#dcc fic

You had been in worse situations in the dungeon. Hell, you had almost gotten yourself incinerated by another crawler's spell a few hours earlier. You tried to remind yourself of this while staring at the totem blocking the only exit out of the bombed-out hotel lobby you'd both ended up in.

Solo crawling had always been your choice, not an accident of circumstance. You entered the dungeon alone and you intended to leave it the same way. You had watched enough group dynamics collapse in on themselves—alliances that curdled into betrayal, dead weight that got people killed, endless arguments over loot that made you want to rip your own ears off.

You worked faster and thought clearer alone.

The fight on this floor had been a mess from the start. A territorial skirmish between two factions of mobs had spilled into the streets of Havana you were cutting through. Keep moving, you told yourself as you ran. You used the chaos as cover, swinging your sword as you picked off stragglers at the edges of the fight. It had been working, too, right up until a crawler you didn't recognize (holy shit, was that a nun?) had lobbed a spell wide and nearly taken your head off along with half a city block. After that, the fight scattered, and you had maybe a split second to make a decision about which way to run.

You had seen the totem run in the midst of the fight. You sprinted after him without a second thought.

Alpha Male Carl. Level 69.

Nice.

He was leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. The resemblance was uncanny. He had Carl's face. Carl's shoulders. Carl's everything, technically, except the hair (this one wore it gelled back). Star-patterned boxers. The patch jacket with its two buttons—#1 Son and Brother of the Century—you had no idea what those were about.

You had met Donut, Carl, and Mongo in Havana. You knew who they were before that; how could you not, when their faces were plastered on every recap and at the top of the leaderboard? You crawled alone, but Carl had insisted you at least add them to your chat.

But something was different about this version of Carl.

He was sexy. Like a beefed up, frat guy kinda sexy. The kind of man who would text you at 3 AM "u up?" and then ignore you the next day. You had dealt with a few of these specimens during your college years. Really, the cream of the crop of the male species.

His tan skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat. His biceps popped with his arms crossed like that. The muscles in his thick thighs rippled under the heat, and you thought his abs were literally glistening. Had he oiled them?

"You gonna keep staring," he said, teeth sparkling white, "or are you going to tell me what your plan is to get us out of here?"

His voice was wrong. Not bad wrong. Just… not Carl's. Older. More certain of itself. Hotter.

"My plan," you answered, emphasis on MY, "is to wait out the skirmish and then leave. You're welcome to do the same." You gestured at him and the cat on his shoulder.

"Uh huh." His eyes lit up mischievously. "That your plan every time you run into trouble? Just run away and wait for it to fix itself?"

"Excuse me? It's worked so far."

"It's kinda cowardly, don't you think?" he said. "That's not the same thing as working."

You opened your mouth in shock.

His smile widened. It was Carl's smile, but with something underneath it that Carl didn't have. Cockier. Even his teeth looked fake, like the freakish veneers trending amongst celebrities on the surface.

"Solo crawler." You realized he recognized you. "Are you just that stupid to think that's a good idea in a place like this?"

"That's an extremely rude thing to say to someone you just met."

"I didn't just meet you. You've been running into my group on this floor." He tilted his head. "I know who you are."

"Your group?" You scoffed.

"You heard me. You think I'm an idiot?"

"They've… talked about me?"

"I heard that cat mention you." Something in his expression shifted as he noticed the momentary hope that flashed through your eyes. "Don't read into it." He snuffed whatever hope you had felt quickly.

Your jaw tightened. "I wasn't."

"Yes you were." He pushed off the doorframe and took one step towards you. "You do that a lot, I'm guessing. Must be exhausting."

"You're kind of a dick," you said.

"Yeah," he agreed. "My personality going to be a problem for you?"

The battle outside shifted. Something large moved through the street, shaking dust from the ceiling. Neither of you looked up.

"It's not going to be a problem," you said. "I'm just pointing it out."

"Uh huh." He took another step. "You know what I think?"

"I genuinely don't care."

"I think," he continued, ignoring you entirely, "that you ran toward this building on purpose. When the fight split. You had other options and you picked this one." He paused. "You want to tell me why that is?"

Your mouth fell open.

His smile widened.

"There it is," he sneered.

"That's—" you started. "Are you trying to say I followed you?" Your jaw went slack.

"Don't." His voice dropped. "Don't explain it. It's fine. It's actually—" he tilted his head, looking at you, "—kind of cute. In a pathetic way."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. You saw my hot bod and followed it like a moth to a flame."

You stared at him, and he stared back. King Croissant, on his shoulder, seemed to judge you with his cat eyes.

"You're a totem," you said. "You're literally a card. You don't get to—"

"To what?" He raised an eyebrow. "To say what I want?" Another step. Close now. Close enough that you had to make a decision about where to look. Your eyes went to the floor. "You were fine with me being a totem thirty seconds ago. Try again."

You didn't have a reply. This was starting to be really annoying.

