They only really talked about it once, at a Christmas party of all places. Darren cornered him on his way to the bathroom, crowding him up against a wall and gripping his hips with hands so searing hot that Chris felt warmth bleed through the thin material of his shirt. He remembers Darren leaning in, the smell of alcohol on his breath. “For now,” he whispered harshly. “He gets to hold you and touch you and make you smile for now.” Darren had ducked his head down, nosing along the side of his neck. “And that’s okay because one day when this is over, when this is all over, you’ll be mine.” He punctuated the statement with a soft peck under Chris’s ear before humming, apparently satisfied, and stepping back. Chris had immediately ducked into the bathroom without meeting Darren’s eyes, and it took a few minutes before he felt composed enough to return to the party.

Other than that one incident, though, it was never brought up. They dated other people. They cultivated a beautiful and lasting friendship. Their simmering sexual tension did wonders for the relationship they portrayed on-screen. Everything was fine. If the show ended and they both happened to be single, then, well, they could go from there. They just had to last ‘til the end of the show.

They didn’t quite make it.

It’s three weeks before the end of filming for season six, Glee’s final season, and Chris isn’t sure what the breaking point is. Maybe it’s the feelings stirred up from Heather and Taylor’s wedding last weekend. Maybe it’s the scene they filmed yesterday, the raciest thing they’ve been allowed since the car make-out back in season four. Maybe it’s the homemade hot chocolate Darren brought him this morning and the ever-charming grin he sported as he handed it to Chris in a Ninja-Turtles-themed traveling mug.

Whatever it is, all it takes is a sweet smile at the end of the day and Chris is grabbing Darren’s hand and leading him to his car. Darren looks happy– a little confused, since Chris is rarely the one initiating the handholding, but happy– and fiddles with the dial on the radio once they’re in the car. He isn’t even looking at Chris when he asks, “So where’re we going?”

Chris grips the steering wheel tight as he pulls out of the lot. He licks his lips once, swallows, and answers with a surprisingly steady voice. “You’re coming home with me.”

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Darren’s hand still. “Oh?”

Chris nods once, a little jerkily. He can feel Darren staring at him but doesn’t offer any further explanation. Slowly, carefully, Darren lets his outreached hand fall to the divider between their seats. His palm is facing up, open, just to the side of the gear shift.

After a moment, Chris slips his hand into Darren’s, interlocking their fingers. He glances over once, briefly, only to find Darren gazing at him with such tender and heartfelt surprise. And just under the surface, there’s a desperate kind of want that Chris is relieved to know he’s not alone in feeling.

***

Darren is on him as soon as they’re inside the door, fisting the front of his t-shirt and pulling him roughly against his chest. The kiss is dirty from the start, wide-open mouths and playful bites and too much tongue. (That had always been a problem for them when filming– Chris can almost hear Ryan’s exasperated voice echoing over the years, Guys, cut, CUT, what have I said about tongue? Tone it down, Jesus. There are children who watch this show. How many times…).

Chris has Darren’s shirt rucked halfway up his back, hands splayed over the too-warm skin, pinkies resting in the little dips above the curve of Darren’s ass. He wants to slide them lower, shove Darren’s jeans down and get his hands in Darren’s boxers, but he also wants to get to the bedroom first. He doesn’t want their first real time happening in his front hallway.

“Mm, Darren-” he breaks off with a gasp when Darren sucks his earlobe into his mouth. “Darren, we need to- upstairs-”

Darren groans but goes easily enough when Chris pushes him towards the stairs.

***

The first time Darren pushes inside him, Chris feels like he’s coming to pieces and being put back together at the same time. His breath sails out of him in one great whoosh and he closes his eyes, head falling to the side.

Darren grabs his chin and brings him back so they’re face to face. "Look at me,” he whispers. When Chris just whines, overwhelmed by just how much he’s feeling, Darren makes a pleading sound in his throat. “Chris, please. I need you to look at me. Baby, please.”

