There should be a tag devoted entirely to Colfer's scruffy domestic look.
The way Chris works with his drawn eyebrows, tongue sneaking out to wet his lips, eyes intent and very serious, and clicks, always clicks, of his fingers on the keyboard. Will walks by the office and sometimes he lingers in the doorway and shamelessly stares. Most of the time Chris doesn’t even notice but when he does, he gives Will an exasperated look.
“They are not cooperating,” he complains, or
“This is fucking dumb,” or
“Order dinner?”
But sometimes it’s “Come here.” And it’s like Will wasn’t going into his own office to skype with his sister or get some work done. No, instead he plops up next to Chris, if he’s on the couch, or sits on his lap if Chris is at the desk. He kisses those dry lips and ignores an angry meow or a sad bark, depending on which pet has decided to be Chris’ companion for the day (it’s never both, Will has almost convinced Chris that there are either (a) fights they don’t know about or (b) a schedule they haven’t figured out yet. Chris is pretty sure that whoever is there first calls dibs, but he’s not gonna stop Will from playing his little conspiracy game).
Once they even forget about the laptop and as Chris rolls them over, his leg hits it, hard, and it skids over to the desk, tilting precariously. Chris shrugs and dives back into the kiss. The laptop lives. Will comes so hard he thinks he might not.
Eventually, he does end up in his own office and actually sets out to write something, until in his peripheral vision he catches a movement. Chris, leaning against the door, looking at him with dark eyes.
Pairing: Chris/Will
Summary: The one where Chris thinks he knows it all.
When he sees Chris for the first time in a while, it’s in a loud club where the beat and alcohol dictate how his body moves and how his brain works. He’s sliding up to him, leaning against the bar and smiling, offering a sip of his drink.
“Try it.”
It’s a throwback to the time a few years ago when Ashley first introduced them. When Will felt more like a big brother, and Chris kept his distance.
The straw Will is offering is bright pink but Chris barely looks at it. His eyes rake over Will’s face, looking for a catch or a sign. Will just keeps smiling, and finally Chris relaxes and leans down to suck the alcohol through the straw, his eyes never leaving Will’s.
“I noticed you right after I arrived.”
Will grins, “Why didn’t you come say hi?”
“You looked busy.” Chris nods at the buff brunet guy, dancing nearby and eyeing them.
“Well, I’m not busy now.”
“It’s hardly a place to catch up.”
Will offers him his glass again, and Chris takes it, tosses it back and grabs Will’s hand. “Let’s dance.”
As he follows Chris into the pulsating crowd, doubt tries to creep into his head. But he squishes it and tugs Chris into his body, surrendering to the rhythm.
It’s hot, it’s dark and impossible not to press against each other. Chris tastes like rum and by the way he kisses back, Will knows there’s nothing stopping them now.
*
In the taxi they sit, thighs pressed, and count red lights and crossroads.
Chris turns his head to look at him and says, “I’ve heard about the break up.”
“Good.”
“We wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
Will nods and stares at his hands. Without a drink in hand and a beat in his head, it’s hard to block the doubt and a warning voice that sounds suspiciously like Ashley’s.
*
“I like your house. It feel like nothing’s been changed.”
Chris cocks his hip against the door frame. “Everything changed.”
Will takes a deep breath and steps forward, crowding into Chris’ space, and slides his hands up over Chris’ arms. “It did.”
Chris kisses him, threading a hand through Will’s hair at the back of his head, angling him and pressing in with his whole body. “I missed you,” he whispers and then his tongue is licking back into Will’s mouth, hot and sharp.
“I missed you too,” says Will when they pull away, breathing heavily. Chris’ eyes flash as he bucks forward and catches Will’s lips again.
It’s quick and dirty. Shirts get untucked, pants unzipped and then there is a cock in his hand and he’s jerking Chris off and Chris' hand is on him. A position that is not the most intimate somehow is - Chris is looking at him with his face turned upward, their lips hovering over each other and Will's eyes jumping from Chris' lips to his eyes and back.
Suddenly Chris takes his hand off and pressing against Will, kisses him, a moan escaping his mouth. Will winds his arms around Chris' waist and tugs him even closer.
"I wanna do it like this," breathes Chris against his cheek and takes both of their dicks in his hand. "Move."
And Will moves. At first, it's torturously slow, mindful and careful, his eyes locked with Chris', the little sounds they make getting consciously silenced. But then Chris snaps and kisses him again. He starts thrusting against Will, into his own fist, and Will quickly finds the rhythm to match. The beat is back in his head.
The faster they go, the easier it becomes - the tension of not keeping in touch evaporates and leaves only two men in Chris' living room, no drama or emotional baggage. That's when their moans become more than whispers and their movements become frantic, their hips snapping towards each other. Will leans over and tries to kiss Chris' lips again, but the force of their thrusts doesn’t let their mouths properly touch.
Chris' teeth catching Will's lower lip is what pushes him over the edge. He comes with a groan, clutching at Chris' shirt. When he opens his eyes, Chris is breathing hard, his hand is still around both of their dicks.
Will pushes Chris' hand off and starts jerking him off, watching Chris' eyes roll into the back of his head when he finally comes, spilling over Will's hand and collapsing into his arms.
"Gross," comments Will with an amused smile as Chris buries his head in the crook of Will's neck.
"Shut up," murmurs Chris and kisses his shoulder.
*
"Let's have dinner tomorrow," says Will as he climbs into the bed next to Chris.
Chris frowns and asks, "Dinner as in a date?"
"Yeah." Will sits on the bed, cross-legged, watching Chris fiddle with an edge of the sheet.
"No," Chris shakes his head.
"Why the fuck no?" Will stares at him incredulously. "After what's just happened?"
"You just got out of a relationship, you aren't ready for another one," says Chris, not lifting his head to look at Will.
"Let me decide that, okay?" snaps Will. "We did this dance two years ago, I don't want a repeat."
"Afraid you won't find another guy who you can pretend to be in love with for another two years? Or maybe you'll even marry the next one, how's that?" spits out Chris, finally glancing at Will.
"Great idea, Chris! And meanwhile, you can keep writing books and fucking your way through Hollywood’s closeted assholes until you realize that you're in your forties and completely alone!"
"At least after ten years of marriage I won't realize that I've grown to hate the person I go to bed with every night!"
"Jesus, Chris, shut up," says Will, rolling his eyes.
Chris' mouth falls open, "What the fuck, Will?"
"I understand why you're angry and you can yell at me all you want after you agree to have that dinner tomorrow. And also to go with me to the movies on Thursday. Because I'm not gonna pretend to be fine with waiting around this time around, I'm not gonna wait for you to get your shit together and realize that life's passing you by for no fucking reason. I'm turning 30 this year and I wanna do this with you by my side. And we're gonna get your shit together ... together," Will pauses, smiles and adds, "You're not even that famous, by the way."
"You're crazy," comes Chris' quick reply.
"So yes or no?" asks Will impatiently.
Chris sighs and finally lets Will catch his eyes, "Yes, fine."
Will grins and after a long look that, as Chris hopes, conveys what this all means for him, he finally smiles back, "Okay," he gives Will one of his saucy smirks, "can I yell at you now?"
A/N: title is from ZHU - Faded which is what I was listening to while I was writing the first few paragraphs.
Will is just a little bit tipsy when he stumbles over and blurts out, “Hey, you’re Chris, right?”
He gets a non-committal grunt and shrugs.
“You’re so drunk you’re not sure you’re Chris and having existential doubts or you’re just –um – not Chris and telling me to fuck off?”
This gets Will a raised eyebrow and a judgmental stare. “This is my first drink.”
“So you aren’t Chris then? Bummer,” Will slouches against the wall and ruefully stares at him. “What’s your name?”
“Chris.”
Will chokes on his drink and coughs, “Damn, man!”
---
“I thought you were, like, celebrity-hunting, or wanted to, I dunno, seduce me and then brag about it on the Internet -“
“He has trust issues.”
“Oh I’ve noticed.”
“And you’ve gotta like work around them if you wanna go somewhere with him and shit, like hell, dat boy just needs to get some –“
Chris blushes and hisses, “Will you two just stop talking about me like I’m not here?”
“But boo, that’s half the fun,” Ashley pinches his thigh. “Also I can only talk about you to this handsome boy in the backseat, anyone else - and my body’ll turn up somewhere in the canyon.”
Chris catches Will’s little laugh in the rearview mirror and rolls his eyes. “What makes you think there won’t be two bodies?”
They look at each other quickly and Chris bites his lip. How did I end up with these two as best friends? thinks Chris and laughs a little. Karma.
---
“I didn’t realize he was that Will!”
“How could you not, there’s only one Will, who hooked up with th –“
“Shut the fuck up!” Will’s blush is obvious even in the dim lights of the room.
“Oh no, I wanna know,” Chris scoots closer to Cam, ignoring looks Will’s shooting his way, “Tell me everything.”
“Okay! One night, when he was still dating that jackass –“
---
Will comes with raunchy stories and even raunchier friends. Chris almost ends up in the middle of one of those stories but Ashley rescues him just in time.
“Uh-huh, you don’t wanna go there.”
Drunk on rum and lust he doesn’t get it and foolishly tries to shake her hands off and return to the boy in question (who, as he later learns, is actually a very questionable boy).
For some reason Will is not there that night and Chris doesn’t notice or ask (he was handed his first glass the second he walked through the door) until it’s late and he can’t find him anywhere.
---
“I can probably catch you a gator for your birthday, bare-handed and all.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“No, I said DON’T you dare.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Why aren’t you there?”
“Where?”
“Out there?”
“I’m tired.”
“Don’t you have to make up for all the time you spend working?”
“Nope, I’d rather stay on this weirdly smelling sofa.”
“Okay.”
Chris almost expects Will to go back to the party, having checked on him out of politeness but he surprises Chris and stays on the sofa with him until Ashley barges in, demanding to leave.
---
Chris knows they talk about him. On Sundays they get together for a brunch Ashley’s always wanted from him but never got and gossip about his latest quirk. Will sends him pictures of their cocktails and a vaguely inappropriate quotes from their conversation.
“ – someone to bang with that huge COCKtail of his - ”
“ – proud and loud, my neighbors – “
It makes absolutely no sense but it makes Chris laugh.
---
But then he falls in love.
---
“No, no, no, we’re not doing this, we are NOT doing this, we’re so not –“
“Chris, calm down –“
“Don’t tell me to calm down!”
“Chris, please,” it comes out shaky, and it surprises them both.
“Oh,” Chris sits heavily on the bed beside Will and tries to take his hand.
Will pulls away.
