The only light in the room filters in through the bedroom window. So when Darren’s eyes open, tiny slits meddled with sleep, all he sees is his daughter’s silhouette. She tugs innocently on his t-shirt sleeve, leaning forward occasionally to whisper, “Daddy… Daddy?”
Five years as a dad has taught Darren that children don’t realize how sacred sleep is to their parents.
“Mel, honey?” Darren asks sleepily. He lifts himself up on his elbows, his hand coming up to rub the sleep out of his eyes. Mel watches him, pouting quietly. Darren’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. When he finally manages to fully open his eyes and his sight adjusts to the darkness, he stares at his daughter standing beside his bed, hugging her trusted blanket tightly to her body. Why would she be awake at—he glances at his alarm clock—2:36 am?
He groans internally. “What’s wrong?”
Five years as a dad has also taught Darren the necessary patience and understanding he needs as a father.
Melanie’s bottom lip sticks out adorably, and Darren’s briefly reminded of that playful pout Chris does when he wants something.
“Daddy, I had a bad dream,” Melanie says. Her voice cracks softly. “I’m scared.” Darren senses his daughter is on the verge of tears, and his face softens. He knows all she wants right now is to be with her daddies.
“Come here,” he says, patting the tiny empty space next to him on the bed. Darren slides closer to Chris, making more space for Melanie. Melanie happily takes the offered side, climbing onto the bed, blanket in tow. Darren tucks her in and sweetly kisses her little cheek. When he’s just about ready to close his eyes and catch some sleep again though, Melanie speaks.
“Daddy?” She repeats, poking his arm gently.
Patience, Darren reminds himself. “Yes, honey?” Darren inquires. His eyes remain closed.
“Can I sleep between you and Papa?” Melanie asks innocently. Darren pictures her pouting once again. “I don’t like the edge of the bed.”
“Mel,” Darren insists. He turns to face her, smiling at her softly. “You’ll be fine, I promise.”
“Please,” she begs quietly.
“All right,” he agrees. She has him tightly wrapped around her finger. “Climb over me, come on.”
As Darren’s sliding back into his side of the bed and Melanie’s happily getting comfortable in the middle between her two fathers, Chris stirs. “What is going on?” he asks, voice riddled with sleep. His back is turned to them. Melanie’s eyes open wide in shock, not having meant to wake her Papa, and she looks at Darren fearfully. Darren laughs loudly.
“Nothing, baby,” Darren responds. “Mel just had a bad dream.”
Chris turns to face his family. “Bad dream?” He asks. He runs his hand tenderly down Melanie’s hair. “What about?”
Melanie frowns. “I lost both of you,” she admits quietly. Darren’s heart stutters momentarily. It picks up slowly as he remembers that his family is completely safe here, altogether tonight in one bed. He moves to hug Melanie close to him, and Chris mimics his action.
The family of three cuddles each other close on the bed, each of Melanie’s arms wrapped tightly around her fathers’ shoulders. Chris and Darren hug her torso loosely, enveloping her in too much love. Melanie suddenly giggles.
“What?” Chris asks, looking up at her.
“It was a killer gorilla,” she responds. “Like in the movies.”
Chris lifts his head up, narrowing his eyes at Darren. “Okay, that’s it. Your Planet of the Apes marathons are over. No more murderous primate movies for her.”
Darren’s jaw drops open, mockingly albeit somewhat defensively. “But we just started Dawn of the Planet of the Apes.”
“Over!” Chris repeats, turning his back to them once again and pulling the comforter over him.
“Come on, Mel,” Darren whispers loudly, clearly for Chris to hear. “If we hug Papa enough, he’ll at least let us watch King Kong.”
early!crisscolfer in which, contrary to popular belief, Chris and Darren never kissed on their first date. Title from Kiss Me by Sixpence None the Richer.
Read on AO3
It doesn’t happen on their first date.
