Here's what's up. I just moved out of my dorm, and on the way out my mom fell and banged her shoulder, got it put in sling, etc. Then Sunday morning at lime 430, she tripped up the stairs and hurt it, yelled of course, freaked the cat, who attacked her face quite badly. Turns out she actually scratched her eye, so my mom had surgery for that just today. I'm back at home and my mom is doing okay, but my internet isn't working on my laptop so I'm having to use my phone's data plan, which I don't have much of anymore. I'm also obviously phoneblogging. So I'm still around, ish, I'm just taking care of her and without regular net. No, this isn't how I intended my summer to start, but I'm hoping it will get normal soon. My aunt is coming up to help tomorrow, probably. Sorry if this clogged your dash! D:
For Grey, because it's his birthday and birthdays need fluffy things ;)
Darren sings along.
Of course he sings along, Chris thinks, when does Darren ever not sing along?
It's one of the cheesiest songs he's ever heard Darren sing and Darren usually pulls out the guitar for it, but this time, his hands are otherwise occupied, so he continues singing without moving from his spot.
They're on Chris' bed, Darren leaning against the headboard with his legs bent so one of them holds Chris' back up and the other rests over Chris' thighs. Darren's left hand is moving through the soft hair at the back of Chris' neck in uneven strokes. The fingers of his right hand are tangled with Chris', always moving, always reassuring of its presence and Darren's wakeful state.
"Your hand fits in mine, like it's made just for me…"
"You're cheesy," Chris whispers the moment the song starts, but smiles as he leans up and lets his lips brush over Darren's cheek.
"I'm joining up the dots with the freckles on your cheeks…"
Darren continues singing and pulls his hand out of Chris' to trace lines between the dots across Chris' face, then returns the hand back, their fingers lacing together seamlessly.
"I'm in love with you, and all these little things…"
"I love you," Chris whispers back in the little lull of the song, pressing his face into Darren's shoulder, arms holding tighter around the soft and narrow waist.
"I've got you, babe," Darren mutters into Chris' hair.
"Are you kissing my hair?" Chris asks quietly, as Darren hums along to the song again.
"You're perfect to me…"
"Dar…"
"Shh, no talking."
Chris lets go of his thoughts for a moment. It's precious, to have time like this, with just the two of them and no distractions. It's been a few years of running from one place to another, planning for a million projects for both of them, whether it was for Glee or for music or writing. He revels in the feeling that there's nothing at all either of them needs to rush to until later in the day when they're due somewhere he can't think of. They'll be reminded in time, but for now, it's only them, alone, with no focus on anything but each other.
"I'm in love with you, and all your little things," Darren finishes the song off and Chris sinks in deeper into the warmth of Darren's body.
"We'll come back here, you know," Darren whispers into Chris' hair, still a little damp from the shower they took earlier, "it's better, quieter. No one will pay attention and I have the loft here…"
His words fade out and Chris lets himself dream for a moment. He thinks of a walk down the street, palms pressed against each other, bodies leaning into each other as they dodge others in the busy city. His thoughts wander to sitting on the grass in the part, his back pressed into Darren's chest, arms up until he can reach Darren's curls and tug on them to make Darren gasp into the kiss he's placing on the pale skin on Chris' neck.
"We should," Chris sighs, "or maybe Paris."
"Yeah, there's Paris," Darren nods barely perceptibly, "At least we'll always have Paris?"
Chris chuckles at the Casablanca reference, "Let's hope neither of us regrets anything, be it today, or tomorrow…"
"I won't," Darren interrupts, "You know I won't. No regrets, just love."
"Asshole," Chris laughs quietly again, "One day, you'll stop quoting that song at me."
"But Christopher, it's the song that brought us together," Darren mock-pouts.
"Technically, it's also…"
"No, shush," Darren frowns at even the remote mention of the other performance of Teenage Dream, "We do not speak of the dark times."
"You're insane."
"But you love me?"
"But I love you," Chris smiles and for once he's sure that the smile is reaching his eyes.
"I love you too," Darren says quietly, his fingers pressing into Chris' to give his words support.