“I’m sorry. Talk. Let’s talk. Will…”
“Don’t you wanna pace some more? Stomp around? Slam doors?”
“Don’t be a bitch. I’m still sitting here, ain’t I?”
“You are.” Will sighs and repeats, “you are.”
---
It’s strange and unfamiliar, the intensity of feelings he develops for Will.
They listen to Will’s horrible rap music, lying in a rumpled bed in his shitty apartments in Ventura, and the neighbors bang at the wall. They get food poisoning from a burger place around the corner and take turns running to the bathroom.
On Will’s 30th birthday he exhausts his supply of age jokes but a chance probability of spending the next decade (and more) together warms Chris’ heart as he goes to sleep that night, curling into Will.
He also makes a habit of writing down all age jokes that come to his mind so that he can tease Will next year.
The best thing (the thing he was at the same time afraid of and wished for) is that next year happens, and the year after that and after that too.
---
“Hey, Will –“
“Huh?”
“I think I love you.”
“What?”
“I love you.”
Will blinks away the blurry Chris and stares at the real one, sitting propped up against the headboard. “Are you sleep-talking?”
A pillow lands on his head and he peeks from behind it, his heart beating loudly against his chest.
“Really?”
Tired eyes, spikey hair, Chris gives him a smile. “Really.”
What no one ever guesses right about Chris, brilliant writer and genius of repartee, is that he is terrible at dirty talk. Once the clothes are off, all bets are too and he can blabber away filthily until his partner’s cheeks turn red. But when he’s dressed and in public, his mouth clamps shut before he can say ‘dick’.
Chris has never given much thought to this particular skill, but then he sees Will flirt with a guy in a rabbit costume – and there’s an odd twist in his stomach and a slow burning in his chest and why go chasing a rabbit when there’s a perfectly groomed llama right next to it? Unless one has a size complex, Chris giggles and finishes his daiquiri.
(Of course, two months later Chris learns that Ashley is a terrible wingwoman and that she actually asked Will not to and he is mad until Will’s lips shut him up.)
And even though in 2012 on that fateful Halloween Chris’ feelings for Will don’t run deeper than ‘he’s hot, newly single and gods, those abs’, he’s still feeling a little bitter at being upstaged by a mere bunny. He wishes he had the guts to press against Will and whisper something scandalous in his ear – something that will make even this deliciously inappropriate man blush and smile knowingly at Chris.
He tries dancing with other guys but none of them really do and he forces himself to have fun despite the fact that his night is turning out to be largely sexless - the opposite of what he wanted it to be once he heard that Ashley was bringing Will who’s just broken up with his boyfriend (hello, rebounds!).
He feels a lot better though when Will leaves the party rabbit-less and stays up all night with him and Ashley, playing board games.
---
What follows is accidentally flopping down on the couch next to Will at the beginning of a movie night and no desire to move away for the whole duration of it. Which in turn is followed by an exchange of numbers, subsequent dates in Chris’ kitchen and kisses at his doorstep. Trips to Ventura, long hikes and sushi for breakfast because they’ve been fucking all night and there’s no energy left also happen and in between all this Chris has no need for the kind of dirty talk he hasn’t quite mastered yet.
---
The problem is, of course, his paranoia. What if someone overhears? What if they print it? What if they tweet that they’ve just heard Chris Colfer say that he wants to make his boyfriend beg without even touching his dick, with his mouth on Will’s balls, licking and dragging and rolling? (Is it 140 symbols or more?) What if they manage to take a picture of his hand on Will’s crotch because he can’t resist not knowing how his boyfriend’s dick twitches and hardens when Chris talks like this?
It’s terrifying and arousing and then Chris leaves a party with a sticky mess in his pants from rubbing and words that Will’s drunken brain haphazardly conjured and he determines to return the favor. It takes him more than a year to achieve but it’s so worth it.
---
“I bet I can unzip it with my teeth,” murmurs Chris into Will’s ear.
Will gives him a look.
“Or I can suck your dick without taking it off,” shrugs Chris with a smirk, catching a quick glance Will throws at his mouth.
“Chris, there are – um - people around?”
“It’s never stopped you.”
“People with cameras? And with Internet?” Will tries again but Chris shushes him.
“If I press my finger between your cheeks, I’ll be able to slip it inside of you, maybe even thrust a little.”
Will fidgets and presses his palm into his crotch.
“Oh no,” Chris reaches for it and entwines their hands, looking pointedly at Will, “I don’t want you touching yourself, not until we’re home, baby. I want you to listen.”
Will swallows and Chris watches his Adam’s apple move, hidden by the black fabric of his bodysuit. He takes a deep breath and starts, focusing on the man beside him and ignoring the thump of the party and people mingling around them. “When we come home, honey, I want you to drag me by the collar to the stairs and I want you to push me down, face first into your hard dick straining against the spandex.”
“Then I will catch the head of your dick between my lips and play with it until it becomes unbearable for you and you’ll drag me off and lead me to the bedroom where you’ll tell me to undress you and I’ll slip that tight suit off you, inch by inch,” Will’s fingers tighten around his and Chris glances down at his lap. The bulge is bigger and he flushes, proud, and presses a fleeting kiss to Will’s lips.
He leans closer to Will and whispers into his ear, “You’ll sprawl out on the bed, legs open, your cock shining with pre-come, begging to be touched. And with your strong hands on my hips, you’ll maneuver me to where you want me and open me wide with that dick.”
Will’s other hand finds Chris’ thigh and starts sliding up as Chris keeps on talking, “I’m gonna ride you so fucking hard that you’ll come within minutes, shooting up my ass,” Will’s hand cups his dick and Chris stops, gasps, wants to swat it away but Will looks into his eyes, pupils blown, and in a hoarse voice says, “Go on, baby,” and Chris can’t refuse.
“But I’m gonna keep moving, up and down, until you slip out and then I’ll use your hand, thrust hard into its grip and come all over you, your stomach, you soft dick and you’re gonna wish that you’d felt the way I squeeze around you when I co –“
Will’s hand quickly withdraws and through his hazy arousal Chris notices a photographer not far away, snapping away at his camera.
He looks gratefully at Will and tries to think in more human-less-animal sort of way.
Once the photographer disappears back in the crowd, Will tilts his head towards Chris and whispers, “To be continued, right? I wanna know how it ends.”
Chris grins, “Don’t worry, I won’t leave you bereft of the end.”
It is not the title of a werewolf Kurtbastian fanfic (sorry!)
It is though a very heart-felt knee-scraping plea for someone to beta my Buffy AU Kurtbastian based on this lovely gifset. I've been writing it for some time and it's finally coming alone nicely but I feel that I've been alone with it for too long and I would really like someone else's opinion.
So, if you like vampires and their pointy things, slayers and their pointy things (puns intended), please please message me here !
I won't be able to give you real-life coffee and cookies (that is, if you don't live within an hour trip from me and it's highly unlikely) but I can send you pretty pictures! Here, have one -
Summary: Fashion is companionship. Fashion is grief. Fashion is recovery. Fashion is armour. Fashion is future.
AO3
---
When for the first time in his life Kurt held a reel of thread in his hand, he had no notion of fashion. As he grasped the reel with his tiny chubby fingers, feeling proud at being trusted with it, he never took his eyes off his mother’s hands and a huge (must be his dad’s) sock with a hole instead of a heel. He watched and watched, and the hole disappeared, like magic, with flicks of a hand.
When his mother was done, he reached forward and asked to try. But she tucked the needle into the cushion and gently pried his fingers from the reel, “Oh sweetie, you’re too young. Wait a couple of years, and I’ll teach you how to sew.” She ruffled his hair and returned the box to its place on the top shelf.
His mom knit him scarves and sweaters and let Kurt hold the clew. He sat transfixed, staring at the two big needles flying and it was another kind of magic. Elizabeth let him touch the needle that time and it was big and when he lifted it, he imagined that he was a knight with a sword and that he was with other princes fighting dragons.
He clasped the material while his mother sewed. He held his breath, watching the mechanic needle create seams and connect pieces of fabric together. It was plaid, sky, cobalt, white and a bit of navy; his father wore it to Friday night dinner that week and Kurt bounced with pride. And when Burt came to work in it and took his son with him, Kurt told everyone he could find that he helped make it. His father’s friends smiled, ruffled his hair and asked if he could make them one too when he grew up.
He noticed that something was wrong when his mom couldn’t get the thread through the eye. Her hand trembled and it’d never happened before.
“Mom, you need to lie down,” Kurt said firmly. “You’ve been cooking all morning, you’re tired.”
She smiled at him with the corners of her mouth. “It’s alright, sweetie. I didn’t sleep well, that’s all.”
When he learnt the truth, there had already been no sewing or knitting for a few weeks. He avoided the sewing machine like plague and he never looked up, at the top shelf, where reels of thread and pin cushions gathered dust.
---
His aunt visited once a month and created a semblance of order. She wiped the dust from the top shelf, rearranged dishes according to their size, turned cups upside down and made sure that handles were always sticking out and not tucked in. She mended his father’s huge socks and bought vegetables and made cake for Kurt’s birthday. The frosting was wrong, and the chocolate was too dark, but Kurt shoved it down and thanked her. He couldn’t miss the relieved sigh from his dad.
His first scrambled egg almost set the house on fire. His first toast got stuck. The bag of flour was too heavy and it slipped. He cut himself when he was cutting onions because even though he was standing on a foot rest he was still too short and his eyes were too close and he couldn’t see anything.
Every night after finishing homework Kurt settled in front of the TV with his father. It never mattered what they were watching as long as they were doing something together. One Tuesday in November Kurt noticed that not one but two of his father’s socks had holes in them and two buttons were missing from his plaid shirt - the one that was sky, cobalt, white and a bit of navy. The next day when he returned from school he stood on the chair and reached the top shelf.
---
He borrowed a book about sewing from their school library and the boys from his History class were there and they saw him in the girls’ section and they taunted him and laughed at him for the whole week.
The next time when he borrowed books he did it right before closing time so that no one was there.
---
He helped his father in the garage and spent his first earned money to buy more fabric. He copied clothes from old magazines but a few years later he had a subscription to Vogue and had discovered the Internet.
Because of his clothes and his voice he got called a girl at least three times a day at school but it was alright, he got used to it pretty quickly. He liked girls better anyway.
But when they started to call him other names, he pulled a cardigan over his shirt.
When he got his first bruise from being shoved into the locker, he added a brooch.
When at the end of the day he had to climb out of the dumpster to be in time for the school bus, he bought his first poncho.
When he had to climb out of the dumpster to be in time for the first class, he spent all his money on a Vivienne Westwood scarf.