"There you go," he said, quieter. "Just stop."

"Stop what."

"Performing." He said it simply, without cruelty. "You've been doing it since you walked in here. The attitude, the—" he gestured at you, vaguely, "—all of this. It's fine. It's a good show. But we're alone and the fight's outside and you already made your choice when you came through that door, so." He looked at you. "Stop."

The building settled. Outside, something exploded, far off.

You held his gaze.

"You're insufferable," you said.

"I know." He reached out and tilted your chin up with two fingers. "That working for you or against you right now?"

At that moment, an explosion rocked the building and sealed you, Alpha Carl, and his stupid cat in.

When the dust settled, the building was quiet. Outside, the battle had moved on. King Croissant had jumped to a piece of rubble and was cleaning his paws.

When the ringing in your ears stopped, you became aware of a giant mass on top of you.

"Get off of me!" The man complied.

You pushed yourself off the floor and sat against the wall, panting. Eyes wide, hand on your chest. Your chat notification binged.

Alpha Carl was leaning against the opposite wall, back to his doorframe posture.

"No 'thank you' after saving your life?" he asked.

"You nearly crushed me. How much do you weigh?!"

"200 pounds of pure muscle, baby." He flexed his bicep and kissed it.

You stood up and rushed towards the blocked entryway. "Oh, fuck." You tried to claw at the big concrete slabs, but your class didn't make you strong enough to move these on your own.

Your eyes welled with tears. "I'm going to die here."

Carl: Hey, you good?

Donut: ARE YOU OKAY THAT WAS QUITE THE EXPLOSION

You: Trapped in the apartment building! Ears hurt a little, but I'm fine.

You: Well I'm actually stuck with the stupid Alpha version of you.

Carl: Yikes. We're going to finish out this boss, then come dig you out. Hang tight.

"Calling for help, sweetheart?" he called from across the room. "I recognize that glossy look when a crawler is on their chat."

"I'm trying to do something about the situation. Why don't you put those muscles to good use and help move the rubble?"

"No can do, sweetheart. I think I'll just sit right over here and enjoy the shade." He dropped into a chair, leaned back, and sighed loudly.

"Are you serious? You're really just going to sit there?"

"Dead serious. Get on it, woman."

You spent the next hour trying to move debris around, to no avail. Your spells were weak, and you specialized in sword combat—useless here. Alpha Carl spent that hour watching and taunting you as you failed to shift anything.

You sat yourself on the floor and rubbed your eyes, fighting back tears. You were still catching your breath when he spoke.

"Didn't peg you for a crybaby."

"Leave me alone." Your voice came out smaller than you wanted. "I'm going to go insane being stuck here with you."

"I'll be in my corner if you get lonely, sweetheart."

You glared at him. His eyes lit up—he'd gotten to you, and he knew it.

— ♡ —

The heat was insufferable inside the lobby. Light seeped through cracks in the foundation, casting a yellowish glow over the dust that had settled across whatever furniture remained. You had stripped down to your bra and underwear, not caring that either of them could see you.

You'd been lying on the tile for hours, the cool temperature offering some reprieve from the sweltering heat.

On the opposite side of the room, Alpha Carl was in a similar situation. Except he had stripped himself completely—including his gauntlet and other equipment. This man had the gall to get bare ass naked in front of you. You had yelped when you saw his soft dick, but all he did was smirk at your shock. He had kept to himself, mostly, occasionally yelling at King Croissant. 

The cat had eventually slipped into an air vent to get himself away from his annoying owner.

You kept your eyes off his body. This guy was being such an ass, but holy fuck was he hot. He looked like a cartoony version of a man. His abs still glistened in the dim light, and you thought you counted eight of them total. His muscles bulged when he paced in his corner. The more you thought of him, the deeper the heat between your legs grew. Christ, you thought. The tile was not cooling your desires.

You closed your eyes and tried to get your mind off him.

Alpha Carl cleared his throat. "I've decided that I want to ask you to have sex with me." The deep voice cut through the silence.

You turned your head to look at him, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. The question sank in and you started dying of laughter. "Are you being serious!?"

His eyes narrowed and he growled his response. "We've been stuck here for hours. What the fuck else are we supposed to do?"

You rolled your eyes. "How about you stay in that corner, and I stay in mine? You know, like normal people in a dire situation?"

His smirk widened. "But that would mean that I ignore that you were totally checking me out earlier. You think I'm blind, sweetheart?" His tone turned darker as you felt his gaze on your body. 

You froze. Your cheeks burned pink.

"I wasn't—I wasn't staring." Your voice was quivering. Lies. 

He laughed, and your stomach sank as you realized he was laughing at you. "I saw you ogle me. You think I'm stupid enough to notice when a chick stares at my dick?"

Your cheeks flushed a bright red. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

His eyes took on a predatory look. "Listen, sweetheart, we can both walk away from this with a good fuck. You in?"