The electricity crackles beneath the surface, threatening to burst within them both, but they don’t. Time heeds a hefty warning, reminding them it’s too soon, and deep in their chests, mingled with their romantic spark for each other, there lies a fear that tells them – He doesn’t reciprocate. So, they don’t. Chris and Darren never kiss on their first date.
Of course, then, they don’t call it a date.
They thoroughly enjoy the dinner and concert together, lively with easy conversation, shameless flirting, and silly dancing. Chris thinks he’s never felt so comfortable around someone else. Or free. Twenty years worth of building and plastering walls around himself, and yet he bizarrely welcomes this outsider in.
The two dedicate precious time getting to know each other. Chris inquires about A Very Potter Musical and Starkid. Darren asks about working on the show. When the awkward edge wears off and they no longer feel like strangers, they dig deeper. They ask oddly personal questions for a first date, and yet, it’s easy. No tension. No nervousness. At ease.
But it’s all seemingly friendly. The flirtation is frequent, and strong, and obvious, and they feel it, but they don’t address it.
At the end of the night, when Darren drops Chris off at home, the scene nearly plays out like a cheesy rom-com. Chris thinks about all the romantic B-movies he’s cringed watching but secretly loves. His nerves are alight with a newfound excitement. A la rom com, he slides his key into his front door carefully, swings open the door, and then swivels his body around to face Darren once again. Darren stands at the bottom of the front steps, bright grin and gold eyes shining on his face. Chris’s heart jumps, and even though he’s spent an entire lifetime shushing it – ah, young loves – this time, he lets his heart be.
He smiles sheepishly, and when Darren shoves his hands in his pocket, looking incredibly and unfairly handsome, Chris experiences that too familiar feeling in his chest that tells him he’s crushing.
“So,” Chris pronounces, exhaling a cold breath. He swallows audibly. The air around them is chilly (or Los Angeles chilly, anyway), and Chris’s leather jacket does not suffice. But his body warms considerably just looking at Darren, and he takes the initiative and descends the stairs to meet Darren at eye level.
“So,” Darren breathes.
“Ready to be Blaine Anderson tomorrow? To look dapper in a blazer and make everyone swoon?”
“Born ready,” Darren responds confidently. “Ready for this new romance?”
“You really think they’ll end up together?”
“I hope so.”
A short silent moment passes between them, but it’s far from uncomfortable. Chris doesn’t realize it then, but he’ll have a lifetime of feeling as though he and Darren speak volumes in the intimate quiet.
Chris breaks the silence. “It’s been great getting to know the boy behind Harry Freakin’ Potter. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Darren replies, and his tone is gentlemanly, caring, a slice of the personality he’s soon to take on as Blaine. Darren quickly jumps back to his joking manner, however. “But that’s man to you.”
They laugh together, and Chris’s newfound crush picks at his chest again. His betraying heart increases speed. Chris thinks – Now. This is it.
This is the moment it would happen, had they truly been in a movie. Darren would lean forward and lightly press his lips against Chris’s, and Chris would be thoroughly shocked at first, arms at his side. But then, he would happily respond, pressing his lips more fervently against Darren’s and wrapping his arms around Darren’s neck.
Their movie would play out that way.
But this isn’t a movie. And it doesn’t happen.
“Good night,” Darren says instead. Chris’s spirit deflates.
“Good night,” Chris replies, feigning nonchalance. His smile unintentionally falters. Darren waves politely and walks away, and Chris turns and enters his home. He slumps against his door and sighs heavily. What a fucking idiot, he thinks and groans loudly. He remembers why he cringes so much during those movies.
---
Chris and Darren inevitably settle into an exciting and compatible friendship that leads to too many long phone calls and plentiful texts and deep conversations and hearty laughs. Their chemistry fizzles and bubbles, often threatening to spill over and consume them. But if anything, it leads to a heavy romantic attraction between their characters, their own personal romance left behind. There’s sexual tension between them, and it’s heavy and evident. They play it off, however. Although, their friends roll their eyes at their obliviousness.
“You two are idiots,” they say. Both men feign confusion.