Chris’s eyes flutter open and he meets Darren’s intense gaze. He’s bracing himself on his elbows, hovering just inches above Chris’s face. He’s not quite smiling, not with his lips at least, but his eyes are piercing. Chris feels like he’s been laid bare, heart and soul and body offered up to this man, wholly and without reservation. He tries to breathe, and it comes easier when Darren leans down to brush their lips together. He sucks Chris’s bottom lip into his mouth as he pulls back, bites down when he fucks back in. Chris whines and presses his hips up, silently asking for more.

They’ve never done this. The hook-ups of the past mostly consisted of frottage and getting each other off with their hands or mouths. Chris fucked Darren once when they were both extremely wasted only because Darren wouldn’t stop begging for it. But this is the first time Darren has fucked Chris.

Chris keeps one hand in Darren’s hair, threading his fingers through the messy curls because he knows how much Darren loves having his hair played with. He lets the other hand explore the expanse of Darren’s back, cupping his shoulder blade, tracing down his spine, sliding his fingertips through the sweat gathering at the small of his back. He squeezes Darren’s ass a couple times, letting his nails dig in a little, mostly in an effort to get Darren to quicken his pace. Darren won’t be swayed, though. He keeps it slow, dragging in and out in a way that makes Chris’s toes curl against the bedspread, and he only breaks eye contact to suck hickeys into the pale skin of Chris’s neck. It should be weird, the way their gazes lock and stay locked, but it’s really not. Darren watches Chris as he gets closer and closer to the edge, watches him as he gasps and comes. Only then does he bury his face in the space between Chris’s neck and shoulder, thrusting twice more before he shudders and comes and bites the skin there.

Chris extracts his hand from Darren’s hair and wraps his arms around Darren’s shoulders, pressing them together from head to toe. Darren lets his weight collapse on top of Chris, clutching at Chris’s sides, and they both huff out a laugh. Absurdly, Chris feels like crying.

It doesn’t feel so ridiculous when Darren lifts his head up and Chris sees his face is streaked with tears. They both smile and laugh again. When Chris reaches a hand up to thumb over Darren’s cheekbone, wiping away the tear tracks, he thinks he has everything he’s ever wanted, right here in his arms.

***

They clean up and doze for an hour or two before Darren is up and demanding to be fed. They make spaghetti and tomato sauce and grate their own parmesan cheese. Darren pouts when Chris says he doesn’t have any meatballs but cheers up when they find chocolate ice cream in the freezer for dessert.

Afterwards, Chris fucks Darren up against the kitchen wall. Darren’s sweatpants are pooled at his feet and Chris’s are somewhere around his knees, boxers tucked down just enough to expose his cock. Darren has his thighs wrapped around Chris’s waist, ankles crossed over and hooked together. One arm is looped around Chris’s neck and the other is fisting his own cock, the sound of skin sliding over skin blending with the sound of balls slapping against his ass. On top of that, he keeps making these little noises, a constant uh uh uh that has Chris gritting his teeth to keep from coming.

Chris’s arms are starting to tire and so he backs up, keeping a firm hold of Darren’s ass and making his way into the living room. He drops down onto the sofa and Darren moans loudly. “Oh god, Chris,” he pants. “So deep, yeah, so full inside me.”  He grips Chris’s biceps and licks his lips very deliberately, beginning to rock down on his cock. “So strong, too. Sexy.”

Chris laughs breathlessly. “Oh yeah?”

Darren leans in, kisses the corner of his mouth. “Yeah,” he murmurs. He slants his lips over Chris’s for a proper kiss then, and Darren rides him until they come together, gasping into each other’s mouths.

***

They shower together, soaping each other up and washing away residual sweat and come. Chris bats Darren’s hands away every time they stray towards his cock, grumbling about too much too soon. Darren takes it in stride, content to press him up against the wall of the shower and kiss him breathless. They make out like teenagers until the water starts to run cold.