"I wasn't staring at you!" But your quivering voice gave you away, and the slick pooling in your underwear was not helping your case.

A beat passed before he spoke. "Are you lying to me?" His voice dropped. "Don't be a bad girl. Tell daddy the truth."

Your head whipped towards him. He was standing in a power stance. You had never called a guy daddy, but my god was it doing something to you now. You sat yourself up on your knees.

"I'm lying." Your voice came out quiet. 

You could cut the tension with a knife.

"I can't hear you, sweetheart."

You swallowed before speaking up. "I said I'm lying."

"I'm lying, what?" He smirked at your quivering voice. 

"I'm sorry I lied, daddy." 

"Good girl. Come suck my dick." His erection caught your eye from across the room, and your mouth started salivating. You went to stand up, and he yelled stop.

"I want you to crawl."

You gawked at him, but something in your mind made you want to comply. So, crawl you did. You crawled across the cool tile, hissing when you'd crawl on rubble or other shards of material. This was humiliating, but then why was it turning you on so much.

The closer you got, the sooner you realized what you were getting into. A small patch of light, curly brown hair countered his cock. You internally gasped as you took in his size—eight inches, at least, and girthy. A light splattering of freckles decorated his erection. His circumcised tip leaked with a bead of precum. The word pretty ran through your mind, but you didn't dare say that out loud.

You reached him after a couple agonizing seconds, grasping a hand at his cock. Your brain started slipping into some sort of haze as your senses honed in on him. You knew you wanted this. 

He lightly slapped your hand away. "Did I say you could start?" 

"No, daddy." The answer came out immediately. 

"Good girl. Begin." You knew he was testing your boundaries. He had just humiliated you, and you had let him—you hadliked it. Fuck it, you thought, ready to lose yourself in whatever the hell this was.

You took him in your mouth, and he hissed as he felt your tongue circle his leaking tip. You took your time, running your tongue up and down his shaft, alternating between licks and kisses, trying to get as much spit on him as possible. Your hands wrapped around his girthy member, your two hands not even coming close to enveloping it. You closed your eyes as you moved your hands up and down, the spit lubricating your hands. At the same time, your tongue licked his tip.

You dropped your hands and took him back in your mouth. He cursed into the air.

"You're such a filthy whore. Do you just suck any dude's cock who asks?" He taunted as you gagged on his length. You tried to object to his question but he pushed the back of your head onto him, your nose tickling on his pubic hair. You hit his thigh as you choked, tears gathering in your eyes. He released you, and you gagged as you caught your breath.

"You're such a dirty girl." He took your messy state in. "Open up," he commanded, and you scrambled to open your mouth as he pressed his tip to your lips. 

Confused when you felt him pull his dick away from your mouth, you realized what he was doing. You closed your eyes as he leaned towards your open mouth and spat in it. You felt your core slick even more, moaning as you swallowed. He nudged for you to take his cock back in your mouth.

Alpha Carl moaned into the air. "Oh, fuck yeah." You whined when you heard the sounds coming out of his mouth.

He grabbed your hair from the back of your scalp and started fucking your mouth at a fast pace. Your hands went to his thighs, and you tried relaxing your throat to take him all. 

"Your mouth is only good for this. Swallow." 

His thrusts faltered as he came in your mouth, and you swallowed as you felt his cum hit the back of your throat. You let his cock fall out of your mouth with a pop, wiping your watery eyes. He stared at you intensely. 

"What a slut. You're not as useless as you seem—why don't you come ride this cock?" He sat himself by a wall.

You stood up and took your underwear and bra off under the scrutiny of his gaze. He whistled. "Your body is banging, babe." You dropped the black undergarments to the side, blushing at the crass compliment.

"Didn't expect you to be fully bald. It works." He commented on the state of your body. You cringed at his words, but cursed yourself as you felt your body react to the praise. "It's not my fault I got a Brazilian—the System froze me like this." Your attempt at a joke was quickly stopped as his face told you to be quiet.

"Be a good whore and just shut the fuck up." You obliged him. "Get over here."

He propped himself against the tile and you walked towards him. He flipped you around so that your ass was facing him. You straddled him and slowly lowered yourself onto his cock—but stopped when you felt a finger prod your entrance. One of his hands held up the underside of your thigh as you felt a long, thick finger slide into you.

"Just as I thought", he laughed, "you're fucking soaked from this."

Your thighs shook from the squat position you were in as he pumped in and out of you, quickly adding a second finger. You moaned in response, tilting your head and upper body back as you actively tried not to fall. 

You were so sensitive—you needed him to fuck you now.

His fingers exited you with an obscene squelch, his hand still supporting your thigh up. Holy shit, he's strong. The thought left as you felt him circle your asshole with a finger. His touch was firm, but he didn't penetrate you. 

"You ever been touched here before, sweetheart?" Your body betrayed you by moaning. "Let's save it for another time. I want your pussy tonight." You turned your head over your shoulder at him, a desperate look on your face.

