(no subject)
Media Fanfiction (RPF)
Title Pink And Black (the promised companion piece to Shades of Grey)
Author glycerineclown
Rating PG-13
Summary Deciding Darren Criss is off-limits has been one of the most grueling experiences of my young life. Chris Colfer's POV.
Word Count 1,301
Spoilers None
Disclaimer Don’t own Darren, Chris, Glee, or anything really. You’d know if I did.
We’re standing comfortably close in Kurt’s basement, watching each other, and I’m just enough taller than Darren for it to be kind of funny. A short laugh falls from his mouth before he pulls himself together.
“You ready?” I ask, tugging on the crimson scarf he’s wearing.
“Are you?” he counters.
Darren’s not in uniform; Blaine and Kurt just went ice skating and they’ve come inside to... warm up.
Action.
After he removes his gloves, the camera follows Darren’s fingers up the lapel of Kurt’s wool peacoat and down the sleeve to take my hand in his.
“I’d like to go home knowing this was a date, Kurt,” he says as our eyes meet.
I smile at him crookedly, lifting my other hand to the side of his neck. “Would you, now?”
“Yeah,” he snickers, his tongue poking out a little.
“Well let’s see here. Have you behaved this evening in a manner befitting of a gentleman?”
Darren bites his lip, before ducking his head to press a lingering kiss against my palm. “That is for you to decide.”
Every time I learn something new about Darren Criss, I think he’s got a vendetta against me.
He’s so carefree, but passionate at the same time. He doesn’t hide a thing, he does exactly what he feels like doing. It makes him magnetic, draws people to him-but if I did that... it would have made me dead long ago, probably.
If Darren wasn’t so incredibly attractive, I’d think it was awesome that someone could grow up doing San Francisco theatre, write musicals, be so fiercely supportive of gay rights, wear pink sunglasses everywhere and use words like fabulous-and still be straight.
But he is incredibly attractive, and very comfortable with his sexuality, which makes my life difficult.
Deciding Darren Criss is off-limits has been one of the most grueling experiences of my young life. (That’s probably not true, but I don’t give a shit.)
The pounding footsteps barely register before the wind’s been knocked out of me, and I’m being folded in half over someone’s shoulder and carried across the room. The sneakers look familiar.
“Darren, this damn well better be your ass,” I wheeze, grabbing a handful, and I hear his laugh as he spins me around, hugging my thighs.
“Congratulations are in order!” he says as he puts me down and pulls me into a big, staggering hug. “Screen Actors Motherfucking Guild, Chris!”
I laugh against his neck, nodding, and he takes me by the shoulders, looking directly into my eyes. “This is like, the best thing ever. Seriously, Chris. Oh my god.”
Thanking him, I run my hand up his forearm and feel my cheeks turn pink.
“You deserve it, man. You really do.”
“I’m going to need a countertenor for this next song,” he says, grinning out at the crowd, and I can feel the blood drain from my face. “And since it’s non-denominational and we never get snow here anyway, I don’t give a fuck that Christmas has passed already.”
Darren backs up a few steps, guitar in hand, looking around the curtain at me, sitting backstage. He beckons with his finger, and I shake my head, eyes bugging out.
Yes, he mouths. When I shake my head again, Darren grins evilly, going back to the mic. “Everyone who thinks Chris Colfer needs to get his ass out here and sing with me-”
He doesn’t even finish the sentence, because the crowd has fucking exploded.
“C’mon Chris, we all love you.”
When I step around the curtain, he’s grabbing a second microphone stand and waving me over to the piano.
“I’m going to make a fool of myself tonight,” I tell Dianna, peering across the bar at Darren, who’s getting himself another drink.
“No, you won’t,” she says, swatting my shoulder. We both watch as he lifts his new Stella Artois to his lips, the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Dear god.”
Before Darren can return to our table, a tall, sturdy man approaches him, licking his lips, and I fight the urge to hide my eyes, because I have to see Darren’s reaction. He’s chuckling as the guy speaks to him, blushing a little, shaking his head, and then his eyes flash to mine.
The man puts his hand on the counter Darren’s leaning against, and I see him shrink away, no longer laughing, shaking his head again, his bottle against his chest.
“Go save him,” she hisses. “He should know better than to go off by himself in a gay bar if he doesn’t want to get picked up.”
Downing a large gulp of her Mojito, I step out of our booth, making as much of a beeline to him as I can through the people and tables. Darren sees me coming, and the relief is evident in his face.
Sliding a hand around the small of Darren’s back, I raise my eyebrows at the guy talking to him. “Problem, boys?”
He backs up immediately. “Hey, you didn’t say...”