Darren insists on sleeping naked and Chris is too happy to put up any kind of resistance. They fall into bed together. Chris has more than enough experience with cuddle-whore Darren, but cuddling takes on a whole other dimension when it’s naked cuddling. It’s no surprise when Chris feels Darren’s cock hardening against his hip, nor when Darren rolls on top of him and grinds down with purpose. It’s so much like what they used to do, like the times that didn’t count, but there’s a difference in the way they touch each other, as if they have all the time in the world to memorize the feel of each other’s bodies. Everything is so much slower, languid almost, and they soak up every moment without worrying about what’ll come after.

Chris comes before Darren this time, cock spurting weakly between them. He’s glad, because it allows him to watch Darren as he finishes, the way he squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lip, how lax his features get as he comes down. When he collapses on his side, Chris takes the opportunity to slide out of bed and grab a washcloth from the bathroom. He gives them both a perfunctory wipe-down, knowing full well that they’ll have to shower again in the morning. For now, though, he’s happy to cuddle back up to Darren, nudging a knee between Darren’s legs and pressing his cold toes against his calf. Darren chuckles, yawning loudly. “Thank you,” he says softly.

Chris nuzzles into Darren’s chest. “For what?”

“For having the guts to do what I should’ve done ages ago.” Darren presses his face into Chris’s still-wet hair, inhaling deeply. His next words are slightly muffled. “I don’t know what made you do it, but whatever it was, I’m grateful. I was sick of waiting.”

“Me, too,” Chris whispers.

There’s a pause, then Darren’s lifting his head and pulling back slightly. He looks down at Chris. “This is it, right?” Worry creases his brow. “I mean, whatever this is, we’re doing it now. We’re in it, yeah?”

Chris reaches up to push Darren’s hair back off his forehead. “Darren.” He cranes his neck forward and kisses his cheek. “When I said you were coming home with me,” he kisses his lips, “I meant from now on.”

Darren laughs once, a high, breathless sound. “Oh,” he says, grinning. “Maybe you should’ve clarified.”

Chris grins back. “Maybe you’re just a little slow,” he teases.

“Asshole.”

Chris kisses him again. “You love me.”

“I love you.”

Chris pulls back, looks for any sign of teasing. There is none. Darren’s still grinning, but his eyes are soft, sincere, and Chris feels something lift and settle in his chest. He kisses Darren one more time, snuggles back into his chest, and sighs happily. “I love you, too.”

                His champagne glass is empty. Chris excuses himself to get a refill, and instead of returning to Ashley’s side he makes his way out onto one of the balconies. He leans against the railing, sipping his drink and taking it all in. The night air is cooler than he’s used to for July, but it’s refreshing. And the view is simply wonderful. Dublin is beautiful. Chris wishes they had more time to explore the city, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t anxious to get home to his own bed. He’s had quite enough of hotel beds, thank you very much.

                The door slides open and Chris turns to see Darren popping his head out. When he sees Chris he grins widely and steps outside. He slides the glass door closed behind him, cutting off the noise from the party, and goes to stand beside Chris. He bumps their shoulders together. “Hey, Chris,” he says, drawing his words out in that way he does when he’s been drinking.

                Chris smiles and turns back to watch what’s happening down on the street. The hotel is in a very busy part of downtown. It must be nearly 2am but there are still people everywhere; he can hear shouting and laughter from up here. He thinks he sees the attendees of a bachelorette party piling into a limo down the street. One of them is definitely wearing a crown.

                Darren nudges him again. “Chris,” he whispers. When Chris merely hums in acknowledgement, Darren whines a little. “Chris! You have to- come on, look at me!”

                Chris sighs but he’s smiling again when he turns to face Darren. “Alright, what?”

                Darren grins and points at his T-shirt. “You, sir, owe me a kiss.”

                Chris laughs. “Nice try, buddy, but you already got your kiss from me tonight.”

                “No, no, that one doesn’t count.” Darren’s shaking his head vehemently. “That was me kissing you. I was the initiator. The kisser. You were the… kissee.”

                Chris splutters a little and Darren raises his eyebrows as if he’s challenging Chris to work his way out of that logic. But it’s late and Chris is tipsy and it’s Darren. So he leans over and gives him a chaste peck on the cheek. “There. Satisfied?”