"You've waited long enough. Get on daddy's cock." His hands moved to your hips as he guided you onto him. You grabbed his erection to help the aim as his tip slid into you. 

Sucking in a breath as you adjusted to his size, you slowly lowered yourself until he bottomed out. Holy shit, how big was he? You heard him speak behind you.

"Move." He commanded. You leaned forward and started bouncing up and down on his cock, your hands each grabbing a thick, muscular thigh. His hands were all over your ass, palming and squeezing at them. You felt him spank you a couple of times, but you started to become lost in the feeling of the fullness of his cock. You rubbed at your clit as you kept up your pace. The heat in your belly grew at the stimulation.

But as soon as you felt yourself get close to your release—he picked you up off his cock. He stood up and ordered you to come to him. He hoisted you up in the air. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and your legs wrapped around his hips. He pressed you against the wall, slapping your clit a couple times with his cock, before slipping himself back into you. Your legs shook in his firm grasp at the pace he was fucking into you at. "Pathetic whore," he grunted in your ear.

Your moans filled the room, varying from pitched breathy sounds to almost screams. While both of his hands were occupied with keeping you supported up, his mouth went to one of your nipples. His tongue circled around and sucked on your rosy bud. You moaned and dug your nails into his shoulder. 

He released his mouth with a pop, sneering as he saw your expression. "You like that, sweetheart?" He kept thrusting. "I like hearing these moans a lot more than your voice."

You moaned, even with your cheeks burning from humiliation. Your belly tightened, and you closed your eyes as you came closer to your release.

He recognized the look on your face. You heard him laugh in between grunts. "Don't come until I say so."

In a second, he managed to take you from the wall to the floor without taking himself out of you. Your back pressed into the cool tile, and he lifted your thighs into a mating press. Your lower back naturally came off the floor as he pushed your legs up. Your hand automatically went to your clit, and you started touching yourself. Your other hand grasped at the back of his neck as you lost yourself in his rhythm. 

"Oh fuck, yeah. Daddy's close." He gasped out, and your lower belly tightened as your second orgasm neared. "I'm close," you whined into his skin.

He seemed to finally take some pity on you, and you heard him telling you to come over the sounds of him slapping against you. 

Everything became too much. Your orgasm was fast and intense. Your eyes closed as the waves of pleasure worked through your body, toes curling in response. 

He grunted and pulled himself out, cumming all over your stomach. Your body shook as he looked at his artwork, nodding in satisfaction. "You're a slut, but a good fuck. Let me know if you're down again." He leaned down towards his clothes and tore a piece of his cloak, offering it to you.

You were panting, and breathlessly thanked him as you cleaned yourself up with the piece of cloth. He walked to the other side of the room, gathering your clothes and boots. You were looking at him in disbelief, but he laughed as he thought he caught you staring at his ass. He dropped the bundle of clothes in front of you.

"Did I not fuck you hard enough? I'm down for round two, sweetheart." 

You rolled your eyes and went to go dress yourself, pinching your skin to see if you really just had sex with Carl's douchey alter ego. Damn this guy for being a good fuck. Your legs shook as you slipped your underwear on. 

You went back to your corner and tried ignoring him while you waited for Geraldo to arrive. 

— ♡ —

Carl: Okay. We're sending Geraldo.

After half an hour, you heard the sounds of Kung-Fu while the seal was moving slabs of concrete off the doorway. He moved fast, clearing the door in no time. The seal stuck his head through it. "I've been instructed to free you."

"Hi, Geraldo." The monk seal nodded at you, and seemed to reach out a flipper in your direction.

You stood up and dusted yourself off. You stared at Alpha Carl before heading toward the doorway. This was not going to be a sad sendoff.

"Get out of here," Alpha Carl barked at you. "Before someone else comes looking."

You walked out into the light. You grounded yourself back into whatever the hell had just happened. Behind you, from the doorway, quiet enough that it could have been the building settling.

"Dance, baby." You saw him finger-pointing in the air—the disgust at him intensified as you watched the grown man dance around. Oh what the fuck is wrong with me.

Floor two. Calypso sighed as she wandered throughout halls, the sterile white paths and orange lichen mocking her and her fellow crawlers. She didn't know how to fare with the fact that she was being watched by aliens. It deeply concerned her, filling her with a sense of dread that any and everyone could watch her die at any given moment.

She let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding and made her way down a new hallway she'd never seen. She marked every hallway she went down with a swipe of her lipstick on the walls, she couldn't afford to get lost, not with only a day left and having not found a stairwell yet.

She watched the recap episode every night, admiring the crawlers who fought tooth and nail for their stairwells. They were so much braver than her, but she'd never voice that aloud for fear of the game makers targeting her.

A nearby noise caught her attention. She stopped where she was and slowly walked backwards, peaking her head down a dark, narrow hall she'd missed.

"Hello?" She called. She knew it was stupid to call out into the dungeon, but she prayed it was another (hopefully sane) crawler who could help her. "Please be human. Please be human." She silently pleaded, her thoughts desperate.