Darren just nods, steering us away, and he sighs heavily into my hair. “Thank you. I couldn’t get my fucking feet to move.”
He leaves his soft blue Dalton sweatshirt at my apartment after a Toy Story Trilogy marathon, and I pull it on over my head shamelessly, inhaling the way he smells. I only leave it on for a few minutes though, before taking it off again and folding it with care.
Lea giggles when I hand it to him between our trailers at the lot the next morning.
“Oh, shut up,” I snap at her, but Darren just smiles, pecking my hair wordlessly as he takes the article from me, and tosses it through the door of his trailer before getting called over by our costume designer.
I’m left standing there until I realize my mouth is hanging open.
“Are you sure he’s not gay?” Lea asks me quietly as she pours more coffee for herself at the Craft Services table a few minutes later.
“Metrosexual,” Darren interrupts from behind her, before biting into a sugar cookie.
She looks mortified, very nearly spilling coffee everywhere.
“Just like Ken,” he smirks, sending me a knowing smile.
It’s so unfair. Aside from his sexual preference we’re entirely compatible.
He geeks with me about The Sound of Music, for fuck’s sake, and has a naïve sort of confidence that makes him seem invincible.
I almost want to say, hey, I really love that you’re so comfortable around me, because not many guys are, but could you please take into consideration my fragile teenage inability to turn off my dick in your presence.
No, no. That wouldn’t be awkward at all. Although I’ve never been even remotely interested in anyone as entirely handsy as Darren.
He’d probably stop touching me altogether, which would be no good, because he’s a fucking cuddlybear sweetheart and we would both feel bad about it.
But sometimes he smiles at me so warmly and it’s all I can do to not melt against him.
“Listen to you, so careful and nervous. If you want to be my boyfriend, Blaine, all you have to do is ask.”
Darren’s mouth drops open a little bit, and then he smiles, squeezing my hand. “Okay. Wanna be my boyfriend?”
“Is a forty-pound canary large?”
He shakes his head in apparent confusion. “What?”
“It means yes, dummy.” While he’s busy grinning like a stupid, I pull him toward me by the neck, leaning down slightly to press our foreheads together. “Flustered is adorable on you.”
And then some member of the crew posing as Burt Hummel knocks on the basement door to announce his presence, ruining the moment.
We separate, rather crestfallen, but with a look of promise.
Title Pink And Black (the promised companion piece to Shades of Grey)
Author glycerineclown
Rating PG-13
Summary Deciding Darren Criss is off-limits has been one of the most grueling experiences of my young life. Chris Colfer's POV.
Word Count 1,301
Spoilers None
Disclaimer Don’t own Darren, Chris, Glee, or anything really. You’d know if I did.
We’re standing comfortably close in Kurt’s basement, watching each other, and I’m just enough taller than Darren for it to be kind of funny. A short laugh falls from his mouth before he pulls himself together.
“You ready?” I ask, tugging on the crimson scarf he’s wearing.
“Are you?” he counters.
Darren’s not in uniform; Blaine and Kurt just went ice skating and they’ve come inside to... warm up.
Action.
After he removes his gloves, the camera follows Darren’s fingers up the lapel of Kurt’s wool peacoat and down the sleeve to take my hand in his.
“I’d like to go home knowing this was a date, Kurt,” he says as our eyes meet.
I smile at him crookedly, lifting my other hand to the side of his neck. “Would you, now?”
“Yeah,” he snickers, his tongue poking out a little.
“Well let’s see here. Have you behaved this evening in a manner befitting of a gentleman?”
Darren bites his lip, before ducking his head to press a lingering kiss against my palm. “That is for you to decide.”
Every time I learn something new about Darren Criss, I think he’s got a vendetta against me.
He’s so carefree, but passionate at the same time. He doesn’t hide a thing, he does exactly what he feels like doing. It makes him magnetic, draws people to him-but if I did that... it would have made me dead long ago, probably.
If Darren wasn’t so incredibly attractive, I’d think it was awesome that someone could grow up doing San Francisco theatre, write musicals, be so fiercely supportive of gay rights, wear pink sunglasses everywhere and use words like fabulous-and still be straight.
But he is incredibly attractive, and very comfortable with his sexuality, which makes my life difficult.
Deciding Darren Criss is off-limits has been one of the most grueling experiences of my young life. (That’s probably not true, but I don’t give a shit.)
The pounding footsteps barely register before the wind’s been knocked out of me, and I’m being folded in half over someone’s shoulder and carried across the room. The sneakers look familiar.
“Darren, this damn well better be your ass,” I wheeze, grabbing a handful, and I hear his laugh as he spins me around, hugging my thighs.