He didn’t want to hear people whispering behind him at class so he started to draw. At first it was absent-minded, circles, squares, flowers and hearts. Then it was people-shaped sketches, bodies and clothes. At fourteen he sewed his first T-shirt. At sixteen he made his first pants.
---
It’s one thing to wear clothes you designed yourself but it’s absolutely different to see it worn by other people. Gorgeous people. The most handsome people he’d ever met. He couldn’t help himself, he really couldn’t, and he ended up sleeping with his first model. It was unprofessional and Kurt was a nervous wreck for a week until he told Isabelle and she laughed.
“Oh honey, it’s completely normal! We work in the beauty business after all, don’t we?”
He calmed down after that and hired another model and in no time he had two models, and the number kept growing and by the time of his first fashion show he was ready to take over the world.
The morning when his first collection went on sale was a rainy one. He stood in front of the window and sipped hot tea. He hadn’t slept and wandered around his apartment, spinning in his chair with closed eyes. He arranged pencils, sharpened them, reorganized files with his old designs and for a long time sat in front of the blank sheet.
He started drawing at dawn and by the time the first ray of sun ambled into his living room he already had what could be the start of his new spring collection.
Summary: Chris is never running lines with Will again.
"Two seconds, no tongue, I want my Porsche."
"I want a Porsche, too," deadpans Chris and gets hit with a screenplay. He jumps off the chair, laughing, and accidentally steps on Brian's tail. It swishes against his leg and the cat darts away with one last glare, warning Chris that something evil will happen to him tonight.
He flops back on the chair and glares at Will. "Look what you did."
Will raises his arms in defense and smiles, "I'm sleeping in the guest room tonight though."
Chris gives him his best unimpressed look.
*
"You, silly," says Chris and squeezes Will's hand.
"Fuck, man, you're strong."
Chris rolls his eyes and kisses Will's palm, not letting go, "You already know that, silly."
*
"You, silly," Will's eyes are twinkly and Chris knows this is not the last time they’re rehearsing this scene, "He's so forgetful, he forgot he proposed."
"I would, wouldn't I?" whispers Will, completely out of character, "I would propose and forget."
Chris hits him with the screenplay. "You do that and the wedding is off."
"But we'll still get to have the honeymoon, right?" asks Will, wiggling his eyebrows.
The kiss Chris shuts him up with is not-quite-making-out but it’s close.
*
"Two seconds, no tongue, I want my Porsche."
Chris leans forward, closing his eyes with a grimace and when he opens his mouth for the next line, warm lips press against his and his eyes fly open. "William!"
His boyfriend gives him a dopey grin, "Sorry," he says with a shrug, already moving in for another kiss.
*
Three runs through the script later and Chris is almost confident that he knows everything by heart. They do it one last time, just to be sure, and when they reach the almost- kiss scene Chris leaves his eyes open, watching Will lean in very diligently with the right kind of unpleasant face.
Chris ducks down and plants a kiss on Will's lips. Will pulls away and splutters in shock, "Chris!"
"Come on, we're done," smirks Chris and straddles Will, shoving the screenplay off his lap.
"I hope this isn’t in a new version of the script," says Will, pushing his thumbs under the waistband of Chris' shorts.
"Oh no, definitely not," assures him Chris and locks their lips.
When Chris arrives at the hotel, Will is already there, leaning against the wall not far from the entrance. Alla hurries to the reception, leaving the two of them staring at each other.
“You’re late,” says Will.
“Got stuck in traffic.”
Will nods.
“When did you come?”
“An hour ago,” replies Will and a familiar sheepish smile makes Chris’ heart leap. “I couldn’t wait,” he explains and stuffs his hands into his pockets.
Chris wants to reach out, step into Will’s arms and fold himself against Will’s body, but not here, not yet.
*
“You have an hour,” says Alla, handing them a key, “not a minute more. I know how long you can take.” Her stern face can’t hold for long and a moment later she’s grinning, talking excitedly to his boyfriend.
Chris knows that Will is listening keenly, like he always is, nice and friendly and warm, so he keeps his hands to himself, standing to the side and watching floor numbers change.
*
“Do we have to include a shower into that hour?” asks Will, hands skidding down to Chris’ belt.
“If you don’t want to be uncomfortable during the signing, yes,” mumbles Chris, pushing buttons out of their holes and ridding Will of his shirt.
Will swears and the shedding of clothing speeds up. They are naked in bed in the matter of seconds, Chris pressing him into the mattress. He’s been waiting for it for the whole week, this gorgeous body falling apart underneath him, while Chris’ cock slides in and out of the tight heat.
Last night when they were skyping Chris’s hand was loosely wrapped around his cock as he whispered all he wanted to do to Will at the screen. His glasses had slid down his nose and Will was a little fuzzy and grainy but the sounds, those little whines that he made - they made Chris thrust up faster and come in white thick stripes all over his hand.
They said goodbyes with lazy smiles and with his left hand on the touchpad Chris ended the call.
But now the man is real and tangible; his little gasps and breathy moans are the only thing Chris hears as he kisses down Will’s chest, scratching lightly around his nipples. He flips Will over, chest to back, and lets his dick settle right between Will’s cheeks.
“Chris,” whispers Will, turning his head slightly.
“Yeah?”
“Fuck me like this.”
Chris’ hands slide down Will’s arms gently and he presses a quick kiss behind his ear. “But it’s been more than a week.”
Will bucks up and Chris’ grip tightens on Will’s biceps. “Just fuck me already, you’re wasting time,” and he wiggles until Chris’ dick is wedged deeper and all he has to do is push forward to finally be inside.
He sinks in.
He goes slow, with breathing ceased to pay attention to every little twitch of Will’s body. But it’s pliant and loose and Chris bottoms out pressing between Will’s legs.
“Move,” croaks Will after a long excruciating moment.
Chris draws out and thrusts back in sharply. It earns a deep moan and he latches his lips to Will’s neck, letting his hips gyrate and move at their own accord. But once Will’s sounds become less subdued, Chris rises on his elbows and with one quick thrust after another he builds up a stuttering rhythm, with Will already tightening around him.
When Will squeezes around him, coming from the friction against the bed, Chris pounds faster, fucking away the stress, the insomnia and every tense muscle until he comes, slumping against Will.
“I love you,” Chris whispers into his ear, gentle hands at his waist.
“Love you too,” murmurs Will back.
Chris tries not to look at Will’s red and gaping hole and a string of white that stretches out from it to his cock. They don’t have time and energy, and just one more week, one more week.
Will rolls on his side and grimaces. Chris ducks in and kisses him soothingly. “Nap?”
“Twenty minutes?” Will raises his eyebrows but his arms are already wrapping around Chris’ waist, drawing him into his body.
“Twenty minutes before Alla calls,” says Chris and closes his eyes with a smile.
Summary: Sebastian always gets what he wants. At least until he meets Kurt Hummel.
AO3
The title is from The Last Shadow Puppets' song - My Mistakes Were Made For You. You can listen to it here
Sebastian always gets what he wants.
He is a persistent and he's proud of it. He always gets what he wants.
His childhood was toys whined out of his parents, frequent trips to Disneyland and ice cream before dinner. At school it was getting better grades than everyone else, having the hottest girlfriend and, after he figured some stuff out, the hottest boyfriend. Then it was having his dick sucked at the particular tilt of his head, then the title of the captain of Warblers and whatever vintage cars he wanted.
That was until he met Kurt Hummel.
*
He hears a squeal "tall non-fat mocha please" and grimaces. His eyes are drawn to a slim figure at the front of the line. If he agrees to do it with a gag, I'm in, thinks Sebastian and watches the hips as the guy collects his coffee and struts out of the shop. Definitely in.
*
A few days later with a splitting headache from spending nine unbearable hours in the archives with dusty books Sebastian heads for Starbucks. His ear-drums have been shattered the moment he stepped out onto the sidewalk, and now that he sees two blissfully empty plush chairs in the farthest corner, he already imagines himself in one of them, coffee warming his throat that’s become scratchy from the dust.
But he doesn't see a loud gaggle students who cut him off when he's a foot away from the door. He ends up holding the door, letting them pass and when he finally enters the shop, all he can hear is their incessant yapping and cackling and his two chairs in the corner are moved to the nearby table where the group flops their asses down.
He grabs his cup with a gloomy grimace - the only emotion he can muster up enough energy to express. He sits in the middle of the shop, constantly being bumped and shoved and apologized to. He snarks under his breath and when he can't take it anymore he stands up, abandoning his half full cup on the table, and runs straight into the gag-guy.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” is squealed into his ear and a pair of blue eyes look at Sebastian guiltily. “I didn’t expect you to – you know, stand up,” the boy says with a faint blush on his cheeks.
If he wasn’t so tired, he would make a crude comment but he still has to get home.“Yeah, whatever,” mutters Sebastian and sidestepping the boy, heads out.
*
College has turned out to be much harder than he expected. Professors are not as easily charmed and all they do right away is demand papers on topics no one but them has any idea about. For the first month he doesn’t sleep for more than three hours a day and none of his daylight (or nightlight for that matter) hours are spent in the company of handsome gay men.
Instead he spends it with books.
When by early October the situation doesn’t improve, he resorts to drastic measures. Sebastian fucks his eager closeted upper-floor neighbor while his wife is out walking the dog. It’s a one-time-thing, thankfully, and when a week later he bumps into him on the stairs, the man doesn't acknowledge him.
And in this miserable nearly sexless state Sebastian spends the week before the midterms, stumbling into a painfully familiar Starbucks and catching an amused look of the gag-guy whose coffee runs seem to frightfully coincide with Sebastian's.
It’s been weeks – months – since he sauntered into the shop with an aplomb of a freshmeat high school graduate in a big city and saw that delicious ass.
He’s getting a hang of his classes but he still feels like the biggest loser.
*
He learns that the gag-guy’s name is Kurt when he accidentally grabs his cup from the counter.
"Um – excuse me,” he hears a muttering close to his ear and a manicured hand stretches out, wiggling fingers impatiently. “I believe it’s mine.”
Sebastian glances at the scribbled Kurt and thrusts it into the stretched out hand. “Like I would know what to do with a mocha,” he says distastefully and thankfully at that moment a barista calls out his name. Sebastian snatches his own coffee and with a single pointed glance at the boy, returns to his table.
I liked “gag-guy” better, thinks Sebastian and with a sigh resumes conjugating Provencal verbs.
*
A few days before Thanksgiving he walks into the shop and while he waits for his coffee he notices carefully laid out colorful flyers on the counter top. "Broadway Night" it screams in big Arial italic letters.
"What's that?" he asks Ann. She looks over from pouring cream in his drink and says, "These are Kurt's - you know, brown hair, blue eyes, high voice?" Sebastian nods and she continues, "He’s one of the performers.”
