#spockirks

The line for the Harry Potter panel is thick enough that most people are giving them a wide berth, but every so often someone stumbles over Darren’s legs and he cranes his neck to shout an apology into the chaos of the heavy traffic area.

But not everyone is paying attention, and Darren has almost lulled himself to sleep when someone’s foot catches his calf hard and he scrambles up just in time to watch them hit the floor.

“Shit!” Darren exclaims, crawling over to inspect the guy sprawled out on his stomach, limbs everywhere.  “Are you okay?”

There’s two girls floating over him too, asking the same question and frantically wondering if one of them should run to the first aid booth, but a muffled massive gasp makes them stop.  Darren sits back on his heels when the guy rolls over, breathing out in relief when he realizes his body is shaking with laughter and not going into shock.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Darren says miserably, but the guy just waves a hand, face scrunched up so that every one of his teeth are on display.

“I - I’m fine, no really I am, I just can’t breathe,” he chokes out, one hand on his stomach as he tries to stifle his giggles.  “No, really.  Amber, Jenna, I’m good, you’re just directing more people to the fact that I just faceplanted.”

One of them-- who looks kind of familiar and Darren can’t figure out why, though he’s thought the same thing about half the people he’s seen today and that’s because they’ve walked past each other a dozen times in the convention center-- looks from Darren to the guy on the ground and says, “Alright honey, you just catch up with us at the panel, okay?”

Darren smiles easily at them as they leave, pushing his curls back, looking down and half-jumping out of his skin when the guy is already looking up at him.  He’s got a great smile, Darren notices, eyes crinkled at the corners and shoulders still shaking with sporadic bursts of laughter.

“Are you really okay?” Darren asks cautiously.  “No neck or back injuries? No broken bones I’m going to get a certified letter in the mail about?”

The guy squints for a second, considering it, shaking out and flexing different parts of his body.  Darren watches him, can’t help but, hands twitching involuntarily where they rest on his own thighs at the way the guy’s legs just go on and on.

“I’m good,” he decides, working to sit up.

“I couldn’t be too sure with a shirt like that,” Darren says, nodding to the graphic tee shirt he has on.  “Decepticons are devious fuckers.”

The guy looks down at his own chest like he’s forgotten what he was wearing and Darren bites his lip to contain himself.  It’s kind of adorable, really, with his head ducked so his hair falls in his face and his cheeks red from the fall and still soft with just a little bit of boyish roundness.  He’s on the young side but growing into his long legs and Darren knows he’s seen him before, he just can’t remember exactly where.

“Don’t worry, I promise I wasn’t planning to frame you,” he says, and Darren splutters a little until he follows the guy’s pointed finger and oh.  He can’t help but laugh because it’s tee shirt jokes but Darren started it and this guy finished it and he might be kind of fucking awesome.

“I know you,” Darren muses aloud, and the guy looks up quickly, a little panicked.

“You do?” he asks, sounding terrified.

Darren scowls a little, but the guy doesn’t offer any more information.  “Just from the con, right?  I was at the Star Wars panel yesterday, and at the--”

“Oh yeah,” the guy says, nodding.  “I was totally there, that must be it.”

Pleased with himself for figuring it out, Darren gets smoothly to his feet, shouldering his bag and putting his hand out.  “I’m Darren.”

With a funny sort of grin the guy takes the hand, letting Darren pull him to his feet.  “I’m Chris.”

“Chris,” he repeats, rolling the name around in his head.  Darren decides he likes it, it suits him.  “Well Chris, now that I totally humiliated both of us in front of not one but two long ass lines, let me make it up to you with a sno cone.”

 He can’t help but smirk as Chris looks him up and down, considering.  “Well, I have this panel in less than an hour...”

Darren knows by the glaring absence of reluctance he definitely passed whatever standards were in effect.  Score.

“Harry Potter?” Darren asks excitedly, already tugging Chris by the elbow towards the awesome pretzel and frozen lemonade stand he’s visited three times in two days.  It would be so awesome if Chris grew up on the books like he did, if he could show Chris his musicals or maybe Chris already knew but just needed the glasses too...

“No, I wish,” Chris says mournfully, arms wrapped around himself as they walk.  “I kind of already promised I would be at another one that’s at the same time.”

“Oh,” Darren says quietly, trying not to be too disappointed.