Chris frowns when he feels Darren begin moving, but then he can't think anymore because he's being turned over and the warmth of Darren's skin that he had been leaning on is covering him as he's pressed into the pillows, Darren moving and shifting them so he's on top of Chris.
"Fuck I missed kissing you," he mumbles before his lips touch Chris'.
Without thinking, Chris whimpers into the kiss a little. It feels perfect, to have the weight of Darren's body holding him down. His hands slide up Darren's sides and moments later he's threading his fingers through the unruly curls as he leans up into the kiss.
It's nothing more, no immediate heat or passion. They kiss for a while, lips moving hungrily against each other, the rest of their bodies still and relaxed.
"We should kiss more," Darren mumbles against Chris' mouth, not pausing for more than that.
"Mhm," Chris acknowledges into the kiss.
There's silence and Chris vaguely registers that the laptop has gone into sleep mode, but he doesn't care. All he knows, all he's really aware of is Darren. And until they're torn away by a call or two and by reality and responsibilities, that's all he needs. It's all he wants.
Two anons prompted Caaron, a first meeting and a kisses! So here you go guys *U*
Carson didn’t really have friends, beyond Malerie, but the people he did count as such…well, he would do almost anything for them. They were the people he cared most about, after himself. He was done with his application for college (and three backups, but not to the community college—never) and all he had left was tests.
But he agreed to go. So he went. He put on the ‘coolest’ clothes he owned and tried to manage something with his hair and left before his mother could ask any questions. They took Malerie’s dad’s car. By the time they arrived at—he thought it was one of the popular girl’s house—the part y was already in full swing, with loud, annoying music blaring from the open windows.
“Can we go home yet?” Carson asked as they slid out of the SUV. Malerie, camera in hand, just laughed and dragged him inside.
It was basically how Carson imagined hell. But at least nobody talked to him, and the worst he got from Claire and the others was a derisive glare and a sniff in the wrong direction. Carson decided to pick a corner and occupy it and pray to the god he didn’t believe in that they could go home before this party got any worse.
“Hey, man! Oh, hey, you’re not Max,” A pointy head of hair said, almost stumbling into him. “Oh, sorry, dude, hi,”
“…Hi?” Carson said, eying the boy doubtfully. He recognized him from the hallways, and he was one of the loud ones, but he’d never been outwardly cruel to him, so Carson hadn’t even bothered to learn his name. Vaguely he remembered that this boy was a new transfer.
“Hi! Dude, hi! What’s your name?” the boy was bouncing, practically vibrating with energy, but somehow the mysterious bad-smelling liquid stayed in its cup. That was more than he could say for his mother, half the time.
“Carson,” Carson answered, waiting for the flicker of recognition. There was a flicker of something, but it was replaced by an even bigger grin. “What?”
“I’m Aaron! It’s great to meet you, dude! Dude, c’mon, we’re playing spin the bottle upstairs, why’re you in the corner! C’mon, dude, it’s a party!” And before Carson could even form a sassy retort or a not-so-sassy refusal, Aaron was dragging him along and up some stairs Carson hadn’t even noticed.
“Wait, but, um—”
“Nah dude, it’s totally fine!”
And it kind of was. Carson just sat there and willed the bottle not to land on him, which worked for the first ten minutes. He just watched other people exchanging fluids and battled with the mixed feelings of disgust and envy that played out in his gut. Ew. Right?
And then Aaron picked up the bottle, grinned over at one of the girls (naturally) and spun it.
The empty neck pointed at him. At Carson.
“Respin!” the girl shrieked, and Carson found himself agreeing with her. Gods above knew he didn’t need this added to reputation. Not now. Not so close to the end of the year.
“No! No, c’mon, the bottle landed where it landed and ‘s all fair in—in spin the bottle,” Aaron retorted stubbornly, then looked up at Carson, an unexpected softness on his face. “Okay?”
“’Kay,” Carson answered, half-strangled. And then Aaron was leaning across the circle of people, bottle between his knees. Carson couldn’t quite remember how to breathe.
“Okay?” Carson nodded again, and then Aaron’s lips were pressing against his. Was this what kissing felt like? Was this what kissing a girl felt like?
