Chris's doorstep in LA with his guitar and a pizza and Amber in tow. This is an I can't stop thinking about you even when I have a hundred things to think about-I offered to blow you and I meant it-we just made out in a doorway night. Darren isn't actually sure how to navigate one of those.

"Do you want a drink?" Chris says into the silence.

Darren considers it, but he's pretty much sober, and he doesn't want Chris to have any reason to claim in the morning that Darren didn't mean what he's about to do here.

"Not from the mini bar," Darren says, and god, that is like the cheesiest line ever, but fuck it. Pushing Chris down on the bed, Darren goes to his knees, reaching for Chris's fly.

"What, woah, what?" Chris sputters, fingers tight on Darren's wrists. "Seriously, I was-- You don't have to do that to prove anything to me."

It sounds a lot more like panic than misguided reassurance to the straight boy, and Darren stops. He was seventeen the first time he got a blow job, and stoned out of his head, and the guy wasn't anyone he really cared about, just a friend of a friend who really liked giving head, and Darren was still scared he'd do something wrong, move too much or not enough-- and god, the second time, when he was sober and it was a girl he really liked, he'd been terrified. And Chris is-- Well. He's really hot and he's living in LA, so chances are slim he's a total virgin, but he's never talked about being with a guy in the time Darren's known him, so it's possible he hasn't really done this before.

"Okay, yeah," Darren says. "Not that I'm trying to prove-- Foreplay. Kissing. I really liked the kissing you part. And there's this lovely big bed here."

"It is a nice bed," Chris says, his fingers relaxing now that Darren has stopped pawing at his zipper.

"Do you want a drink?" Darren asks. A hotel room's a hotel room; he can play host if he wants to.

"I think I want you to kiss me again," Chris says, tugging at Darren's arms, trying to stand him up so he can get to his boots.

"Good idea." Darren sits at the desk, taking off his own shoes, and socks for good measure, but leaving on his shirt and jeans. Slow and steady wins the race. Not that Chris is a race. But if Darren plans on going slow, clothes will help.

"You coming?" Chris asks, and he still has his jeans on, but he's pulled off his t-shirt, and wow Darren's disappointed he missed that coming off, because he bets it looked good. Not that he's complaining about the view of Chris's arms and chest flexing as he pushes himself up the bed to prop against the pillows.

There are at least seventy-three songs appropriate for this moment, in that way where singing is not appropriate at all even if Chris is also into music. Telling his brain to give it a rest, Darren tugs on the hem of his shirt, asks, "Can I?"

"I hope you know how to take your own shirt off by now," Chris says, smirking, damn him.

So Darren sticks his tongue out and says, "May I?" instead.

"Oh my god, yes." Chris laughs. "Just get over here."

Darren goes.

It's awkward for a minute while they navigate who is going to be on top (not Darren, apparently) and how comfortable they feel after all without their shirts on (increasingly, it would seem), but then it's good. Really good. Hands roaming everywhere, finding it hard to breathe good.

"Can I-- May I, please?" Darren is so not above begging. "Please. I want to touch you." Chris is really hard and it has got to hurt, because those jeans aren't actually made of paint which would at least not be so constrictive, though most paint would probably split instead of stretching, and that would look weird, and what the fuck is his brain?

Chris just grinds against him and bites at his lips, and that's not a no, not even a little, but there is no way he's getting Chris out of those pants in this position, so he rolls them over, goes to his knees, and tries again for Chris's fly. This time when Chris's hands come down he's helping, easing the zipper over his erection, peeling the denim off his hips, letting Darren take over when he's got them to his thighs.

"You too," he says while Darren's still working them off over Chris's calves. Darren is not arguing.

His jeans, being about ten times looser, come off in seconds, and he takes advantage of the fact that Chris is still lying on his back to look at what he's getting and run his hands up the insides of Chris's thighs. "Hi," Chris says, and Darren's overwhelmed with feeling lucky.

"Hi," he returns, letting his fingers flirt with the legholes of Chris's boxer briefs before skipping up to stroke his stomach, his ribs, his pecs and shoulders and down his arms. He's heard Chris talk about going to the gym, but neither his nor Kurt's clothes show off how dedicated he must be. "Kurt wears way too many layers," he points out.

"Hopefully I'd be less convincing as a high school student without my shirt on," Chris says. His cheeks and chest are flushed a delicate pink, and Darren wonders if it's from his hands or the turn in the conversation.

"You're playing opposite Cory and Mark," Darren says. "You're always going to be more convincing than them."

Chris smiles, shivering a little as Darren traces the line of his biceps up toward his armpits. "Kurt likes his layers."

"I like your layers," Darren says, brushing a finger from Chris's forehead to his lips, and it's so cheesy, and he doesn't care.

Especially not when Chris laughs and rolls his eyes a little, but grabs Darren by the neck and starts kissing him again. Kissing Chris against a window is awesome. Kissing him lying down with shirts off is amazing. Kissing him in nothing but their briefs, legs tangled together, hands thwarted only by how close they're pressed makes him crazy.

When Darren realizes that he's actually hurting himself trying to rub against Chris's hipbone, and probably hurting Chris with how hard he's gripping his waist, he forces himself to stop, pull back a little, catch his breath. "Tell me what you like," he says once his mouth feels like it's working again. "Tell me how to touch you."

Chris waves a hand, an oddly airy gesture under the circumstances, but one that's so him it makes Darren smile.

"I would ask you to show me, but I don't actually want to wait anymore. Don't make me wait anymore?" Darren doesn't start pawing at Chris's underwear, but it's a close thing.