Unfortunately for her, a cackle that sounded as far from humanly possible emanated from the darkness. "Fuck." She looked ahead as a figure stepped out from the darkness. A level 4 goblin. It eyed her, then eyed her heels, and smirked. It tossed a small, curved knife from one hand to the other, repeating the motions as it slowly slinked forward.

"Guess we're doing this."

She turned and ran, sprinting as fast as she could down the hall; her heels making a loud clack! clack! clack! as she ran. She could hear the goblin's laughter from behind her as it slowly gained on her. Why hadn't she worn her running heels?!

She ran and ran, doing her best to put some distance between her and the goblin. But, due to her lack of running heels, she was slower than she usually would be; the goblin picking up pace as her feet began to burn with pain.

Just as she began to slow, her heel caught on something, sending her falling to the ground. The goblin smirked, slowing as she slowly collected herself, stunned by the fall. "Hehe. I hoped I'd get lucky today, just didn't realize I'd get this lucky." It smirked, voice dripping with something disgusting.

The goblin, gripping his knife tight, lunged towards her, ready to cut her up. "No! Get away!" She shrieked, kicking him away. The goblin, being only level 4, slammed back against the wall and hit his head, falling dead to the ground.

She stayed like that for a moment, eyeing the corpse to ensure he was dead before getting up. She made her way over and looted his corpse, muttering quiet 'sorry's as she did so.

She made note of the achievements and notifications she had received from her "fight". Though, she decided that she'd look at those when she got to the safe room she knew was just around the corner. Thank god for lipstick markings.

- - -

After entering the safe room, she ensured that she ate something before reading her achievements. And luckily, the bopca behind the Jack-In-The-Box counter was in a nice enough mood to make her some gyros. It was warm and vibrant, filling her with a sense of comfort she hadn't felt since before she entered the dungeons.

The bopca took away her plate after she'd finished eating, bringing her a shirley temple she'd requested when she placed her order. She gave him a smile as he walked away. She took a sip then looked to her interface.

She had five new achievements, one of them being a legendary survivors box while another was a gold lucky bastard's box. She shrugged, figuring that her 'fight' had been dumb enough for the system AI to take pity on her.

She then began opening her boxes. Most of them contained torches and mama potions, the usual stuff. But what she was excited for were her gold and legendary boxes. She opened them with a small smile, hoping they would be something good.

Gold Lucky Bastard's box! Enchanted Bracelet of the Fey Court. The fey are a trickster race and honestly really annoying to be around with their constant pranks and name stealing. But they do make hella good jewelry. This bracelet was forged by a mostly sane Fey blacksmith and imbued with a small bit of his magic. The bracelet allows for safe passage through Fairy Class Type areas, letting all Fairy Class mobs and NPCs know that you have been chosen by Alder Sylvan, the charming blacksmith. +5 Charisma +2 Intellegence +Protection from Fairy Flass mobs and NPCs Warning: Goblins will now deal 20% more damage

Huh. That was interesting. She examined the Moss Agate and Rainbow Moonstone bracelet shimmered beneath the shitty fast food florescent lights. It glowed slightly with an ancient magic that seemed to call to her.

She put on the bracelet, noting the small septigram charm that hung from it as she turned her attention to her final box: the Legendary Survivors Box.

Legendary Survivors Box! Barbie Vehical Set. You really thought after that pitiful "fight" we'd give you something fun? Ha! You thought. Or maybe. There is something special about this. Find out the on floor three.

That last part threw her off guard, confusing and concerning her to no end. Taking a glance up at the timer, she saw she only had 20 hours left. 20 hours to find a stairwell, fight a boss, and make it down to floor 3 alive.

She just hoped that last reward would actually be useful.

He leans on the bar in a way he could never get away with if this was a public gathering. As it were, most of the people around him are miles above him in the industry and could care less who he is or what he does or why he’s there. They’re all there for a reason, after all, and while they can wear the smiles and say their congratulations through them when the world is watching, these parties aren’t for that. They’re for celebrating, yes, but in a way that the rest of the world isn’t generally allowed to see.

But there’s always that slip up. Always that camera phone that takes a picture conveniently at the wrong time, or the spies of the media that happened to slip by. But Chris isn’t doing anything scandalous, sitting at the bar and nursing his rum and diet, so they’ll leave him be. After all, he’s practically faceless in a room full of faces.

He’s tired. Can feel the exhaustion stretched too tight in his shoulders, and wonders how much longer he has to be here before he can go home and lay down. He won’t sleep, his brain still too wound up for something so luxurious as a good night’s sleep, but laying down… That would be nice.

A body sidles up next to him at the bar—another somebody come to wave over the bartender—so he pays no mind to it until the person is way too far into their comfort zone.