"Figures," mutters Sebastian and smiles thankfully at her when she hands him his cup. He readjusts the strap of his bag and his eyes once again fall on the pile of flyers. Making sure that Ann is busy with another customer, he grabs the top one quickly and stuffs it in the outer pocket of his bag.
*
Sebastian is bored. They sing and sing... and Kurt The Gag-Guy Hummel sings and he’s not that bad. Passable. Sebastian’s just never been into musical theatre.
Kurt is surrounded by the same gaggle of obnoxious people - and anyways, Sebastian wouldn't know what to say if he did manage to catch Kurt alone. He's not even sure why that thought crossed his mind - why would he need to talk to the guy at all.
He's here for some low-quality entertainment, not to talk.
His gaze must linger on the group for too long because Kurt's eyes land on him and he sees recognition in them. Sebastian quickly downs the rest of his beer and leaves, forcing himself to think of the paper he still needs to write for Monday.
*
A cup of coffee is slid across the table, nudging his open French history book.
"I wanted to say thank you for coming to the Broadway night last week," a high but surprisingly soft voice says.
Sebastian lifts his eyes curiously. "What's this?" he asks, gesturing at the cup.
"Coffee. I asked for the same thing you ordered," Kurt says with a shrug.
"A little presumptuous, don't you think?"
"Don't you want free coffee?" he retorts with a raised eyebrow.
"What's in it for you?"
"Your delightfully polite company, obviously."
Sebastian chuckles. "Well, ain’t you lucky today.” He smirks at Kurt and wraps his fingers around the cup, "I'm also pretty faithful to my coffee," he says and takes a sip, looking into Kurt's eyes.
*
Sebastian steals Kurt's phone number one rainy-snowy-mushy Thursday when the shop is full and they sit at one table, books mixed with sketches. He names himself "Hot Stuff" and Kurt gets "Gag-Guy" even though Sebastian doesn't call him that anymore.
Kurt, being a generally nice person, brings him coffee whenever there is a late night emergency plea from Sebastian. Sebastian, being generally a bitch, comes to the diner where Kurt works and mocks everything, secretly enjoying the way Kurt's hips move to the rhythm of the song.
Sebastian confesses to calling Kurt the Gag-Guy when they are walking through the Central Park. They huddle into their coats, Sebastian very loudly pitying Kurt whose outfit for that day didn't include a hat. Kurt hits Sebastian on the shoulder and with a squeak throws some snow on his boots.
*
Kurt’s eyes sparkle and beckon at him over a glass of wine. Instead of losing himself in their marine depth, Sebastian shifts his focus onto the glittering Christmas lights, reflected in the crystal.
Kurt really has fancy glasses.
"To you being done with your first semester,” says Kurt with a grin.
Sebastian’s eyes flick back to Kurt’s face, “To us being done with the finals.” He ignores the feeling that sweeps over him at the sight of Kurt’s pink tongue darting out to wet his lips.
They clink glasses, and the room is so quiet they can hear snow falling on windowsills.
He’s almost got the school figured out. But Kurt remains... Kurt.
Sebastian still hasn’t figured out what it is he wants and whenever he thinks about it, the jumbled mess of feelings he stumbles upon sends him fleeing. It’s too complicated. And Sebastian doesn’t do complicated.
The weight shifts and Sebastian watches as Kurt kicks his slippers away and curls on the couch, looking curiously at Sebastian. “So what are gonna do in France?”
"Sleep for days at first. Meet up with old friends. Drink mulled wine," he shrugs, "whatcha gonna do in Ohio?”
Kurt’s smile melts away. “I don't know. Try to be cheerful. Pretend that nothing’s wrong and the elves will be there shortly,” he says lightly, jocular, but his long fingers squeeze around the glass.
His lips still slide into a semblance of a smile when Sebastian rubs his shoulder gently.
"You’re drunk,” Sebastian rises from the couch to put away another empty bottle and staggers, falling back on the couch with a thud.
Kurt giggles. His teeth peek from under his lips that have been turned burgundy by the wine. “It’s your French alcohol,” they say. Sebastian can’t control his wandering eyes anymore.
He stares and sees Kurt swallow heavily. His body moves at its own accord: an inch, then more and then... his lips are on Kurt’s, and his eyes shut. Kurt tastes like wine and cheese, and Sebastian can’t breath, he can only press forwa –
The lips are gone. Sebastian can’t feel the warmth of Kurt’s body anywhere near and he’s scared, scared of opening his eyes and seeing Kurt’s horrified expression and the distance he’s put between them.
But Sebastian is no coward. He opens his eyes.
Kurt is perched on the edge of the couch. “I – I don’t want to be another conquest,” the last word falls from Kurt’s lips disdainfully, a deadshot at Sebastian’s heart and where’s that feeling come from? “I’m not one of your – whatever it is you call your achievements. I’m not some kind of a prize,” he says firmly with hands clutching his thighs, eyes darting around the room, eluding.
Sebastian doesn’t want the night to end, not yet. “Okay,” he says unwavering. “Won’t happen again.”
*
"How are things in Ohio?" texts Sebastian.
"Better than I expected," the reply comes within minutes. "How's Paris?"
"Not as fun as I've hoped."
*
With rapt attention Sebastian watches Kurt sing about losses and fights. Sebastian forcibly gulps down the need to comfort and ease and stretches his legs, sprawling against the counter.
Kurt finishes with a graceful bow, brushing away a loose tear. He gets caught up in the crowd, in the compliments and by the time he reaches the bar the next performer is almost done.
Sebastian looks him over and with a mischievous glint in his eyes comments, "Not bad, Hummel, not bad. I believe even I cried a little."
Kurt nudges Sebastian's legs and with a small secret smile, avoiding Sebastian's eyes, cocks his hip against the counter. "I'll believe it when I see it."
"Oh, you won't be seeing it honey."
*
Kurt drinks almost hungrily that night. Sebastian holds his hand through a whispered admission of how hard it actually was and this is the first incomplete Christmas of many. His real tears aren't pretty and they don't glimmer in the stage lights. They are dull little drops that collect on his jaw and fall on Sebastian's shirt.
"You're the only one who came," says Kurt in his ear, with Sebastian's hand around his waist. "They don't care about these nights anymore. They've got everything figured out. And I'm stuck in the past - in past dreams, in past -" sob “lives.”
Sebastian lacks compassion necessary for encouraging speeches; the only thing he knows how to do is touch. So he touches. He squeezes Kurt's waist, fingers splaying and warming. He bumps their shoulders together and holds on.
*
Kurt kisses him on the first day of February.
It’s freezing, the wind lifts the flaps of his coat but the warmth of Kurt’s lips slowly seeps into him.
Kurt’s lips are probably the softest he’s ever kissed.
*
If Sebastian had had a plan, if it had been a conquest of sorts, it would have shuttered into million tiny slivers. Kurt’s mouth is hot on his, and he’s kissing back, fervorously, furiously. The bed is close, too close, Sebastian would have really liked a warning, but his knees hit it and next he feels Kurt’s body on his.
They stop. Their eyes meet.
“What are we doing?” says Kurt softly.
“I wanted to ask you the same thing,” replies Sebastian, trying to decipher the expression in Kurt’s eyes.
“But you wouldn’t. Wouldn’t have asked.”
Barely a whisper, “No.”
Kurt’s lips close over his.
*
Kurt’s life picks up. He gets a callback. He starts rehearsals, he meets new people, new guys.
Sebastian doesn’t feel used, he doesn’t think he’s capable of that, but it stings.
He constantly replays the words Kurt said to him that night in December. I don’t want to be another conquest. But he’s not a conquest. He’s a conqueror.
*
Sebastian hasn’t felt a surge of pride at being the best for quite some time. So when he is the one Kurt lets into his dressing room before the premiere (and not a cast member who’s been doting on Kurt, or a flowered admirer who shifts from one foot to another outside, glaring at Sebastian), he feels like Sebastian of the past, like Sebastian who hasn’t yet stepped a foot in New York.
“Stop freaking out,” he tells Kurt even before the door closes.
“Easy for you to say, you aren’t the one who will be performing in front of more than a hundred people tonight!” squeaks Kurt.
“And thank you, all-mighty powers above, for that,” Sebastian pretends to bow.
Kurt flops on the chair and glances at his reflection in the mirror. “Is my hair alright?”
Sebastian pretends to carefully examine it. “Hmm... I would say yeah... I guess,” he tilts his head and gazes critically.
“Oh shut up!” Kurt shoves him away and grabs a hair spray.
“It’s gonna be a bitch to wash out,” comments Sebastian, settling down in the chair behind Kurt.
“I know,” Kurt bites back. But catching Sebastian's eyes in the mirror, he grins, “but it’s worth it.”
*
Kurt is beautiful on stage. Stunning, exceptionally talented. Sebastian doesn’t care about silly plot or silly songs. All he sees is Kurt.
But he’s not the only one.
*
Kurt tells Sebastian about him in a club. He yells over the music, “I’m seeing someone,” and waits.
Sebastian’s brain freezes while his body continues to move. Kurt’s eyes are invisible in the darkness and whatever glimpses of his face Sebastian sees tells him nothing.
He continues dancing.
*
He meets Dan next week. Sebastian can’t take his eyes off Kurt and Kurt’s plastered against the boy, silly drunk smile and earnest eyes – everything Kurt directed at Sebastian in the winter.
Sebastian still has the shirt Kurt wore when he stayed over.
But then he sees Dan in a club, grinding against other men, without care or without looking twice. And Sebastian’s furious but then there’s Kurt: dancing with another man too, hand lying loosely on his shoulder, a drink in another hand and hips, oh shit, those hips.
Sebastian drinks a shot of vodka and masochistically keeps his eyes trained on the dancefloor.
Kurt stumbles up to him, leaning into him, smelling like alcohol and other men. His usual scent is masked with sweat and booze, and the blue of his eyes is hidden behind dilated pupils. “So who’s gonna be your victim tonight?” he whispers and presses against Sebastian’s side.
Sebastian glances at him but all he sees on Kurt’s face is genuine curiosity. He catches Kurt’s gaze and waves his hand vaguely at the dancing crowd, shrugging.
Kurt's expression momentarily changes and when a barman brings another shot for Sebastian, he quickly downs it down and with a fleeting touch on Sebastian’s shoulder, rushes back to Dan.
*
“I don’t get why you are angry!” Kurt’s foot taps impatiently as Sebastian fumbles with his keys.
He shoulders the door open, “Because I think you are fucking crazy! You can’t date that guy!”
“You sound like Rachel,” Kurt angrily stomps into the kitchen with Sebastian on his heels.