“But I definitely love Harry Potter, it was my entire childhood,” Chris assures him, and Darren perks right up, can’t help himself.  Chris is clever and fascinating and so familiar in a way he can’t exactly pinpoint but he wants to listen to anything and everything that comes out of his mouth.

“Mine too!” Darren agrees enthusiastically.  “It kind of still is.  You know, I’ve always felt a sort of spiritual connection with Harry.”

It’s totally overreaching and fishing and borderline stupid but he just feels like he knows Chris and maybe that’s actually because somewhere he doesn’t realize, Chris knows him.  It’s the only explanation he has.

Smiling a twisted little grin, Chris simply says, “The hair, right?  I don’t know, I kind of feel like a Weasley twin.”

“Not just the hair,” Darren pouts a little, putting his hand up on instinct to feel.  “And you’re definitely not a Weasley twin.”

Chris stops dead in his tracks, raising his eyebrows, and Darren knows it’s a challenge, another test to pass.  He’s got this one in the bag.  “Oh, I’m not?”

“No way,” Darren says enthusiastically, shaking his head.  “You’re way too kick ass for that.  And like, Fred and George were awesome and funny but they weren’t into doing things, you know?  They kind of had their own agenda.  You’re not like that.”

“I’m not?” Chris asks, amusement clear in his voice and Darren is not kidding even a little bit.  He huffs, looking for the right words just as someone shoulder checks Chris and nearly throws him on the ground for the second time.  He grabs Darren’s forearm at the same time that Darren puts his arms out to steady him, using the momentum to pull them deeper into an alcove, out of the crowds pushing in all directions.

“Nope,” Darren says, a little disappointed when Chris lets him go.  “You’re definitely more of a rule-follower than Gred and Forge, but when the time comes you’ll get shit done however you need to do it.  A badass, no doubt, but a tough nut to crack.  You’re totally McGonagall.”

He steps back a little from where he had been leaning in with emphasis, proud as fuck when Chris gapes a little and he might have left one of the most quick-witted people he’s met speechless.

“I’m totally McGonagall,” Chris repeats, cocking his head.  “Huh.”

“Fuck yeah you are,” Darren says happily, glancing back out at the crowd to see if they could slip back into the stream.  “Hey I think we’re good to--”

“I don’t think I’m hungry anymore,” Chris comments, and Darren turns back, confused.

“You...?”

Chris said it full of suggestion, like he was supposed to understand something unsaid, but Darren doesn’t get the point until he feels Chris tug at the hem of his shirt, staring pointedly at his mouth before looking up wide-eyed and innocent and fuck it’s probably not the least bit intentional, how effortlessly sexy Chris is.

“That’s definitely fine with me,” Darren breathes, watching Chris carefully as he leans in, but all he finds are half-closed eyes and inviting parted lips.

The second their lips touch, already open and searching, Darren wants more.  He whines a little, cupping the back of Chris’s neck and edging him into the wall, pressing closer with his entire body.  Without hesitation Chris goes with him, pushing right back so that Darren can feel him from the knees up, the thin barrier of two layers of cotton nothing to do with the heat washing in waves over his skin, the rush of want in his veins that surges with every drag, something warm and right rising up from deep in his gut.

Chris’s lips are perfect underneath his, confident but not pushy, matching him in pressure even if Darren knows he’s too enthusiastic, but Chris just tastes and feels so fucking good he can’t get enough. He brushes his fingertips over the rough denim of Chris’s waistband, sliding them up to press into the warm bare skin of Chris’s hip and squeeze, knowing he’s probably leaving bruises and losing his mind a little at the thought. 

Chris’s thighs fall open easily to his insistent knee and Darren twists them even more tightly together, trying to stop himself from grinding his ridiculously hard cock too obviously against the flexed muscle.  He gasps into Chris’s mouth when he tangles both hands in his hair, pulling in the same rhythm as his wicked tongue, drawing whimpers from Darren’s throat he can’t begin to control.

A loud cheer right outside the bubble of their not-very-private alcove makes Darren break the kiss wetly and pull back, a little flushed with how public they’re being but thrilled to the core at how fucking gone Chris looks, lips swollen red and shirt rucked up.  He licks his lips and Darren just watches, panting hard to get the oxygen necessary to go back in.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Chris groans, laughing in something like disbelief and twisting the black leather cuff on his wrist.