They grow tight-knit and incredibly fond of each other, but they’re both afraid.
Chris can’t quite tell how Darren feels. He can hardly even decipher Darren’s sexuality. Not to mention, he’s sure that even if Darren were interested in men, he’d never even think twice about dating Chris. Fucking insecurities.
Chris himself tries to date. Coffee. Dinners. Movies. But with Darren constantly on his mind, no one sticks. He can’t do it. His lack of success with others aches. His chest twinges deeply with the pains of an unrequited love.
He swears sometimes that Darren must know about his feelings, but nothing happens. He begins to feel as though perhaps, nothing ever will. He harbors the romantic hope any infatuated person inhabits, but he’s content with their close friendship.
It happens, however, on New Year’s.
Ryan invites the entire cast and crew to a party in his home. They all gather to reign in 2011 together. Chris arrives alone, eager and excited and handsomely dressed in form-fitting gray slacks and a black button-down. It’s late and dark outside, but Chris feels invigorated, awake. 2010 bore witness to fantastic things for him, and he’s grateful. But 2011 will be new and fresh, and although he’s not a big fan of the ‘new year! new me!’ resolution, he does enjoy the idea of his life story flipping to a new chapter.
He mingles with his friends, a thrilling energy abuzz in the room, and it leaves him fulfilled, happy. A smile plays at his lips the entire time (okay, he’s admittedly tipsy), and Chris feels satisfied in a way he never did in Clovis. He has a job, and he’s pretty successful at it, and he’s surrounded by love and friendship.
With an hour left ‘til midnight, Darren’s arrival is met with loud clamors of “Darren! You’re finally here!” and Chris is grinning before he’s even laid eyes on Darren. His chest swells with excitement. He’s had a wonderful night with his friends, and his best friend has just arrived. He feels oddly elated. He fantasizes being daring enough to ask for a midnight kiss, but. He knows he won’t. He turns to face Darren, wearing a bright wide smile. But his smile immediately falls.
Darren stands at the doorway, cruelly gorgeous with his curls set free. He’s as handsome as ever with a crisp white dress shirt and khaki-colored pants that look as though they were painted on him. Chris’s heart thumps painfully. Darren is everything Chris longed to see, but with a beautiful woman on his arm, he suddenly becomes the reason Chris’s heart drops to his stomach. Chris is overwhelmed with an unbelievable hurt, and if he could, he thinks he would rip his heart out of his body, take the invisible knife Darren’s pressed in it, and end all emotion.
He hurts deeply, but actor as he is, he doesn’t let it show.
“Chris!” Darren calls excitedly, and Chris forces a grin back on his face.
He approaches Darren. “Hi,” he exhales. Chris doesn’t see when Darren’s smile shines a little brighter.
“Hi,” Darren replies, and he swiftly turns to face his date, ready to introduce her, but Chris doesn’t feel ready, will never feel quite ready. His eyes sweep Darren’s date quickly. He hurriedly interrupts. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back. Two seconds.”
He feigns he has to use the bathroom. Instead, Chris leaves. Not the party, but the room. Tears prick at his eyes, and he feels an urgency to go. Walk out and cry and push Darren out of his mind. Out of his chest, out of his heart, and out of the space Darren has sewn into his goddamned soul. He needs that girl out of his head. He wants to tear all love out of his heart. He feels young and naïve and stupid.
He runs up the stairs and hastily opens the door to Ryan’s guest bedroom. His breath is heavy, and he hunches over. He’s fine. He just… he no longer wants to feel.
He sits on Ryan’s guest bed for a few minutes, eyes closed. Chris inhales deeply, struggling to swallow his hurt. He never thought Darren would bring anyone. He never even so much as considered Darren was dating. Again, naïve.
But it doesn’t matter. Like Kurt, he’s very much made this all up in his head, and although he cannot will his feelings away, he can kill his hope and call his crush quits. It’s unfair to Darren to resent him for dating, but it’s even more unfair to himself to endure this pain.