“I will sound however I wanna sound. This is not you, Kurt, what the hell are you thinking? Are you actually considering having open relationship?” mocks Sebastian with air quotes.
Kurt glances at him over the shoulder.
“You still sound like Rachel,” he comments with pursued lips and carries a tray with a small kettle and two cups into the living room.
“I doubt she’s gonna use these words,” Sebastian follows Kurt with determined steps. “And don’t try changing the topic.”
“I’m not!” exclaims Kurt and after putting the tray on the table, he turns at Sebastian with hands on his hips. “What you don’t realize, Sebastian, is that people change. They don’t always want the same things. Sometimes, they start to want something else, and you know what? It’s perfectly normal!” Kurt’s voice rises into a high pitch.
“I know that it’s perfectly normal,” Sebastian mocks, sneering, “but I find it hard to believe that overnight you let go of your silly soulmate ideas and decide to date a guy who wants not only you but half of the gay population of New York at the same fucking time?”
“What, you jealous?” Kurt stabs him in the chest with a finger. Sebastian’s face goes white but Kurt doesn’t notice, continuing, “No one’s stopping you! Go fuck the other half of the gay population, see if I care, and I’m pretty sure they’ll be thrilled!”
“God, Kurt, would you just stop assuming? You always make me out to be such a horrible slut,” He pauses, staring into Kurt’s squinting fierce eyes. “But I’m fucking not,” he makes a step forward Kurt. “Do you know how many times I had sex since September? Two! So don’t you even compare me to your asshat boyfriend who, I bet, sleeps with different guy every night!”
“Don’t fucking blame me, Sebastian! You keep strutting around with your head high, judging my silly soulmate ideas and complaining whenever we watch anything romantic! So excuse me,” Kurt’s voice drips with sarcasm as he stares intently at Sebastian, “for assuming that you don’t do relationships –“
“You could have asked me, you know,” interrupts him Sebastian with a cocked eyebrow.
“Yeah, and have you act like an entitled bitch?”
“Fuck, Kurt,” Sebastian starts pacing again, running a hand through his hair, “stop making up shit in your head!”
Kurt blinks up at him and snarls. “So what, if I asked you, you’d tell me that you’d actually love to have a boyfriend? You’d love to hold hands in Central Park, cuddle on a cold afternoon and meet the family?”
Sebastian folds his arms on his chest and looks squarely at Kurt. “And what if I say that I would?”
Kurt freezes.
“I would hold hands," continues Sebastian, "cuddle and meet the family, I’d even be nice at dinner and wouldn’t make inappropriate jokes.”
“And does the guy you’d do all this for even exist?” snarks Kurt, his jaw tight.
"Funny you should ask that," he says, "he does exist. One morning when he stayed over, he forgot that he wasn’t at home and started jerking off right there, with me in bed just a few inches away, and I wake up from a load moan and see the guy -“
Kurt’s lips are as soft as Sebastian remembers. Sebastian opens his mouth and it feels different now, promising – heady, dangerous and so, so good.
He pulls away but stays close, fingers brushing through the hair at the back of Kurt’s head.
“You promised you would never mention that,” whispers Kurt, his eyes flicking over Sebastian’s face, “Idiot.”
“That was for getting my point across.”
“You did. Still, next time choose something less embarrassing.”
“There won’t be a next time.”
Kurt’s fingers squeeze around his waist and smiling softly, he connects their lips again.
*
Sebastian has always viewed meeting Kurt as a turning point of his life. He doesn’t stop being obnoxiously persistent but he no longer thinks that it’s the only way of getting things. He finally learns the meaning of compromise when Kurt wants to watch Moulin Rouge and Sebastian doesn’t but he still curls up with Kurt in front of the TV (and there’s even no sex involved). He does think that Kurt is his greatest achievement though and when Sebastian tells him that, Kurt smacks him and says, wiping tears, “You’ve just got a PhD, you idiot!”
“I can’t be an idiot if I’ve just became a doctor.”
Kurt rolls his eyes and when they get home, uses chocolate whipped cream to paint PhD all over Sebastian’s chest and then licks it off before sealing his mouth over his boyfriend’s dick.
Sebastian might not always get what he wants but he finds he doesn’t really care.
The gates close and Will steps into the house, routinely throwing his keys in the bowl beside the door. Brian greets him, meowing loudly and rubbing once against his leg before stalking off.
He ties off his shoes, puts away groceries and walks into the bedroom to change when he notices that something's different.
Whenever Chris is writing, the house is eerily quiet with faint sounds of typing coming from the office upstairs. But it's not now. Will pads there, almost expecting to find Chris asleep, faceplanted into the keyboard, but he's not there.
Will carries out a thorough inspection of the house and only after skipping through all the rooms, he decides to check outside.
They've been playing with the idea of setting up a writing place on the terrace but never actually got around to it. Chris did though.
He dug out the table they had on the balcony of their (Will's heart still skips a bit) previous house and assembled it back and put pillows on a straw chair they already had outside.
Chris' eyebrow twitches when he hears the sound of the door sliding open but his eyes don't move away from the screen.
The sight would render Will speechless if he was even capable of such a thing.
Chris sits just right for the ray of sun to fall on his bare chest while the screen and his face are under the shade. His leg is folded under his thighs and his fingers type frantically. He looks ethereal, an illusive vision only for Will to see.
He pads softly towards Chris and wraps his arms around Chris' chest, presses a gentle kiss against his cheek. Chris leans into the touch and his eyes flicker to Will's.
Will meets his boyfriend's gaze earnestly and whispers, "You are beautiful, baby."
Chris gives him a tiny smile and Will withdraws, smiling back.
"See you at dinner time," Chris says to Will's retreating back.
"Yeah," grins over his shoulder Will.
When he slides the door close, the sound of typing has already resumed.
*
"What do you think?" asks Chris with a jerky nod at the pool and the terrace.
"You without your shirt? Awesome!" smirks Will.
Chris rolls his eyes and shoves a plate at Will.
"No, I mean, that's why we wanted a place with a big yard. To spend more time outside without prying eyes. Except for those of our neighbors."
Chris frowns.
"Yeah, I think I saw someone looking over the fence the other day when we - "
Chris' eyes widen. "Oh goodness, Will, tell me you're kidding."
Will pursues his lips before erupting into laughter. "Of course, I am," he says in between chuckles.
Chris hits his shoulder and flops down with a huff. "Idiot."
"The fence is too high and we've met them. They’re too old for that shit. They could hear us though," wiggles his eyebrows Will.
"Well, next time I'll stuff something in your mouth.”
Will perks up, "We should get matching gags."
Chris chokes. "That was not what I was talking about."
A/N: Oliver-Corey mention in the end is for kadamcanon. I know I promised you a fic with them, and I will write it :)
"You're going down," whispers Chris into Will's ear.
"You are," murmurs Will under his breath and opens the front door. "Come in, you guys, just in time," smiling at Oliver and Corey, he steps back, leaning into Chris, whose body is angled just right for Will's ass to press against his crotch.
The weight of Chris' hand on his hip is heavy and reassuring and home but his words are not. "Game on, sweetheart."
*
Brian and Cooper escaped to one of their hiding places after seeing the mayhem that was the kitchen. Everyone finally arrived and chips, drinks, glasses and game-stuff were being distributed with laughs and jokes and obnoxiousness that had come to be associated with their friends. Then the two groups retreated to the base camps which were specifically set up in different parts of the house.
Strategy, we've got to work out the strategy, was the babble of words that Will had woken him up with that morning.
It had all actually started last night. Chris came home after another long session with his accent coach, but instead of exhausted he was feeling exhilarated and playful. His hand quickly found its way under Will’s shirt and he pressed a soft kiss to the tendon that connected his shoulder and his head, savoring a soft surprised gasp that escaped his boyfriend's mouth.
"Chris Ninja Colfer, you've been lying to me about your middle name all. this. time," said Will and turning around, winded his arms around Chris' neck.
"William Lacy Sherrod, I adore your middle name even though it's as ridiculous as you are."
"I know you do," grinned Will and the conversation ceased for the next fifteen minutes it took them to reach the nearest wall while kissing and to come into each other's hands.
"I bet you won't be so fast tomorrow," teased Chris as Will reached for paper towels.
"Bet I'll still be faster than you," smirked Will and wiped the come from Chris' soft dick, taking him into his grip for a moment.
"You wish," retorted Chris and his fingers slid under Will's shirt, ghosting over his ribs for a moment. "Tickle war," he shrieked suddenly and dug his fingers into Will's sides in a very non-sexy way.
*
Will's half-hard most of the night. Chris corners him during breaks and food runs, in bathroom and in the kitchen, revving him into a constant haze of desire.
"How's that game going for you, huh?" Chris' hand cups him over the cloth, his voice deep in Will's ear, his movements insistent. This time, thinks Will, this time he won't leave me ha -
He hears a cheerful "see ya" and Chris' touch is like a ghost of Christmas Past.
"Fuck," he swears, head hitting the wall behind him.
*
It's the greatest sleepover and there are people bunking in almost every room. Will’s given out towels and extra pillows, made sure there is food for the pets and the guests, glared contemptibly at their closed bathroom door where glistening droplets of water are sure to be cascading down his naked boyfriend's body -
In the kitchen he splashes cold water on his face and decides that Chris has had enough of winner privilege and he could at least share the shower if not a mind-blowing orgasm. Turning the corner to his room, he is surprised to find the door closed. The water is not running anymore and Will’s mind makes up a hilarious image of Chris strutting stark naked, wide-eyed, with splashes of red on his face, his chest and a sinfully pink shiny tip of his cock jutting out against his hip, to shut the door.
When Will shoves the door open though, his jaw falls down.
Chris smiles at him lazily and spreads his legs invitingly, his dick half-hidden by the swift movements of his hand.
"Why are you still dressed?" he says in a rough voice and licks his lips. "Hurry up or I'm gonna finish without you."
In complete silence interrupted only by a slick slide of a cock and a hand, Will drops his clothes and crosses the distance to the bed in two big steps.
"You little minx," he mutters and dives down beside Chris, lapping at those droplets that collected in the hollow between Chris' daily defining abdominal muscles.
Chris arches from the bed, his hand slowing down to long loose strokes as his eyes focus on Will's mouth on his body. "You're an incurable tease, Colfer," informs him Will with astonishing reserve, "and now I'm gonna fuck you very hard for it."
Chris takes in Will's darkened eyes and red lips and moans, loud and coarse, "Please yes."