“I wanna blow you,” Darren says, desperation winning over subtlety.  When Chris’s mouth goes slack he has to bite his lip to keep from whining at the idea of his come on that pink tongue, but right now all he needs is to put his nose right into the hip crease he’s been stroking incessantly, the smooth skin taunting him.

“You do?” Chris asks, voice dropped two octaves, and Darren can feel the way his whole body arches closer but there’s still doubt in his eyes.  In Darren, he realizes, not in himself-- he doesn’t know how to accept that Darren really wants him.

“Please,” Darren begs shamelessly, angling his body to block his hand from the masses not five feet away and teasing over the front of Chris’s jeans, pressing his thumb hard where he can see the curve of his cock.

“Okay,” Chris gasps, whole body shuddering as he nods.  “But um, we can’t--”

Darren kisses him once to shush him, letting his lips linger.  “It’s our lucky day,” he says grandly, tugging Chris to the door at the end of the alcove: a handicap-accessible family bathroom.

“Oh god this is the worst cliche,” Chris laughs as Darren locks the door behind them, and he can’t help but join in too, shaking his head at Chris’s very existence, all that sex and sass and smarts in one.

“There’s no one I’d rather be a big fat stereotype with,” Darren assures him sweetly, smirking until Chris gives in and kisses him, already tugging at Darren’s shirt and smoothing hands over his skin, making him breathe harshly through his nose.

Two can play at that game.

Darren backs Chris into the sink, grinding his palm hard into his cock and grinning proud when Chris has to stop kissing, moans loud enough to echo around the small room.

“That’s right baby, let me hear it,” Darren encourages, kissing the beautiful column of Chris’s neck, sucking a hickey behind his ear for only the two of them to know about.

“Darren,” Chris moans, making Darren lightheaded with want.  He pulls up Chris’s shirt to lick at the soft curve of his belly, lave his tongue over his rosy pink nipples and smile indulgently at the white-knuckled grip he has on the porcelain sink.

Yanking his belt open just to watch Chris’s eyes roll back in his head, Darren sinks to the ground, hardly caring if the knees of his pants get dirty.  Joey can make as many jokes as he want, it wouldn’t change the fact that Darren hooked up and he didn’t.

He unbuttons and unzips Chris’s jeans carefully, pulling them gingerly away from where he can feel the steady rigid heat of his cock, then shoving them unceremoniously down to his knees.  But those thighs are what distract him, milky white and soft, not yet corded with muscle but not still tender-- he can feel the strength still developing as he worships them with his lips.  Everything about Chris is not-quite here or there, not young and not grown, not a child but not a man, too old for some things and yet still too young for others.  Darren fucking loves it, drinks it in, sucks like he couldn’t on Chris’s neck because here he can leave something for Chris to remember him by.

Whining when he gets to the hem of Chris’s boxer briefs, Darren changes tactic, sucking and biting over Chris’s hipbones instead, peeling fabric away to reveal more smooth skin for him to get his mouth on.

“Darren, please,” Chris groans finally form something coherent above him, hands petting through Darren’s hair and making his own cock beg for attention.

With one last kiss to the edge of Chris’s pubic hair, fine under Darren’s lips, he pulls the elastic waistband clear and tugs them down to mid-thigh.

“Fuck, Chris,” Darren says near-reverently, finishing his pattern of hickeys on either side of Chris’s cock, thick and purple-red at the tip that’s glistening in precome.

He waits for Chris to come back to him, holding his hand firmly until he meets his gaze.  And then Darren takes Chris’s cock in his mouth.

“Shit!” Chris half-screams as Darren runs his tongue on every bit of skin he can get it, lapping hungrily at the slit, flicking hard at the raised edge.  It’s been awhile since Darren did this and he’s never done it completely sober but it’s so much better this way, when he’s present enough to feel the way Chris’s hips twitch, see Chris’s face crumpling and twisting in full light, appreciate the near-gag of trying valiantly to take him all in at once.

A well-placed tug at Darren’s curls brings his own desperate arousal back to the forefront of his mind and he pulls back slowly, licking softly even as Chris whines unhappily because he has got to get his pants off before he comes all in them and has to sit in it for the rest of the day.  Chris has his right hand in a death grip but he manages it with his left, breathing out in relief when he gets his waistband tucked under his balls.