“You’re fine,” he says aloud, mindlessly brushing off his pants. “You’re okay.”
His heart stings deeply once more, thoughts of going back downstairs, feigning happiness, and hiding heartbreak. But he knows himself. He’s strong, and he can do this. He’s no lovesick teenager. Hiding in a room alone, he’s being childish. He should have known by now Darren truly wasn’t interested. Chris stands, ready to leave. He takes a minute to recompose himself.
As he reaches for the door, however, it clicks open, and Darren enters, swiftly closing the door behind him, inciting Chris’s heart to beat a little faster. If Chris does not control it, he thinks, it may beat out of his chest. He chastises his own heart.
“What are you doing here?” Darren asks, and Chris scrunches his eyebrows playfully, confused.
“What are you doing here?” he asks accusatorily.
“I saw you came upstairs,” Darren shrugs. “I followed you. It’s loud down there. And hectic. Too many people.”
Chris laughs. His chest suddenly feels light and airy, but he doesn’t forget that there’s someone downstairs waiting for Darren. “You like loud, hectic, and too many people. That’s my excuse.”
“Maybe I needed a breather,” Darren suggests. His voice sounds unsure. He buries his hands in his pockets and shrugs his shoulders.
“You just got here,” Chris reminds him.
Darren steps closer. “It’s not as fun down there without you.”
Stop, Chris scolds his racing heart.
“Sit with me for a minute,” Darren pleads.
“Mm,” Chris hums softly. He knows he shouldn’t indulge, but he sits down on the bed again, patting the empty side beside him gently. “I was gonna go back downstairs.”
Darren sits next to him, nodding. “It’s better up here.”
They aren’t looking at each other, but the silence that takes over still runs heavy with quiet communication. But they misunderstand each other. Neither hears the other say if only…
They simultaneously break the silence. Chris cuts right to the chase. Darren answers his question without being asked.
“So, is that your girlfr--?”
“We're dating."
Chris gulps softly. He can’t help the resurfacing hurt. His eyes remain on his lap, his fingers nervously ghosting over his pants. “I’m surprised you didn’t tell me you were dating. I thought we talked about everything.”
“I didn’t want to tell you.”
Chris shakes his head, confused. He jokes. “Ouch, that’s the mark of a bad friendship.”
Darren remains serious, however. “No, it’s not. I just couldn’t tell you…”
“Why not?”
“Well... because I’ve tried dating but nobody clicks. With me. Nobody stays. Why would I tell you about anybody who doesn't last longer than two dates?” Chris understands, of course. For entirely different reasons, he’s sure. “She doesn’t click either,” Darren continues. “I probably won’t see her after tonight. I think she knows it.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
Chris turns his head up to look at Darren, and sensing eyes on him, Darren returns the glance. It’s difficult, Chris finds, to quell his heart when looking into those eyes. A honey gold dripping with sweet, sweet promise. Damn it. Having feelings for your best friend sucks.
Chris’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Why are you telling me this?” He asks. He glimpses down at Darren’s chest, purposefully avoiding those shining eyes. But Darren’s whisper pulls his glance back up.
“Chris…”
Chris raises his eyebrows in response, his face silently responding with a clear ‘Yeah?’ The moment is pregnant with intimacy, and Chris’s skin tingles with it.
Darren slides closer to him. “Chris,” Darren repeats. “Don’t you know?”
Chris notices the two small freckles on the bridge of Darren’s nose. He has a sudden urge to kiss them tenderly.
“Know what?” Chris asks quietly, mimicking Darren’s soft tone. Darren leans forward.
This is it.
Except Chris doesn’t realize. His heart picks up a quicker pace. His pulse beats out of his chest. His body reacts accordingly. But his logic doesn’t see. He’s hurt and insecure and scared as all hell—Darren scares him—so he refuses to let himself down once again. This is not a fucking rom-com. Happy endings are for movies.
“What?” Chris inquires again, whispering. But Darren doesn’t answer.