And then all the questions were just…gone. Aaron’s lips were soft but firm and Carson was distantly aware of a hand gripping his neck and carding through his hair. Carson didn’t remember closing his eyes, but he realized he did when he pulled away to the sound of oohs and mutterings.
“Um. I have to go.”
And then Carson did what any self-respecting sober person would do who just got kissed by a popular, albeit slightly tipsy, boy would do: he ran away. He found Malerie, who was having an animated discussion with an Arts girl about the existence of lemurs in Antarctica and dragged her to the car and didn’t explain. She didn’t make him.
Later that night, when he was lying in bed, definitely not sleeping, Carson realized something. He’d just had his first kiss, and the guy—the guy—probably wouldn’t even remember it in the morning, let alone acknowledge it in the future. That was just his luck.
On his bedside table, his phone buzzed and lit up. With a heavy sigh, Carson rolled over, prepared to dismiss Mal, but was stopped by an unfamiliar number.
Hey it’s aaron im sry if that upset u? um ya i got your number from smbdy…sorry dude, c u Monday?
Carson felt something in his stomach. He was pretty sure it should be categorized as ‘butterflies’. Before he could talk himself out of it, he slid his phone open to respond.
mikaoru prompted (sorta) - someone has to write the fic where kurt and blaine go to jan and liz wedding in [insert place where equal marriage exists] and they hook up and then get back together, get married and adopt babies
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Rachel asked from the kitchen, stirring her tea. “I mean, a wedding? With Blaine? Remember what happened at the last one—”
“Yes, Rachel, I’m sure. It’ll be fine. We’re just going as friends.” Although it felt like a date, Kurt didn’t want to talk about that part. He straightened his bowtie in the mirror and emerged from his nest of a room. “How do I look?”
“Dashing,” Rachel answered with a smile. “But—”
“Rachel. Stop. We were invited. We were there when they got engaged.” Kurt interrupted sharply; his hair was perfectly styled and his suit was perfectly pressed: he was going to this wedding with or without Blaine, but he was glad Blaine would be by his side.
“Okay,” Rachel said, holding up a hand in mock defense. “Try to be home before midnight, it’s sketchy out there,” Kurt grabbed his wallet and called an agreement over his shoulder, and then he was disappearing down into the city.
--
Blaine was a vision. They shared a hug, brief but tight, and then Kurt linked their arms, much the way he had back in the halls at McKinley. The wedding was to take place in Central Park, and someone had done a flawless job on decoration. The place looked like a fairyland.
The service was beautiful. Kurt started crying halfway through Jan’s vows, and he didn’t object when Blaine slid their hands together and squeezed.
“Thank you boys for coming,” Liz gushed after the service, pulling them both close and kissing both their cheeks. “I’m so glad you could both make it.”
“We wouldn’t have missed it,” Kurt answered with a watery smile; he loved weddings, and he had never seen a same-sex marriage in real life before. A balloon of hope was full in his chest, and he was happier than he’d been in months.
The happy couple wandered off to talk to old friends soon after, and it was just the two of them again.
“Hey, Blaine?” Kurt began hesitantly, looking back at the boy who, he knew, someday, would be his everything again.
“Yes, Kurt?”
“Have you ever thought about…about getting married?” It was a stupid question, because they’d been planning their own wedding since they were sixteen. But it meant something now.
“Well, funny you should ask. Kurt…”
And just like that, Blaine dropped to one knee and produced a battered little black ring box. Kurt gasped and started crying all over again; Blaine managed to blurt out a half-speech, nothing like what he had prepared, but he was overrun by yesyesyesyesyesyes and crying and applause and cheering.
They got a hotel room. A year later, they followed in their mentor’s footsteps.
“And the rest, kid, is history,” Kurt finished, turning around to smile warmly at his husband of twelve years.
“Tell it again!” Chirped Lizzie, their youngest girl. Charlie, their middle child and the only boy, nodded frantically in agreement. Devon, who had heard the story more times than either of her siblings combined, rolled her thirteen-year-old eyes and excused herself from the dinner table.
“We did it,” Blaine said, reaching across the table to squeeze his husband’s hand. “I love you. More and more every day,”
“Till my dying day,” Kurt quoted, then leaned over and kissed him on the mouth (much to the disgust of their children).