“Do you—” the words die on his mouth as he turns with a tired glare, and meets a warm, friendly pair of eyes that he would recognize anywhere. From the cover of a CD too long in the making, or the hundredth magazine cover, or the silver screen. He spent too many years looking into them not to be able to recognize them.

“Hey, Chris,” Darren says, his voice too soft and gentle given where they are. It’s a surprise Chris hears him at all. Without any sort of invitation, Darren takes the barstool next to him, hand curled around a glass that—unless Darren takes his vodka on the rocks now—just holds water.

“Darren.” The name feels old and rusty in his mouth, unused as it’s been for… Shit, how many years now? Chris has lost count. It’s not that him and Darren haven’t been at the same parties or gatherings, but there’s always been this strange understanding between them that they orbit each other without ever interacting. It had hurt, at first, but Chris had come to terms with it. Had accepted that, in the long term, it was better.

Easier.

The silence between them is overwhelmingly huge and uncomfortable. Chris sips his drink and tries not to look too hard at Darren. He’s older now, well into his 30s, and aged just as well as Chris had always imagined he would. Although, Chris had always pictured him with a little grey in his hair, some wrinkles, maybe, but Hollywood has denied him those things. Darren’s face is too known for it to change in such ways. For it to become so uncommercial.

He’s wearing his glasses—a different shape and style than they’d been all those years ago, now more befitting of whatever’s on trend now—but Chris remembers nights laughing and pushing glasses up with the tip of his finger, and there’s a faint ache deep in his chest.

Still there, after all these years.

“I saw your movie,” Darren says suddenly, rolling his most-likely water in his palms, making the condensation stick to his palms. “It was—it was great. You got snubbed tonight.”

Chris shrugs. He poured a lot of time into that script, and he’s lucky it got a nomination. It would have been amazing to win, but he wasn’t expecting it.

“Thanks.” The gratitude sounds false even though he means it. Are they making small talk? Is that what they’re doing? He glances to the side, and Darren is staring at him—open, unabashedly—and Chris has to glance away again. “How’s the new TV thing going?”

He just had a pilot in the fall, Chris thinks. He hadn’t watched it.

“It’s all right. The ratings aren’t what we expected, so I won’t be surprised if they cancel us.”

“You don’t sound all that beat up about it,” Chris surmises, and this time he sees Darren shrug out of the corner of his eye.

“There’s been some tension with the director.” Darren’s voice is dry. “Let’s just say no one is going to be heart broken when things are over.”

So many things go unsaid in that moment that Chris almost stands and leaves. Has to force himself not to. It’s been years. It’s not still getting to him.

It’s not.

He’s over it—over everything. There isn’t anything to even be over any more, that’s how long ago it was.

“How’re things with—” Darren cuts off. Not to avoid saying his name, but because he doesn’t know what it is. And why should he? Chris doesn’t exactly go public with his relationships.

“Fine.” As fine as things ever are with dating someone who isn’t in the limelight. “How’s married life treating you?” He doesn’t mean to sound as bitter as he does—only wishes he had the same level of commitment ringed around his hand, if not through marriage than something else. As if he has something to prove. Chris remembers the receiving invitation, and how he’d stuffed it in a drawer and forgotten about it. He’d seen the pictures on the cover of a magazine in the grocery store a few months later, had stared at the cover too long, and had moved away from it and on with his life.

“It’s not.” Darren’s voice is thin, and Chris glances at him as he takes a long drink of his water. It is water, right? “You didn’t hear?” Darren lifts his left hand and wiggles his fingers. “Divorced.” He smiles, but it’s empty, and Chris’s mouth parts in surprise. He hadn’t heard—but then again, he hadn’t exactly been keeping tabs on Darren’s personal life?

He can tell himself it’s because he doesn’t care, but he knows the truth of the matter is that he cares far, far too much.

“I’m sorry,” Chris finds himself saying, because what the fuck else does someone say to that?

“Yeah.” Darren nods, takes another sip of his drink. “It’s okay. It’s better this way. I don’t think either of us was really happy with… With everything.”

The everything feels loaded, and Chris wants to ask, but doesn’t.

Everything.

Chris hasn’t been happy with everything in a long time, but he’s pretty sure that’s life. It’s not how he thought life would be, but it is what it is, right? He might be a writer, but he’s not naive enough to believe that things like happy endings happen. Not for him, not for anyone.

It doesn’t matter how hard you work for it, or what promises you make, or how you think the world around you might change. In the end, it doesn’t fucking matter.

Happiness—real happiness—only exists in storybooks.

There’s a reason Chris is a writer, after all.

He takes another sip of his drink, and decides it’s time to leave. He’s saved enough face for the evening. His house and his pets and probably another drink are waiting for him at home.

“Chris,” Darren says, as if he can sense Chris getting ready to leave, which—fuck him. Fuck him for that. For still being able to read Chris. He lost that privilege. His fingers brush Chris lightly on the wrist, and Chris jerks away from the touch, turning to stare at Darren with startled eyes. He looks hurt by the gesture, but doesn’t back down. “Do you want to get dinner sometime? Catch up?”