Darren’s close, his face inches away from Chris’s. Chris unconsciously pulls back a little. So, Darren reaches his hand up and cradles Chris’s cheek gently, pulling them closer together. Chris gulps. It clicks. Fuck, he thinks. This is it.
Darren’s eyes are on Chris’s lips, and shortly thereafter, Darren’s testing the waters. He kisses the corner of Chris’s mouth softly. Chris doesn’t respond.
Darren closes his eyes. His lips press harder. Driven. He moves his hands to Chris’s waist, pulling their bodies closer together. Closing the little space left between them.
Chris’s eyes close of their own accord. He makes a soft sound, and he lets himself feel.
Darren takes Chris’s bottom lip between his own. And Chris doesn’t know when he began, but suddenly, he’s kissing back passionately. Wounding his arms around Darren’s neck. Pushing his tongue into Darren’s mouth. Pulling their bodies flush together. Giving in wholeheartedly.
After a few long minutes, Darren’s mouth travels down Chris’s jaw, leaving affectionate kisses and gentle nips in their wake. “Know what?” Chris asks again, teasing. He laughs quietly, eyes still closed.
“Know that I’m incredibly stupid,” Darren answers between kisses, “and should have done that way before.”
“Oh yeah, I did know that actually.”
Darren chuckles against Chris’s skin. He leaves one last kiss on Chris’s neck before he captures Chris’s mouth in his once again.
Surprisingly, nobody comes looking for them. Maybe everyone’s hopeful that this new year has brought Chris and Darren new revelations.
They count down to the new year together, right there in Ryan’s guest bedroom. 2011 finds them laying side by side, lips locked, hearts full with their new love and this new beginning.
Three years later, Chris laughs when Darren tells him that the fans think they kissed on their first date. Chris slips into Darren’s lap and peeks a look at Darren's laptop, where Tumblr and Twitter are rife with fans' so-called headcanons. Chris smacks Darren playfully across the chest.
“They don’t know,” He pokes Darren's chest after every word, "that you made me wait.”
Darren wraps both arms loosely around Chris’s waist. His jaw drops in mock offense and shock. “You made me wait."
“Me? I was practically asking you to kiss me that night. You’re the one who walked away.”
“I couldn’t read you. You weren’t sending me all the signs or whatever.”
Chris playfully glares at him. “Sure, Darren.”
Darren laughs. He clears his throat loudly and asks, “Was it worth the wait?” With a playful smirk on his lips, he wiggles his eyebrows jokingly.
As he's done since the first day they met, Chris teases him. “Absolutely not,” He answers and then leans down and kisses Darren softly.
anon prompted (months ago, I’m sorry): could you write older!blaine and mpreg!kurt?
and mikaoru prompted the whole story idea. which I’ll add at the bottom so as to not give the whole thing away. happy belated birthday, Mica!
Read on AO3
At six months, the doctor requests Kurt be put on bed rest.
Kurt remains silent the moment Dr. Myles suggests ‘relaxing.’ He suspects he will be borderline losing his mind with nothing to do. But he purses his lips, narrows his eyes, and nods in response. He quietly consents, “Mhm.”
Blaine, on the other hand, overly concerned husband and father-to-be, mops up everything the doctor orders.
“No strenuous activity,” Dr. Myles demands.
Blaine places his hands on Kurt’s shoulders. “Absolutely not.”
“Kurt must relax until the baby is born. As he is a carrier, he’s in a fragile state, and we cannot risk any danger to the baby.”
Blaine smiles. Lucky bastard isn’t confined to the bed for the next three months. “I will make sure he stays in bed all day.”
“Great. Well, everything else looks fine. I’ll see you back here in two weeks.”
“Excellent. Thanks, Dr. Myles.”
Kurt speaks only after the doctor has left the room. “Bed rest,” he says suddenly. Disapprovingly.
“Yes, bed rest, baby,” Blaine replies lovingly, kissing his cheek. “It’ll be fun. You don’t have to worry about anything.”
“Sure,” Kurt responds unbelievingly.