“Congratulations are in order!” he says as he puts me down and pulls me into a big, staggering hug. “Screen Actors Motherfucking Guild, Chris!”
I laugh against his neck, nodding, and he takes me by the shoulders, looking directly into my eyes. “This is like, the best thing ever. Seriously, Chris. Oh my god.”
Thanking him, I run my hand up his forearm and feel my cheeks turn pink.
“You deserve it, man. You really do.”
“I’m going to need a countertenor for this next song,” he says, grinning out at the crowd, and I can feel the blood drain from my face. “And since it’s non-denominational and we never get snow here anyway, I don’t give a fuck that Christmas has passed already.”
Darren backs up a few steps, guitar in hand, looking around the curtain at me, sitting backstage. He beckons with his finger, and I shake my head, eyes bugging out.
Yes, he mouths. When I shake my head again, Darren grins evilly, going back to the mic. “Everyone who thinks Chris Colfer needs to get his ass out here and sing with me-”
He doesn’t even finish the sentence, because the crowd has fucking exploded.
“C’mon Chris, we all love you.”
When I step around the curtain, he’s grabbing a second microphone stand and waving me over to the piano.
“I’m going to make a fool of myself tonight,” I tell Dianna, peering across the bar at Darren, who’s getting himself another drink.
“No, you won’t,” she says, swatting my shoulder. We both watch as he lifts his new Stella Artois to his lips, the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Dear god.”
Before Darren can return to our table, a tall, sturdy man approaches him, licking his lips, and I fight the urge to hide my eyes, because I have to see Darren’s reaction. He’s chuckling as the guy speaks to him, blushing a little, shaking his head, and then his eyes flash to mine.
The man puts his hand on the counter Darren’s leaning against, and I see him shrink away, no longer laughing, shaking his head again, his bottle against his chest.
“Go save him,” she hisses. “He should know better than to go off by himself in a gay bar if he doesn’t want to get picked up.”
Downing a large gulp of her Mojito, I step out of our booth, making as much of a beeline to him as I can through the people and tables. Darren sees me coming, and the relief is evident in his face.
Sliding a hand around the small of Darren’s back, I raise my eyebrows at the guy talking to him. “Problem, boys?”
He backs up immediately. “Hey, you didn’t say...”
Darren just nods, steering us away, and he sighs heavily into my hair. “Thank you. I couldn’t get my fucking feet to move.”
He leaves his soft blue Dalton sweatshirt at my apartment after a Toy Story Trilogy marathon, and I pull it on over my head shamelessly, inhaling the way he smells. I only leave it on for a few minutes though, before taking it off again and folding it with care.
Lea giggles when I hand it to him between our trailers at the lot the next morning.
“Oh, shut up,” I snap at her, but Darren just smiles, pecking my hair wordlessly as he takes the article from me, and tosses it through the door of his trailer before getting called over by our costume designer.
I’m left standing there until I realize my mouth is hanging open.
“Are you sure he’s not gay?” Lea asks me quietly as she pours more coffee for herself at the Craft Services table a few minutes later.
“Metrosexual,” Darren interrupts from behind her, before biting into a sugar cookie.
She looks mortified, very nearly spilling coffee everywhere.
“Just like Ken,” he smirks, sending me a knowing smile.
It’s so unfair. Aside from his sexual preference we’re entirely compatible.
He geeks with me about The Sound of Music, for fuck’s sake, and has a naïve sort of confidence that makes him seem invincible.
I almost want to say, hey, I really love that you’re so comfortable around me, because not many guys are, but could you please take into consideration my fragile teenage inability to turn off my dick in your presence.
No, no. That wouldn’t be awkward at all. Although I’ve never been even remotely interested in anyone as entirely handsy as Darren.
He’d probably stop touching me altogether, which would be no good, because he’s a fucking cuddlybear sweetheart and we would both feel bad about it.
But sometimes he smiles at me so warmly and it’s all I can do to not melt against him.
“Listen to you, so careful and nervous. If you want to be my boyfriend, Blaine, all you have to do is ask.”
Darren’s mouth drops open a little bit, and then he smiles, squeezing my hand. “Okay. Wanna be my boyfriend?”
“Is a forty-pound canary large?”
He shakes his head in apparent confusion. “What?”
“It means yes, dummy.” While he’s busy grinning like a stupid, I pull him toward me by the neck, leaning down slightly to press our foreheads together. “Flustered is adorable on you.”
And then some member of the crew posing as Burt Hummel knocks on the basement door to announce his presence, ruining the moment.
We separate, rather crestfallen, but with a look of promise.