“I’m seeing someone,” Chris says, as if they hadn’t already talked about it, and Darren huffs out a laugh, brushing through curls that are cropped too short.

“I’m not—I mean, not that I wouldn’t want—” Darren shakes his head, takes a deep breath. “I know, I just thought…”

“That we could grab dinner. Catch up. After all these years,” Chris drawls, and Darren does glance away then, Chris’s acknowledgement of their previous, unspoken agreement coloring him with shame. “What do you think this is, Darren? You don’t owe me anything, and I certainly don’t owe you anything.”

“I know that, and, fuck, I know it’s been a long time, I was just…” Darren huffs out a breath. “I was just trying, okay? Fuck me for trying, all right. I thought… I thought it’d been long enough.”

Has it? Chris isn’t sure. He thinks of all the times he’d almost called Darren, texted him, sent him a fucking well-composed letter, but stopped. It’s been too long, he’d told himself all those times, slowly doing his own damage to the growing distance between them.

Was it really this simple? Just one of them reaching out a hand and the other still trusting them enough to take it?

Darren pulls something out of his pocket and sets it on the bar, not presumptuous enough to even slide it all the way in front of Chris.

“That’s my current number. I’m on break for awhile, won’t be hopping around, so just… Let’s set something up while I’m in town, okay?”

Chris doesn’t say anything, just tucks the piece of paper into his pocket and then sighs heavily, grabbing a cocktail napkin and a pen from his jacket—he always has a fucking pen on him, somewhere.

“Here’s mine.” His numbers come out jagged, nervous. “Probably better if you call me. I was never good at following through with plans.”

Their fingers touch when Chris slides the napkin down the bar.

“I remember.”

The next day, there’s a picture of their backs on some tabloid, their heads bent together as they speak and a headline that reads EX-COSTARS CRISS AND COLFER RECONNECT NEARLY A DECADE AFTER GLEE ENDS. Chris only knows about it because Darren texts him a picture of it, and Chris hesitantly responds, “It always makes me nervous when tabloids are true.”

*

“Hey, Chris—” Darren starts, practically materializing from the darkness, and Chris yelps and drops the flashlight he’s been gripping tightly in his hands. They both watch as it lands on the carpet and then rolls a few feet a way, spinning a spotlight on the living room wall. Chris breathes heavily, and Darren glances at him in amusement.

“Could you not do that?” Chris asks, gritting his teeth. “Please?”

Darren holds up his hands in surrender, but he’s still grinning.

“Did you find out what’s wrong?” Chris asks, shifting his weight from foot to foot, before he makes his way over to his runaway flashlight.

“Nah,” Darren responds, fishing around in his pocket for his phone and using it as a light. “Wasn’t the breaker, so it’s probably just a more widespread blackout.” Darren squints in the darkness. “Do you have any candles?”

Chris pinches his face in thought.

“I might have some tea lights in the linen closet,” Chris muses, trying to remember, and Darren barks out a laugh.

“Dude, that was just like... The gayest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Darren says with a snort, and then ambles away. Chris frowns after him, and then shrinks in on himself. He almost calls out for Darren to stay, to forget the tea lights that may or may not exist, but feels stupid and stops himself.

It’s just a blackout. It’s just the dark. Chris curls up on his couch and rubs his arms and tries to convince himself of how stupid he’s being.

Darren isn’t gone long, and when he comes back, he’s setting tea lights down on the coffee table with not-so-careful clack clack clacks. He doesn’t say a word until he starts lighting them, hissing once when the flame catches his thumb instead of a wick.

“Look at this.” Darren gestures to the, honestly, pathetic display of tea lights. There are maybe six, and they provide very little in the way of light. “Mood lighting right the fuck here.”

Chris can’t help but laugh a little bit at that, still rubbing his arms, and Darren flops on the couch next to him.

“Are you cold?” Darren asks, confused. “It’s, like, a million degrees in here. Don’t be surprised if I start stripping.”

Chris shakes his head, vehemently. “No, I just...” He glances around, swallows. You’re being stupid. “I hope the lights come back on soon.”

“I like blackouts,” Darren replies, matter-of-factly, reclining back against the couch cushions. “When I was a kid, I always thought they were fun. My mom would set up candles, and we’d break out board games and coloring sheets.” Darren sounds fond, and Chris wishes he had memories like that surrounding blackouts. But none of those memories are warm, or comforting, and he rubs his arms again.

Darren’s arm falls, warm and heavy and suddenly, around his shoulders, and Chris looks at him in surprise.

“You don’t have to stay,” Chris says but doesn’t mean. But I really, really want you to. Darren just grins at him, and then picks up Chris’s flashlight, swinging it around with his other hand.

“And miss the chance to re-enact Vader and Obi Wan’s epic light saber duel? Not on your life.” He twirls the flashlight around, making a schwing noise that is nothing like a light saber, and Chris can’t help but smile.

