#cornleyverse

If it were possible to become intoxicated from kisses, Chris was sure he found the way. His lips tingled as they met Trevor’s again, sending a pleasant lightning-shiver down his body. If any noises escaped Chris’s throat, that was only for himself and Trevor to know.

It was surprising that this only started a mere few minutes ago, just after the company came back in from their final stagedoor of The Mousetrap. (How Cornley managed to put it on was a miracle, if miracles also involved their usual streak of bad luck.)

Emotions were running high, and Chris was not about to use the last of his adrenaline to go home and prepare for the next play—no, he intended on giving a rousing speech about the importance of live theatre.

He was the first one back in the building, placing a sign on every dressing room door to instruct his fellow actors to the stage.

Chris was buzzing. His legs subconsciously led him to the dark corridor between the stage and the workshop. When he recognised where he was, Chris stopped.

“Chris?” A voice called out. Chris snapped to its source. Trevor was walking over, his brows a bit furrowed and lips lightly pressed into a line. A rush of something hit Chris. His brain helpfully recalled subtle slips of props into his hands throughout the show.

“Trevor.” Chris breathed. He was much more winded than he felt. Trevor flashed him a crooked smile, and his eyes wrinkled in a way that squeezed the director’s heart.

“Y’were brilliant out there, mate.” Trevor let his smile fall, just to emphasise his sincerity, before the corners of his mouth twitched back up again.

Trevor’s hands had found their way to Chris’s forearms, and were squeezing them gently. Chris swallowed, his mind halfway between giddiness and that something else he couldn’t place.

“Thank you for... everything. The-the props. I... thank you.”

“Chris...” Trevor whispered.

“Yes, Trevor?”

“You’re brilliant.” Trevor sucked in a breath, pausing to get his thoughts right. His face was in that telltale knit. “You’re so fucking—you’re bloody amazing, I—I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to say, ‘cause you piss me the fuck off sometimes, but I just—I couldn’t forget to say it to you after tonight.”

Chris’s heart skipped a beat. Affection. That was the something. Chris didn’t know what kind of face he was making, but Trevor smiled shyly back.

The two leaned in closer, when Trevor caught Chris’s lips in his own, sending a shiver down the latter’s spine.

The kiss ended as quickly as it started. Trevor pulled away, hesitantly, eyes full of worry. Stormy blue met olive green. Chris looked at his stage manager in wonder. Trevor started to back out, loosening his grip on Chris’s forearms.

“S-sorry, I—ff—I...”

But Chris was faster, clasping their hands together and crashing back into Trevor, determined to portray his rapidly bursting feelings.

‘Don’t apologise. I love you. Thank you for everything. Thank you. Thank you. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thine eyes.’

Every new sensation was exhilarating. Chris’s hands wandered, one gently pulling Trevor in by the waist, and the other burying itself in the stage manager’s hair. Trevor hummed contentedly, his own hands cupping the director’s face and rubbing a thumb in a soothing gesture.

Chris became putty in Trevor’s hands, leaning in as much as his back and Trevor allowed. The pair stayed like that, kissing for so long Chris thought his lungs would simply give up.

To Chris’s disappointment, Trevor pulled away again. Chris almost whined in protest, but caught himself. Trevor gave the director a lopsided smile, petting his cheek.

“’Right, come back to me, Chris.” He pulled his hands away from Chris’s face, maneuvering him into a hug and patting his back.

Chris was a little grumpy from being pulled away, but slowly, his slightly foggy brain cleared, and he hugged Trevor back tightly. What a warm and comfortable place to be! Chris ignored the nagging voice reminding him he had something to do.

“Chris. I heard someone call you. I think everyone’s on stage, waitin’.”

“Mmfph.” The director replied. He felt Trevor smile and chuckle.

“Come on, y’lump. Y’wanted to do a big speech, I bet. Don’t keep t’rest of your actors ‘ntil midnight.” Trevor gave Chris’s back a few more pats, until the director straightened up, taking a deep breath before putting on his stoutly face. “I’ll walk you.”