He takes his own cock in his hand just to take the edge off and just gets Chris’s dick back in his mouth when a half-slurred wait from above him makes him pause, raising his eyebrows but not pulling back.

“Are you, um,” Chris gasps, breathing hard because Darren hasn’t stopped, sucking lazily around the good-sized part of Chris’s cock still in his mouth.  “Are you-- touching yourself?”

Darren does pull back then, letting it pop obscenely just to watch Chris blush and slowly stroking over himself twice.  “Should I not?”

Chris bites his lip and Darren wishes he were close enough to kiss it.  “No, you should, just don’t come yet.”

The words put Darren right on the edge when he had been miles away from it before and he doubles over, squeezing hard at the base of his cock.  Fuck that’s hot.

“I want to do it,” Chris offers as explanation, and Darren sucks hard to make Chris stop talking because apparently that’s all it takes to get him off.

He breathes hard through his nose, revisiting spots that make Chris cry out and working to control the countering pleasure building in his own stomach, balls drawing up tight and making him back off, then work himself up again.  He seals his mouth right up against the head of Chris’s cock, the soft skin of the shaft and the rigid pulsing heat that lies right underneath both tangible on his lips.  He sucks hard, rubbing his pointed tongue underneath and taking his hand off his own cock completely as Chris’s broken cries escalate, hand gripping hard enough that the tips of Darren’s fingers go numb as the first splash of come coats Darren’s tongue.

Darren licks him through it, suckling and moaning in the back of his throat as Chris slumps over, barely holding himself up as Darren keeps going until his cock goes soft in his mouth.  Swallowing one last time, taste still thick on his tongue, Darren releases him, rocking back on his heels when he still unspilled cock twitches near-painfully.

He digs the knuckles of his fists into his thighs, breathing measured to try and calm himself down enough that he won’t come all over the place when Chris barely touches him like he’s a fucking fifteen-year-old again.

“Darren,” Chris laughs, a musical kind of happy free laugh that makes tears build up in the corners of Darren’s eyes, strangely enough.  “Darren, oh god, that was-- come here, let me--”

Managing to get his toes curled underneath, Darren lets Chris haul him to his feet, wincing when his knees pop and nearly knocking them both over, Chris orgasm-stupid and Darren lack of orgasm stupid and he almost laughs out loud but then Chris licks his hand and puts it on his cock and he barely manages a moan.

“Shit, Chris yes, you’re perfect, just a little--” Darren babbles, slumping against the wall and letting Chris do all the work, murmuring nonsense and praise and pleas as Chris jacks him off, smearing the precome dribbled down the underneath and tracing the shell of Darren’s ear with his tongue.

Scratching through the sparse hair on Darren’s belly, Chris rucks his shirt up, leaving Darren gasping for air like he’s never had enough in his life, feeling soaked in sweat and pleasure.

“Come for me,” Chris commands, hot and intimate in his ear and twisting roughly over the swollen dark head of Darren’s cock and he does, hips rocking up to fuck Chris’s fist as he moans, streaking his own stomach and making the glide of Chris’s hand wet as he strokes him through.

Darren finds he can’t lift his arms, humming happily when Chris kisses him soundly, keeping his eyes closed as he hears water running and a damp roughness dragging over his stomach.

“Sorry they only have shitty paper towels,” Chris apologizes, and Darren just leans forward blindly, lips catching the corner of Chris’s eyebrow.

“Mm thank you,” he says, easing his briefs back up over his sensitive cock and pulling up his pants, freezing when he feels his phone vibrate where it’s still stuck in his back pocket.

“Oh shit,” he says, zipping them quickly and groping for his cell.  “Fuck, did I--”

1:54.  Maybe there is a god.

“I have to go,” Darren says, already sad he can’t afterglow with Chris.  “If I don’t have my ass in that seat at two o’clock Lauren will flay me alive, I’ve already been warned.”

“Me too,” Chris says, smiling easily as he checks himself in the mirror.  “My panel’s at the same time, remember?”  He looks way more composed than Darren, only the mischievous glint in his eyes, the pink that won’t quite leave his cheeks giving him away.

Darren scoops his bag off the floor, hurrying to follow Chris with only a cursory glance in the mirror telling him his hair is fucked no matter how much he runs his fingers through it.