“I get to be Vader.”

And like the asshole that he is, he’d fallen asleep. Again, not on purpose, and he wasn’t even aware that he had until he’s rousing back into consciousness, slow and steady and even, like his breathing.

It takes him a moment to wonder where he is, and what he’s doing, and what happens, before everything clicks into place.

1. He’s at Chris’s house.

2. He’d fallen asleep at some point.

3. Someone is playing with his hair.

And unless Chris’s cat has a human hand (which, freaky, but also kind of awesome), then that someone has to be Chris.

Darren almost opens his eyes to check, but stops himself at the last moment. Chris isn’t the sort of person who offers up physical affection easily, and Darren takes each offered touch with the respect and reverence it deserves. The only reason he’s probably being so generous with it, so candid, is because he thinks Darren is asleep.

Well, Darren is an actor. It’s not hard to pretend to be asleep.

Plus, it feels really nice.

He turns his head slowly, as if it’s some sort of sleepy reflex, and finds his nose pressed into the denim stretched across Chris’s thigh. Huh. He wonders how he ended up in Chris’s lap.

Chris goes still for a moment, and Darren is afraid that he’s ruined the moment, but then his fingers are back, combing through curls hesitantly at first before they resume their previous temple, and Darren feels Chris’s body vibrate beneath his cheek before he hears the laugh come out of his mouth.

“If you were so tired, you should have just gone home,” Chris whispers, and his voice is warm and fond in a way that Darren has hardly ever heard it. It sounds so… Unguarded. So vulnerable. “But I’m glad you came over, even if it was just to sleep on me.” His fingernails scratch against Darren’s scalp, and it takes all the willpower he has not to groan in contentment.

“Maybe if I was braver, I’d ask you to hang out more, but…” He laughs again, slow and sleepy, and it almost lulls Darren back into unconsciousness. “I’ll just take what I can get—what you give me. It’s safer that way, I think… If I don’t ask for too much.” Chris’s hand stills, and Darren has to stop himself from butting up into his palm like a needy cat.

He has to fight to keep his face smooth and devoid of emotion now, confusion swirling through his head as he tries to figure out what Chris is talking about through the haze of exhaustion that hasn’t lifted from his mind.

Darren hears the long exhale of a sigh before Chris’s body shifts beneath him, the movements careful as if Chris is taking the utmost care in making sure he doesn’t disturb Darren. It’s… Sweet, but then again, Chris is always considerate in those small ways that people always think nothing of but that end up meaning the most, in the long run. Darren thinks maybe that’s why Chris’s friendship, his trust, is so fucking valuable to everyone.

It’s something worth having, worth fighting for.

Suddenly, he can feel Chris’s breath mussing his hair, and then there’s a pinpoint of pressure that lasts hardly a second and that Darren recognizes instantly as a kiss. Did… Did Chris just kiss his hair?

Oh god, Darren’s heart feels like it might explode at how fucking cute he is.

“It, uh…” Chris laughs, shaky and unsure, fingers threading through Darren’s curls and just resting there, making Darren feel safe and calm in a way he can’t exactly explain. Maybe it’s just a Chris thing. There’s a smile playing on his lips that he can’t stop, that he’ll play off as a good dream if Chris ever brings it up, and he’s almost asleep again when Chris says, “It might be a little too late for that.”

And at that, Darren laughs a little bit, but it’s the only kind of laughter that can come when someone’s been crying, and when it’s Darren making that noise, it pulls at Chris’s heart in the most uncomfortable of ways. He rubs his thumb on the back of Darren’s hand, wishing he could bring him more comfort, but there’s only so much he can do considering where they are.

“It’s just…” Darren blinks rapidly, and then flaps his hand in the general direction behind Chris. Eyebrows raised, Chris looks behind him, and not fifty feet from them is Princess Tiana, a line trailing away from her as children and adults alike walk up for pictures and hugs.

“Oh.” Chris turns back to Darren. “Did you, uh, want to meet her?” Chris can’t help the slight downturn to his mouth—that line is long, and if they want a chance of meeting her, they’ll have to ditch their lunches.

“No—” Darren stops, shakes his head. “Well, yeah, but not today, but there was this…” Darren presses his lips together. “There was this little girl in a Tiana dress, and she walked up, and Tiana knelt down and hugged her.”

Darren’s eyes are practically shining, and Chris has no idea where this story is going or how it leads to Darren in tears, but his attention is rapt through Darren’s stops and starts, hiccups and sniffles. What kind of boyfriend would he be if it wasn’t?

But Darren’s story seems to stop there, and Chris waits a few beats before asking, “So you’re crying because…?”

Pushing his glasses up and away from his eyes, Darren wipes away a few more tears, and then smiles.

“It was just so fucking beautiful.”

And Chris can’t help it, then. He laughs—a hiccup of a laugh, but a laugh nonetheless, and squeezes Darren’s hand where he’s still holding it.