                Darren looks hilariously outraged. Chris has to bite back a laugh. “What? Oh, come on, Darren. Everyone else gave you cheek kisses.”

                “Dianna didn’t!”

                “Only because you turned your head at the last second!”

                Darren huffs. Then he pouts a little and cocks his head to the side. “Please, Chris?”

                Chris eyes him warily. Darren’s a devious little fucker, using those puppy eyes like that. Chris tries to think of a reasonable objection, but it’s not like they haven’t kissed on-camera before. Or off-camera, if tonight is anything to go by. They’re friends. One little kiss won’t make things weird. Making a big deal out of it will make things weird.

                Chris rolls his eyes, mutters fine and leans over to press his lips against Darren’s. It’s supposed to be another peck, but Darren’s bottom lip is still pushed out in a pout when Chris kisses him. It’s instinct when Chris sucks it into his mouth. Darren’s mouth drops open in surprise and Chris’s lips part in kind, and then they’re really kissing, open mouths and tentative swipes of tongue. Darren’s mouth tastes like the champagne they’ve both been drinking and like the strawberries from the fruit tray Naya ordered from room service. Chris’s left hand slides around Darren’s neck and into his hair, knocking the leprechaun hat askew. His right hand is still clutching the champagne glass. Some part of his brain is impressed with himself for not spilling any.

                Darren’s hands are gripping Chris’s hips, and when nibbling on Chris’s bottom lip draws out a gasp that sounds a lot like a moan, he uses that grip to push Chris back and break the kiss. They stare at each other for a second or two, both breathing heavily, before Chris inhales sharply. “Oh my God, Darren, I’m so sorry. God, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me, I don’t even-” Chris blabbers on as Darren gently pries the champagne glass from his hand, tosses what’s left over the railing, and sets it on the ground by the door. He’s still talking as Darren walks over to him, keeps walking so Chris has to step backwards until he’s up against the brick wall.

                “Chris?” Darren interrupts. Chris stops mid-sentence and licks his lips. He tastes Darren and it sends heat shooting up his spine. Darren leans in, slowly, until their lips are almost touching. “Shhhh,” he breathes, and then he’s cupping his face with both hands and kissing him again.

                These aren’t the same sweet, exploratory kisses as before. These kisses are intense, hard enough to be bruising. Darren is liberal with his use of tongue, and soon enough it’s getting sloppy and wet and perfect. With both his hands free, Chris twines the fingers of one hand through Darren’s curls, loving the way Darren grunts when Chris pulls on them a little. His other hand slides down his back and grabs at his ass. Darren presses in even closer, nudging his thigh against Chris’s groin. Chris is moaning now, they both are, and he’s just starting to rock against Darren’s thigh when the door to the balcony slides open. They break apart.

                Lea stumbles out, sloshing the champagne in her flute and just barely avoiding stepping on Chris’s discarded glass. Once she has righted herself, she eyes them suspiciously. “There you boys are! Am I…” she pauses, clearly for dramatic effect. “…interrupting something?” She hiccups. It sort of ruins the effect.

                Darren’s the first to recover. “Lea, darling! I was just trying to drag Chris back inside. Help me?”

                Lea, of course, complies. They each grab one of his arms and march him indoors. Almost as soon as the door slides shut behind them Lea spots Cory and skips over to join him.

Chris can tell Darren is trying to catch his eye, so he saves him the trouble and turns to him with a too-bright smile. “I’m going to get some more champagne.”

Darren gives him an indecipherable look. He seems to be trying to read him, but his drunkenness has impaired his people-reading skills. This is probably a good thing, since Chris isn’t sure if he wants to be read right now.

Without waiting for a response, Chris turns and disappears into the other room. He drinks one last glass of champagne, talks to Heather briefly, finds Ashley to let her know that he’s turning in for the night, and escapes to his room. He doesn’t fall asleep for a very long time.

He thinks he hears a soft knock at the door around 3am, but he doesn’t get up to check.

 ***