“Wait!” he calls over the roar of the crowd, Chris turning where he was about to disappear.

“Wait, shouldn’t we, exchange numbers, or?” Darren says, unable to get closer with the rush of people moving into ballrooms pushing all around.

“It was really nice to meet you, Darren,” Chris says, and half of it Darren lip-reads before Chris smiles and melts into the crowd.

Darren stares, dumbfounded, torn between running after him and wondering when the fuck he got invested in what he knew was gonna be a casual hook-up when Joey appears right at his side.

“Dude, I’ve been yelling your name for the past two minutes, what the fuck?”

“Sorry,” Darren says, clearing his throat when it comes out a little strangled.  “I just um, thought I saw someone.”

“Well I hope you didn’t,” Joey sneers, making Darren back up to scowl at him.  “Dude-- that’s the Glee panel.”

“Oh,” Darren says, letting Joey clear a path in the crowd and drag him behind, trying to forget blue eyes and strong hands long enough to make it through.

Afterwards he hovers around outside the Glee panel ballroom long enough to get Brian asking what’s wrong and he knows if Joey finds him he’ll find a way to get it out of him, so he shrugs and moves, joining up with the group of fans talking to Lauren and Joe.

It’s not the fact that he hooked up with someone that makes him want to keep it to himself, not even that it was a guy-- they all had seen Darren at way too many parties and nights out to know better than that.  He doesn’t know what it is, but he grins when he looks in the mirror before bed and his scalp is so sensitive he can barely touch it, red scratches on his neck and criss-crossed on his belly.

He thinks Chris might have been a mythical creature or something, some spirit or nymph that he only got to catch one time, fleeting magic that he was always destined to lose.  He smiles at the thought, because that’s probably as sensible as he can make of what happened that afternoon, and that almost almost takes away the regret.

----------------------------

Darren’s full of nervous energy his first day on set, familiar with Ryan already but quickly passed off to a PA who does her best to answer his questions.  He’s totally distracted, though, looking for members of the cast.

He hasn’t been told a whole lot about the character, though he knows he’s openly gay, as has been discussed at length and beat to death both in his presence and behind closed doors.  He’s here now though, after a lot of fighting and reasoning and negotiating, and he’s happy to have a job that also lets him stand for something inherently important to him.

If he can’t fight in the trenches he can at least be a figurehead, right?

“And that’s-- Actually that’s Chris Colfer right there, he plays Kurt,” the PA says, and she gets ten steps in front of Darren before she notices he stopped walking with her.

“Chris?” Darren says, pulse pounding and head spinning because no.

But whether he wants to believe it or not that’s Chris, the Chris, standing five feet in front of him, and Darren feels like the slowest person to ever walk the face of the planet.

“Darren,” he says breathlessly, and god he’s beautiful, much more put-together than Darren remembers him, his hair swept back in a different way but he knows those ears and especially that neck, would recognize them anywhere.

The PA makes an excuse to leave but Darren barely hears her.

“I’m so fucking dumb, I didn’t know--” Darren starts, shaking his head.

“That much is obvious,” Chris says gently, letting Darren close the space between them.

“Hey now, in my defense,” Darren protests, “you look a lot different in your own clothes doing your own hair and standing in front of me in a convention center instead of on the other side of my TV screen.”

“Good to know,” Chris laughs, and Darren wants to close his eyes and bask in that laugh forever.

“Wait, did you know who I was?” Darren demands.

Chris shifts a little, folding his arms around himself just like Darren remembers.  “You look different now too, with your hair all cut off.  I didn’t know your real name, but of course I knew exactly who you are the second I saw you.  You’re Harry Freakin’ Potter.”

Darren grins, can’t help it, feels like this is the pinnacle of his life so far, chasing and catching his nymph that went running away through the forest like fate itself had designed.

“Well, Mr. Colfer, Emmy nominee for portraying the much beloved Kurt Hummel, it seems there’s a lot of gaps we both have to fill in.  Would you... maybe wanna go to dinner?”

Darren loves that smile, wants to see it every day for the rest of the foreseeable future and wants to punch the air with joy because he totally will.

“I would love that,” Chris says honestly, and Darren pulls him in for a hug, wondering what the fuck he’s gotten into.