"You're like a puppy," Chris says, but he's smiling, and he's hooking his thumbs under the waistband of his briefs, and it's not exactly the first time Darren's been compared to a puppy, so Darren just swoops down to kiss him again.

That hampers the whole underwear-coming-off thing, but only a little, and it's worth it, anyway. Darren gets to trace Chris's smile with his tongue, cup his junk through cotton before it peels away, leaving his dick hard and hot and bare, amazing contrast. Darren rubs experimentally, getting a feel for the size and shape and weight of it in his hand, and Chris arches up into his touch.

"Yeah?" Darren says, and Chris nods, but he takes Darren's wrist and pulls his hand away.

Darren's gonna protest, but Chris pulls it up, toward their faces, says, "Wet. I like it-- Can I?" and then he's licking Darren's palm, tongue hot and slippery between Darren's fingers, and Darren hopes so much that Chris likes to give head as well as get it.

Something comes out of Darren's mouth that Chris obviously (and correctly) takes as an affirmative, because he sucks Darren's thumb and then his forefinger, licks again across the heel of his hand, and then pushes it back down, glancing shyly at Darren through his lashes.

"Coy is a good look on you," Darren says, though coy is incongruous with the licking and the putting Darren's hand on his dick, and forward is also a good look. "Forward is also a good look on you," Darren adds, in case Chris is getting any ideas about playing hard(er) to get.

"I look good, I get it," Chris says, that little self-deprecating laugh of his around the edges, so Darren corrects him.

"You look great."

"I--"

But Darren is putting his spit-slicked hand to use now, and it proves an effective way of shutting Chris up.

He'd love to be kissing still, but watching Chris's face is even more tempting, and Darren can't bear to stop. Darren's always been good with his hands, and he's a fast learner, and even if Chris is too shy to put into words what he likes, it's not hard to read his face, or the flush making its way down his chest, the way his breath hitches and his hips shift. Darren wants to be good at this, wants this to be good for Chris, because he already wants to do it again.

He thinks Chris must be getting close when the hand he has on Darren's back starts clenching, and his other hand comes up to rub at his hip the way he'd been doing on the dance floor, and then Chris starts babbling, oh and please and sounds that Darren takes to mean yes, don't stop, and as hot as Chris looked on the dance floor it's nothing compared to how gorgeous he looks like this, cheeks pink, eyes wide, staring at Darren's face like he can't really believe this is happening.

"Amazing," Darren says, returning his gaze. "Amazing," and Chris's arms start to shake, his legs go stiff, and he's coming, pretty much everywhere, because Darren didn't think to catch it or try to aim for anything more easily cleaned than the sheets.

"Wow, that was--" Chris says, wiping a dribble of jizz off his chin with two fingers. "I'll try to give you more warning next time?"

"Next time maybe I'll swallow." Next time is Darren's new favorite phrase.

"That's it? One hand job and then it's blow jobs from here on out? Because I protest that. I happen to like your hands." With a faint look of amused distaste, Chris takes Darren by the wrist, wipes his hand on the sheet, and then laces their fingers together. "You have really good hands. All those instruments you play."

Darren catches Chris's eye and laughs. "That was a double entendre," he says, delighted.

"All this and brains too." With their clasped hands, Chris waves in the general direction of Darren's torso.

"Speaking of this," Darren says. He pulls Chris's hand down to the rather insistent bulge in his boxers. "You don't have to, but do you mind if I do? That was--um--I really enjoyed that."

"I know Blaine has to have all the solos, but if you think you're getting the solo on this one, you're crazy." Chris manages to push Darren onto his back, roll half on top of him and get a hand in his boxers in one smooth movement.

"I just didn't--"

"Darren. I'm gay, I'm twenty-one, and I work like sixty-five hours a week. I am not passing up the opportunity to get my hands on you, okay?"

"Do I detect a hint of desperation?" Darren says before his brain can pass the shut up and let this hot guy touch your dick message onto his mouth. Cleverly though, his mouth decides to kiss Chris, rendering all further words both unnecessary and impossible. Chris seems like he is going to try to answer anyway, but Darren buries both hands in his hair and holds on until Chris kisses back. Which takes all of about 2.3 seconds, Darren's pleased to note.

On the minus side, that distracts Chris momentarily from getting Darren's underwear down over his hips. On the plus side, the kissing is really hot, and it brings Darren back to the so-nearly-there place he'd gotten to watching Chris come. He whimpers into Chris's mouth, tries to wriggle out of his boxers without his hands, and finally gives up, letting go of Chris to get them off.

"Do I detect a hint of desperation?" Chris says, helping again once he realizes what's happening.

"You detect a lot of desperation." Since he started it, Darren figures it's his job to give Chris the satisfaction.

And Chris does look satisfied. Though Darren hopes a little of that is because he's finally got his hand around Darren's dick.

It would be awesome if Darren could say that Chris gives amazing and nuanced hand jobs, but that assessment is going to have to take place at some future date (or future hour, Darren would be okay with that, too) when he gets to experience more than forty-five seconds of Chris's talents.

"You weren't kidding about that desperation, were you?" Chris sounds dry as toast, but his eyes are sparkling and his mouth is losing the fight with his smile.

"Next time," Darren says, and yep, still sounds awesome, "I will be so much less desperate."

"That sounds like a challenge." Chris looks up for the challenge.

"Especially if next time is--" Darren peers over Chris's shoulder at the clock-- "in say, half an hour?"

Chris shakes his head, but that smile is still quirking his lips. "What shall we do in the meantime?"

Darren looks at Chris sprawled half on top of him, pretends to consider his options. "We could always dance," he says.