When they can get a night of uninterrupted sleep, they usually take time to explore and relearn some things about each other’s bodies that might have been forgotten in the course of their busy lives. Sometimes it's that spot under Chris' left collarbone - right where the arm and the body are connected - which gets neglected when they only have time for blowjobs and quick deep fucks with every inch of their bodies lined up against each other. Or sometimes it’s the way Will reacts to Chris' lips nipping at the skin around his naval that used to be Chris’ favorite part of Will’s body in the first few months of their relationship.
But after the night of merciless teasing and abrupt, cut short kisses, Will pours a small amount of lube into his palm and hiking Chris' legs up, rubs it over his perineum, fingers slipping inside.
"What happened to that hard fuck you promised me?" taunts Chris with a devilish smile, his breath hitching.
Will smirks and lets both his fingers slide inside to the very knuckles. Chris buckles and his legs fall further apart. Will gives him a moment to adjust but not enough for it to become too comfortable. He pulls his fingers out and slams them inside a few times, transfixed at the way Chris' hole greedily swallows them and barely paying attention to wanton curses Chris keeps uttering.
"Gonna fuck you so hard now," says Will, grabbing a pillow to put under Chris' ass.
Chris only arches his hips up and babbles, "Please, Will - fuck, fuck me as hard as you -"
Will pushes inside and quickly slides out and then thrusts back in, Chris' words becoming incomprehensible strings of more and faster and fuck. They are both so strung up that it doesn't take them much. Will's been on edge for so many hours and Chris is so responsive and attuned that they quickly reach a panting, frantic, stuttering point and with a breathless moan Will comes as Chris' eyes shut and a high soft squeal escapes his lips, his dick pulsing and spilling over his still moving hand.
Will sets Chris' legs on the bed carefully and slumps on his side, chest heaving. "Love you so much."
"Love you too," says Chris breathily and arches into Will's hand that's reached out to brush his bangs from his forehead. "I'm so glad we made the room next to this an office though. If our friends heard us we would never live it down," he adds in an after-thought, his eyes sliding gently over Will's flushed cheeks.
"Yeah," trails off Will pensively, staring off at a distance, "you know though," he rises on an elbow and his eyes focus on Chris, "I'm pretty sure if we dress quickly, we can still casually walk by Corey and Ollie's room and get some blackmail material for tomorrow."
Chris' eyes sparkle mischievously and in a second he's already on his feet rummaging through the underwear drawer, "You have the greatest ideas," he says and throws a clean pair of boxers at Will.
Summary: Birthday fun, dumb fights and lame jokes, NC-17
There are different ways to work out your frustration. Dumb fights is one of them.
"You look twelve."
"I hate your pants. They’re too bright."
"I wanted more color."
"Fuck your color."
"Fuck you bangs."
With a huff Chris whirs around and leaves the bathroom.
"You forgot your wand," yells Will at his boyfriend's indignant back.
"My wand is with me alright," says Chris, flipping him off.
Will slams the bathroom door shut before his lips stretch into a grin. The night's gonna be fun.
*
Chris is talking to Ashley and Oliver when from across the room he sees Will eyeing a bottle of gin. Muttering a half-assed excuse and not sparing his friends another glance, he stalks to his boyfriend and stares him down, until the man lifts his eyes at Chris.
“You know I hate your gin breath.”
Will rolls his eyes, “Gin doesn’t smell.”
“Yes, it does and it tastes horrible in your mouth.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Yes, it does,” insists Chris and grabbing the bottle, thrusts it into Cam’s hands, “Don’t let him drink it or face my wrath.”
Cam pushes it back to Chris, “I’m not getting dragged into another dumb fight,” he stands up and slaps Will’s shoulder. “Just fuck it out boys, bathroom’s over there,” he points to the corner of the room, “don’t wait ‘til you get home.” He leaves with a wink and a smack at Chris’ ass.
“Oh fuck it!” swears Chris and shoves the bottle at Will, “Drink you stupid gin, you ain't getting your filthy mouth anywhere near mine tonight,” and stomps off.
*
They are taking photos and suddenly Will has a lapful of drunk giggly Chris.
“Your wig is all wrong,” Chris whispers into his boyfriend’s deliciously sweaty neck, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
Will’s hand steadies him, gripping his waist, “Your hair is all wrong. And look at the camera, babe.”
Chris presses a quick kiss to Will’s temple and barely has time to make a proper face before a flash goes off.
*
Will corners him at the platform 9 ¾ as the party winds down. Chris is leaning against the wall, lazily drinking and occasionally participating in the discussion going on around him when Will places his arm on the wall beside Chris’ head and stares expectantly.
Chris blinks up at him hazily, “What, are we done already?”
Will shrugs with a mischievous glint in his eyes and murmurs, “Wanna ride your broom.”
Chris throws his head back and laughs. “You little shit.”
“Not so little,” Will wiggles his eyebrows and silences a chuckle with a press of his lips.
*
“I fucking hate it when we’re both so busy,” hisses Chris between kisses, shoving Will’s jacket off his shoulders and unbuttoning his vest and shirt. “I despise it,” he punctuates each word with a nibble and drops on his knees, tugging Will’s pants down.
“Dumb fights are dumb tho –“ Will moans without finishing a sentence as Chris takes him into his mouth and sucks earnestly on the head before slipping off to make a point.
“It’s like you’re there, sleeping right beside me but not really there ‘cause I don’t get to see your smile,” he dips down and mouths at Will’s balls, licking a stripe from them to the tip of his dick, sinking back on it until he feels the pressure at his throat. But he still has shit to say so he slides off, letting his lips make a popping sound.
“And I hate those rare afternoons together because they seem like enough but they aren’t really,” he says, looking up at Will’s intent eyes, “and I really hate dumb fights, too, because they make us waste precious time when we can be doing this,” and his lips close around Will’s cock.
*
Chris loves Will’s body in all states, whether he’s sweaty and tight after working out or fresh out of shower, smelling like soap and relaxed. But his favorite one is when Will comes: his muscles strain, his breathes are short and then, almost suddenly, he becomes pliant and soft and blissed out, easy grin on his face shining down at Chris.
“Want me to give you a hand with your broom?” he asks breathily and Chris slaps his thigh, standing up.
“Just for that, no. You’ll have to settle for watching.”
“I can be down with that,” smirks Will.
“I bet you will,” mutters Chris, unbuckling his pants and slowly leaning forward to rut against his boyfriend’s dick. “I bet you will."
When Ian wakes up, Mickey is drunk. He comes home, smelling like cheap booze, whores and cigarettes and stumbling, faceplants into the couch. With a groan he fishes out a rubber duck, a half-empty baby bottle and a plastic plate with dried up cheese and grey scraps of pasta from under himself and throws it angrily at the floor.
"Fuck this shit," he says, dragging a pillow over his head when a shrill voice cuts through the silence of the house. "Shut the fuck up."
Someone gets the kid and the silence returns. Mickey breathes heavily for the next few minutes, waiting, holding onto the anger. But nothing happens and he starts to calm down, sleepy and exhausted. He tries again and fisting a pillow, bangs it against the front of the couch. A dull sound echoes through the room and Mickey revels in it, revels in the pain in his wrist and how it reverberates through him, banishing rational thought.
It's good. It numbs.
_
When Mickey wakes up, the house is still dark. A floorboard creaks and through his hazy brain Mickey watches passively as Ian creeps towards the door with shoes clutched to his chest.
Something clicks.
Mickey springs up and makes a step forward, squinting through the darkness to read Ian's expression. His booze-fueled dreams would make up something like this - a ghost-like vision of Ian: walking, grasping, whispering -
"Couldn't sleep," shrugs Ian, "Going for a run."
A nervous chuckle breaks through Mickey's tightly clenched teeth. He pinches himself hard but Ian doesn't move, and Mickey can now see a small smile playing on his lips.
"Mickey, go back to sleep," says Ian softly. "I'll be back soon."
Mickey nods, speechless, and with a wave Ian saunters away only to turn back at the door and whisper loudly, "By the way, I ate those two sandwiches that were left beside the bed - they were like rocks but I was starving."
Mickey nods blankly.
The door closes with a dull sound and Mickey keeps looking at it, stunned.
_
He sits on the couch while Ian showers, eats and then he flops down beside Mickey, grinning.
"You look so hot right now," he says and slides his hand over Mickey's thigh, heading straight for the zipper.
Mickey catches his hand, squeezing hard, and something tips over the edge inside of him.
"Hey," protests Ian, with eyes bright and open. "What's wrong?"
And Mickey snaps. He latches onto Ian's lips, yanking him into his lap. He doesn't really feel the kiss or the tongue: everything scorches and burns, and Ian's hands on his biceps scratch and sparks fly from it.
He's been feeling cold for so long.
"Fuck me," he mumbles into Ian's mouth and gently pushes him so that he can unzip his pants and turn around, sliding them off to his thighs. Behind him Ian does the same and soon his elbows rest on the back of the couch and Ian's dick slides inside painfully and it feels like every cell in Mickey's body comes alive after two weeks of stagnation.
He jerks his cock in time with the slow dragging thrust and something builds inside of him but it's a heavy feeling in his chest and not in his belly, his cock's still barely hard.
Ian finally bottoms out and leans his body over Mickey's, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. "You alright?"
Mickey nods, swallowing hard. Now there's something at his throat, bitter and hurting. Ian shifts back until only the tip of his cock is inside and grabbing Mickey's hips, drags him onto it with a loud moan.
He finds a rhythm, and some time later Mickey feels wetness on his cheeks, and his lips taste salty, unfamiliar. Ian's hand finds his dick and a sob breaks out from his lips. He bites his arm, but the tears keep falling.
Ian jerks him off roughly, pressing haphazard kisses to his back. Mickey fucks into the fist and when Ian's thrusts become tighter and harder, he turns his head and presses his still salty lips to Ian's.
Ian comes with a loud "oh fuck" and slumps over Mickey's back, his breath warming his shoulder-blade. Mickey shoves him off and grabs his hand, putting it back on his dick. "Finish it, freckles," he hisses. Ian strokes it lazily as his other hand trails over Mickey's cheeks.
The man flinches. "Hey, hey, baby, it's alright. Whatever it is, it's alright," whispers Ian and captures his lips. "It's alright."
Prompt: Chris brings home Cooper for the first time to surprise Will or to pry Brian off the couch, or something along these lines. I hope it fits 'something along these lines'
And I do realize that cats don't think the way humans do ;) (that's a warning for Brian's POV)
"Let’s get a puppy," says Will after turning over the last page of the script.
Chris, who’s been bracing himself for criticism, freezes. “What?”
“You wanted honesty,” shrugs Will with a small smile, “that’s my knee-jerk reaction - let’s get a puppy.”
Chris gives him a long look. “You’re allergic.”
“Not anymore.”
“But that story you told me - when you didn’t get laid because the guy had like five dogs at home - ”
“Happened eight years ago,” finishes Will.
“Oh, I see,” drawls Chris. “So you want a dog… And who’s gonna walk it when we’re both at work until late at night?”
Will rolls his eyes, “We have a yard and a garden, Chris.”
They stare intently at each other, not backing down. Chris is the first to look away, “Okay. But I’m telling everyone it was your idea.”
Summary: Will’s had a bad break up, it’s only naturally that he wants to drown his sorrows in (a) night(s) of wild casual sex. What he doesn’t know is that he’s hooking up with a guy Ashley’s been trying to set him up with for months.
A/N: So this is it. The end. Thanks so much to everyone who's read, who's waited, who left those lovely message in my askbox. <3 Enjoy :)
1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / Epilogue
AO3
Chris settles down in the plushy chair, smiling at the host. Now that the book is out and the biggest chunk of promotion is over he can relax a little and maybe not think so hard about answering the questions (especially since he's rehearsed the answers to them too many times already).
They talk about the book, the looming end of Glee, his cat and it's so typical, with an occasional dirty joke until -
Really, he should have predicted it. This is the question she usually asks, she just cannot forgo his (or anyone else's) personal life in an interview. But Chris almost chokes on the the diet coke -
"Any hot gays in the wings? Ready to hump, and dump, and vamp?"
The cup is so fucking fascinating, how come I've never noticed it?
He's dodged that question lots of times. He's worked out a strategy where the question is so unlikely to spring that he doesn't really need to worry anymore. Didn't need to worry.
He knows his eyes are down for far too long and he’s blushing. But all he sees is a shocked Will when he returns home from work, tired and sweaty, just to learn that his boyfriend (even though lately this term has become so mundane that Chris considers changing the status, and surprisingly it doesn't scare him at all) has just announced to the world that -
"Yeah, there is some humping in the wings," jokes back Chris, lifting his eyes, daring.
"Ooh," he can see the surprise in her eyes. She obviously expected him to find a way out, like he usually does. "A hunky boyfriend who puts up with your schedule?" she asks without a usual snark, still a little off-balance.
Chris laughs because recently he's been the one putting up with the schedule, "Yeah, you can say that. Very hunky though," he replies proudly, tilting his head and putting on a dreamy expression.
"Good for you," she leans forward and pats his knee. He nods at her, indicating that it's fine, and they talk about the movie for a minute and then they are done.
Chris slumps in the chair, grinning. He can't believe he's just done it but it feels awesome. He can't wait for Will to get home.
*
"What did you do?" demands Will instead of his usual greeting, stomping into the bedroom. "My phone has been going off all night with very cryptic texts from our weird friends with all kinds of variations they could come up with congratulations on being hunky."
"Why do you think it was me?" Chris grins innocently, "Maybe they finally realized how fucking hunky you are."
"Oh shut up," sighs Will without any heat, taking off his pants and throwing them in the general direction of the chair. "On the weekend we're getting into the hot tub and soaking all day there. And we are not inviting anyone."
Chris looks at him sympathetically over glasses and says, "If you shower quickly, I might still have some energy for a blow job."
Will's eyes glint a little but quickly dim. "It's gonna sound terrible - anything but a bed with sleep in it doesn't sound too good. Even a blowjob. From you," he scrunches his face and heads to the bathroom.
Chris calls out, chuckling, "You know, it sounded like you were getting bjs from someone else, too."
Will doesn't even bother to reply but 15 minutes later he emerges from the bathroom in a towel, the lines of his face and his posture easier and relaxed but bags under his eyes nonetheless visible. He puts on pajamas and climbs into the bed next to Chris.
"Kiss me before I fall into a dreamless coma."
Chris puts his laptop away and slides down to close his lips over Will's mouth. It's nice and slow, and he can actually feel Will sagging underneath him, his body becoming one with the mattress, and when he pulls away, Will doesn't even open his eyes, turning onto his side and mumbling something that sounds like, "Luv ya, babe," but maybe Chris can only recognize it because that's what Will tells him every night.
*
Chris spends most of the night writing, and when he occasionally returns to the real world from the realm of his imagination, he listens to Will's calm breathing and it grounds him and dissipates the fear that he still feels sometimes.
He closes his laptop some time after four and wiggles into Will's arms that immediately wrap around him.
But what feels like a moment later he is woken up by a loud screech and something big flopping on the bed beside him.
"Fuck!" he hears Will mutter and almost feels his boyfriend's eyes boring into his face.
He feigns still being asleep, and it stretches for some time and finally Chris can't hold his grin anymore and with eyes still closed he lets out a chuckle.
Will straddles him and reaches a hand underneath his shirt but Chris is faster. He flips them and then he's the one hovering over Will, his hands trickling over the exposed skin where his shirt rode up
"I wanted to tickle punish you," breathes Will, smiling widely, wrapping his arms around Chris.
"I know," grins Chris, waiting patiently, staring at his boyfriend.
Will looks back, searching his eyes, undoubtedly, for any sign of regret or confusion. "You could have at least told me in advance," he says finally.
"I didn't plan on it."
Will's eyebrows shoot up, "Oh."
"It felt weird to lie and I couldn't bring myself to say somthing cryptic and -"
"I know," assures him Will. Chris smiles at him gratefully."You know I don't care about these things. It's your world, walk through it at your own speed."
"Thanks," Chris kisses his cheek and rolls off of him. "Sleep?" he asks hopefully, snuggling into Will's side.
"Breakfast in bed?" he counters.
"I sleep, you make breakfast," says Chris matter-of-factly, biting his lip to keep from smiling.
Will rolls his eyes and ruffles Chris' hair, tucking him into the blanket. "My sleeping beauty, I'm gonna wake you up with a kiss," and he dips down for a smooch.
"Ew," Chris pushes him away, "wake me up with a big omelette with bacon and tomatoes, please."
Will grins, "As you wish, your majesty," and slides off the bed, strutting out of the door.
Chris rolls onto Will's side of the bed, burying his face into his pillow and drags the blanket over his head, leaving only the top of his head sticking out. He feels giddy and light, and he lets little giggles escape and curls into the bed more. It smells like Will and home. His eyes close and he breathes in the familiar scent calmly, already imagining their weekend: leisuring around the house, making out in a hot tub and if he can possibly make a convincing argument of having sex there tonight even though their friends are probably going to barge in tomorrow and hang out in it. And he falls asleep, feeling incredibly happy.
Summary: Will’s had a bad break up, it’s only naturally that he wants to drown his sorrows in (a) night(s) of wild casual sex. What he doesn’t know is that he’s hooking up with a guy Ashley’s been trying to set him up with for months.
1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10
AO3
Distance makes the heart grow fonder. Will has never really believed it, but he finds out that it's true for cats. Suddenly Brian is nice to him and Will wonders what Chris made him do.
The other man just shrugs and says, "He does that sometimes."
Will eyes the cat warily and squats carefully, looking into his eyes. "I hope you aren't trying to play good and bad cop with me 'cause it wouldn't work." Brian simply stares back at him, unblinking. "Okay, whatever," dismisses him Will and follows Chris into the kitchen.
"You started talking about something in a car and got distracted - "
"Oh yeah," replies Chris and turns away from the fridge, bracing himself against it. "I was - um, I know it's sort of last minute but - do you wanna, like, go to Europe with me for New Years,” he says quickly. “And um, Ashley, and there are two more people -," he adds hastily, eyes pleading not to turn him down.
Will inhales shakily, "Yeah, yes, I'd like to."
"Oh, good," sighs Chris and gives him a toothy smile. "We can plan after we eat then, I've got some leftover Thai."
"Yes, good," replies Will, "sure," he adds and grinning at Chris goes to get plates.
*
"So what's up with you and Chris, man?" asks Cam as they settle at the table.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you've been mopey lately so I figured you two were having problems or something."
"I was not mopey."
"Yeah, you were," declares Cam, putting a straw into his milkshake. "Very break-up mopey."
"We're not dating," insists Will, biting into his cupcake.
"Sure you aren't," replies Cam calmly. "'Cause you're a scared little shit."
Will frowns, "Why's that?"
Cam sighs, “Okay, I’m gonna tell you a thing and I want you to really think about it. Why aren't you dating Chris? He's hot, he's smart, you like the same things and the sex is amazing."
Will plays with a sleeve of his jacket, "I'm not really looking for something serious."
"Bullshit."
"Okay,” tries again Will, “I don't think I've gotten over Steve."
"That's exactly why I said you're a scared little shit," points out Cam. "You're just afraid that it's not gonna work out."
Will shakes his head, "I am not. I'm just not ready."
Cam rolls his eyes, but Will pretends not to notice and continues, making his voice sound steady, "Also, being involved with Chris is gonna be hard as fuck. You know, like, he's famous, he's got crazy fans - "
"Like that would stop you.”
Will huffs, "I'm not scared. I'm being rational."
"You're being an idiot," mutters Cam.
*
"Christopher, honey, do you have any food at the house?"
"Yes, mom, I do. Don't worry," replies Chris off-handedly, eyes focused on the road. Getting to spend another day with his family was nice but Chris’s had a busy month and he's exhausted. He just wants to sleep for days and maybe get a blowjob from Will for all his hard work. It'd be awesome.
But instead they pile into his car and drive around and then stumble into his house, Brian greets them, swirling between Hannah's legs, asking her to feed him and completely ignoring Chris.
"So it's like that, huh?"
Brian turns his head at him, sparing a glance, before purring as Hannah's hand smooths rumpled fur on his back.
Karyn busies herself with making dinner while Chris takes a shower and changes into his pajamas. He is helping to lay the table when the bell rings and his father gets up to answer the door. Chris doesn't give it a second thought because the whole situation is so much like the one at home, and he's in that head space where he's a kid and his parents are the ones in charge.
When Tim returns to the living room, followed by Will, Chris' mouth falls open and he blinks. Will is holding a bag from Chris' favourite bakery and his eyes are frantically looking around until they halt at Chris. He smiles sheepishly
"This young man came to see you, son," says Tim formally and winks at Chris, before leaving the room instead of returning to his previous position on the couch.
"Oh my god," breathes out Chris, mortified.
"I'm - fuck, Chris, I didn't know your parents were still here," explains Will, stepping forward. "I thought, um," and he lifts the bag, looking away, unusually at a loss for words.
Chris waits for the fear, for the nerves to kick in - Will has met his parents, the man he lo - sleeps with regularly - has met his father and there is no way he can kick him out without properly introducing him to everyone else, this is too deep, he's getting too deep - but there is none. No fear. No nerves. He feels a speck of embarrassment because his dad obviously realized that a man showing up at his door at this hour is likely to be more than a friend.
So instead he listens for a moment if there are approaching footsteps but there are none so he steps forward and quickly kisses Will on the mouth, uncurling the man’s fingers from the bag. "I'll take it into the kitchen," he says softly and wraps his hand around Will's wrist, tugging him into the hall. He lets go of it right before they enter the kitchen but Will's smile is already wider and he charms his parents and Hannah in a oh my god, they probably like him more than me already.
Will talks, politely and openly, comments and compliments; he seems genuinely interested in Karyn's favourite cooking books and receipts, and when Chris throws him an inquiring look, Will shrugs and says that his sister talks a lot about that.
Hannah doesn't leave his side until she is so tired that she has to go to bed.
They keep chatting for some time, Will being an entertainer and an avid participant. Chris though has a really disturbing conversation with himself, worrying about where Will would sleep because if he were to go back to Ventura he should have left at least two hours ago.
Finally, his parents say it's time to retire for a day and Karyn pats Will's knee gently when she gets up and says, "See you in the morning, boys," before climbing up the stairs.
Chris feels Will's widening eyes at him. "Did she say boys? As in, plural from boy?"
"Yeah," replies Chris and tenses, "Why, do you have a prob -"
"No, no," Will quickly reassures him, "I was just - you know, thought that um, I'm going back to Ventura since - and, I mean, if you're comfortable -"
"I am," says Chris firmly.
"Okay."
They go upstairs with at least three feet between them and stubbornly keep this distance when they are brushing their teeth, trying to maneuver around the bathroom.
"We're like two boys confused about their sexuality at a high-school sleepover," comments Will as he slides off his pants.
"And when we finally lay down, still and afraid of taking a breath, our hands brush and we kiss shyly until we feel the forbidden desire and spring away, pretending nothing happened."
Will grins. "Had much experience?"
"No," huffs Chris, "I had a girlfriend in high school. Kissing seemed mundane and overrated. I won’t even mention hand-brushing."
Will reaches over to grab Chris' hand. "What about now? Does hand-holding make you think dirty?" he dips down and drop small kisses all over Chris' collarbone.
Chris slaps his bicep, "It makes me think about my parents three walls away, dumbass."
Will grabs him by the waist and throws him down on the bed. "Ouch!" exclaims Chris, and as hard as he tries he can't stifle his laugh that bubbles out of him.
He rises on the elbows and lets his legs fall slightly apart.
Will climbs onto the bed and leans over, knees between Chris'. His hands are bracketed around Chris' face and he presses his body down, sucking Chris' moan and his lips into his mouth.
Chris raises his hips and drags his hands over Will's white T-shirt and his dark green briefs before slipping under them and cupping his ass. Will groans and rubs against Chris' hip.
But then he rolls off and tugs the blankets from under Chris. "Your parents are three walls away, remember?"
Chris sighs and lets Will tuck them in. They lie facing each other, further away than usual, and Will purposefully drags the back of his hand against Chris’.
"Dork!" laughs Chris and crosses the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Will. "Good night.”
"Good night, baby," replies Will in his smiling voice.
*
Breathless, Will flops into his seat after pushing their carry-on bags into an overhead compartment, and grins at Chris. "Hey, you."
Chris rolls his eyes. "Hey."
He leans in, still a respectable and appropriate distance away, and says just above a whisper, in that deep rough voice "Wanna fuck in the bathroom?"
Chris gulps and his eyes are drawn to Will's tongue, darting out and licking his lips.
"Hey boooys," Ashley stops right beside them, breaking Chris' concentration. "Don't be too nice. We've got a long flight."
Will smirks at her, "We're always just the right amount of nice, and y'know it."
Ashley rolls her eyes and scoffs. "I'm gonna be watching you two."
"And you're probably gonna enjoy it," jokes Chris, putting a hand on Will's thigh for a show.
She stalks off and Chris quickly lifts off his hand, looking around. "Don't worry, no one was paying attention to us," reassures him Will.
Chris smiles tightly. "I don' t think I can stop worrying until we leave the continent and land in London - "
"And there's the royal police waiting with a limo to escort you to the Westminster Abbey to dine with your long lost family of great Indians -"
Chris bursts out laughing. "Yeah, right, we'll probably be waiting for our bags and then we'll be frantically looking for a car that's supposed to take us to the hotel,where we'll have to eat with other tired tourists like us."
"Or we can order room service," wiggles his eyebrows Will.
"Your mind is really in the gutter today."
"What can I say, you look supremely hot."
They talk some more before the usual travel-induced sleepiness takes over and they keep dozing off, trying to read and listen to music. Will can feel Chris' body relaxing against his as the number of miles grow on the screen that shows their plane's itinerary. They lift the handle between them and sit in what can be called an almost-snuggle because Chris still doesn't dare to lean in with his full weight.
Will looks out of the window (they have an arrangement, on their way back he's going to be the one with an aisle seat) and realizes that he's also feeling a little bit more free. As of December, 25, William Sherrod no longer has a job. He's got a writing thing lined up, with some friends who are thinking about doing web series and if he finishes the script he talked about to Robert in the next three months they can make it happen.
It's a new year and a new life. And a new continent. Will can't possibly be more excited about it than Chris (no one is more excited than Chris) but he feels invigorated and daring and -
"You're thinking so hard I woke up, Will," says Chris in that adorably sleepy voice of his.
"Doubt that. You probably decided you wanted a piece of that ass," says Will and wiggles in his seat.
Chris rolls his eyes and squeezes Will's hand. "Thanks for coming with me."
Will smiles widely at him and after his eyes dart around, leans down and quickly kisses Chris.
"Don't change the topic. So what about that ass?"
*
They start celebrating New Year's Eve way too early. It's hard not to when all of the Paris seems perpetually drunk and partying. Ashley has a friend who moved to France two years ago and he meets them on the 30th and drags them to a gay bar where they get buzzed and make out in the bathroom.
Seeing Chris so happy and so free does something to Will and his usually unwavering resolve. He feels bold: catching Chris' wrist and twirling him around before pressing his front to his back is easier when everyone around speaks the language none of them understand.
Back in the hotel room Chris covers his body with languid kisses and they fuck slowly, gasping into the night while people on the street sing Christmas songs and talk so loudly that they can hear them with a half of the window ajar.
They spend the day wandering and buying souvenirs for people at home, leaving a wine shop giggling and holding onto each other. When it gets dark the two of them sneak away from the group to the Eiffel Tower and kiss underneath like so many other people do. The place practically vibrates with love, and Will steps up to Chris, winding his arms around his waist. Chris places a hand on Will's cheek and softly kisses his mouth.
They are just one of many but it feels like they are the only ones in the world. Will pulls away, overwhelmed and can't make himself look into Chris' eyes. He tugs at his hand and they walk back to the hotel to get ready for tonight's festivities.
*
Will doesn't understand how anyone can not recognize Chris' profile, mask or no mask. Or maybe Will just knows Chris' body too well.
Their stay in Paris was relatively fan-free and Will thinks they can thank the holiday buzz for it. By the time the midnight rolls everyone around them is so drunk no one stands straight. They are not an exception. Chris' arms are bracketing him against the farthest and darkest part of the counter, and they quietly gaze at each other, whispering nonsense and exchanging eskimo kisses. The crowd cheers and starts counting.
Dix.
Neuf.
Huit.
"I want you," whispers Chris, pressing his half hard dick against Will's thigh.
Sept.
"Let's go back to the room after -"
Six.
" - the clock strikes."
Cinq.
"Hmm," responds Chris and licks his lips.
Quatre.
Will licks his.
Trois. People get louder.
Deux.
Chris sucks Will's lower lip into his mouth, hands digging into his waist.
Un.
The bar erupts into cheers.
*
Back in the hotel room they undress in a hurry, but their movements are sloppy and they end up falling across the bed laughing when Chris' jeans get stuck. Will's shirt is half-unbuttoned and he raises on his elbow to stare at Chris once the last chuckles are out of the way.
Chris surges up and captures his lips in a hot kiss. It's slower and this time they manage to get rid of the clothes, revelling at the uncovered skin.
"I want you so much," repeats Chris his words from earlier, frantically rutting against Will.
"I want you too," replies Will licking across his collarbone. "I want you all the time, I think about you all the time - god!" he moans, pressing his hips down and slotting their cocks against each other.
"I think about you all the time, too," Chris opens his eyes and looks into Will's. He sounds much more sober and serious when he says, "I don't know what to do about it. And I'm not sure if I want to do anything about it."
Will stops and tries to clear his brain from the alcohol haze to get to what Chris is saying.
"I like thinking about you all the time."
And Will takes a deep breath, gets ready and... "Date me."
Will hears Chris' sharp intake of breath before he replies quitely, "Okay."
They stare at each other for what feels like hours. And then Will lowers his head to press their mouths together again. They move deliberately and slowly, testing. Will wraps a hand around their cocks and starts jerking off. Chris' eyes never leave his face, intent and unreadable in the dark. He arches into Will's hand, thrusting and pulling him closer.
Will feels Chris' body tightening and his muscles tensing and he speeds up, bending down and licking into Chris' mouth. They come seconds later all over each other, breathing heavily and feeling light-headed.
The loud French words from outside reach his ears and he hears the fireworks blowing up somewhere in the city. Reality reappears. The room gets lighter, illuminated by the street light outside. Chris' hand finds his, buried somewhere in the sheet, and his fingers trace circles on his palm.
Will never needs to fill the silence with Chris but he knows he has to say it aloud, to make sure it's real, that it’s out there, that it’s true.
He rolls onto his side and gazes into Chris' eyes. "Bonne année, boyfriend," he says and it feels fake and tense and so obviously purposely. His heart skips a beat and he knows he must have imagined it -
"Happy New Year, boyfriend," murmurs Chris and dazes him with a toothy smile.
Will chuckles, feeling a weight lift from his chest. "We're so dumb," comments Chris, unfazed, and reaches for paper towels on the nightstand.
"We are," agrees Will and helps Chris clean them up. They kiss, sweet and familiar, and drag the blankets over them.
Tired from doing tourist things all day, from walking and from the emotional rollercoaster that this night has been Will falls asleep fast. He doesn't know if Chris stays awake as he sometimes does, musing and contemplating, but he never feels Chris' arms leave him.
In the morning Chris grins at him cheekily and throws a casual, "I can't eat my first breakfast of this year without my boyfriend, can I?"
And Will's eyes widen and the last drowsiness leaves him. "No you can't," he replies hurriedly and jumps into the shower, getting ready for their last day in Paris as boyfriends.