Three weeks in, as suspected, Kurt is bored. Truly and inexplicably bored. Bored out of his mind. His brain hurts with how unbelievably dull he finds everything. He wants out. He needs out. His walls have become blank beige barriers encaging him. His bed swallows him whole. If he watches one more Friends re-run, he will cry.
Nothing at home holds his attention anymore.
See, passing the time away, laying in bed, flipping channels, skimming magazines, and reading books should be fun. But it no longer cuts it for Kurt. Nothing interesting ever plays on television. Either that, or by this point, he’s already watched the interesting shows. Reading sends him to sleep lately. Two sentences, and he’s out like a light. And he can stare at a computer for only so many hours before his eyes and his head hurt. Plus, going through vogue.com isn’t particularly helpful. He misses fashion. And the office. And the people. Oh, people.
So, he’s continually bored in his home, sighing profusely at how little he can stand it. He’s a productive guy; he needs busy work. He needs his job and his grad school courses and homework and a reason to pass out at the end of the day feeling as though he’s merited sleep. With two more months to go, he’s very well considering inducing an early birth just to have something to do, an excuse to leave the house.
Kurt doesn’t feel like he’s helping the baby. In fact, his little girl kicks enthusiastically every once in a while.
No, Kurt feels useless. He feels as though he’s on house arrest with nothing to do. Nada.
In his and Blaine’s enormous home, he constantly feels lonely.
To pass the time, he draws. He draws elaborate, beautiful, intricate designs that he desperately wishes he could see through to fruition. Men’s suits, trousers, shirts, scarves. Little girl’s pastel-colored dresses and outfits. He obviously misses his days at Vogue, and sometimes, he daydreams of stopping by the office to say hello.
With Blaine there nonetheless, he shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.
Blaine calls every day at noon to check up on him. “How’s your day?” he asks tenderly over the phone, and Kurt can always hear the usual sounds of a busy office. Frankly, he’s a little jealous.
On this particular day, Kurt’s honest. “Good. Bored out of my mind.” he responds. He runs one hand gently over his stomach, his other hand holding a freshly drawn design. A yellow sundress for his gorgeous girl.
Blaine tsks over the phone, sympathetic.
“Nothing good on TV?” Blaine asks.
“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” Kurt replies.
Blaine types quickly on the other end. Busy, busy, busy. Kurt imagines him staring at his computer in his finely pressed suit, curly hair neatly styled, looking ever so sexy with his beard carefully trimmed and his glasses perched on his nose.
“I’m drawing again,” Kurt says happily. “I don’t think I’ve drawn anything since I found out I was pregnant.”
“That’s great. Anything special?”
“A dress. For the baby.”
“I can’t wait to see it.”
Kurt sighs, and Blaine hums in question.
“I miss being busy,” Kurt says.
“Why don’t we trade places then?” Blaine chuckles.
“Please.”
“You deserve to relax, baby. Make the most of it. It’ll be over soon.”
“Speaking of over, I think I’m over-relaxed.”
Blaine laughs. “I have to go. I’ll see you later. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Kurt clicks end on the call. He stares at his bright, yellow design. He looks back at his phone and briefly thinks what would Blaine say? Before he answers his own question however, he throws the phone on the night table and makes a rash decision. He jumps out of bed.
He wants busy fingers. He wants to make the damn dress. He wants to work hard on it and see it come to life. He’s tired of loneliness and re-runs and boredom. Plus, he feels fine. He’s been in bed for three weeks. How much more resting does he need?
Truth is, he knows he’s risking it, but he swears he’ll be back home promptly.
His mission in of itself goes off without a hitch. Kurt shops for fabrics excitedly, taking his time carefully selecting his favorites, picking through assorted colors, and savoring his time outside home. He touches each and every fabric, and he’s more meticulous in selection than he’s ever been before. Deep down, he knows it’s because he only wants to be out of his house longer. But he buries the knowledge. Pretends he needs more time.
When he finally purchases his items, he silently cheers in his head, making note to brag to Blaine about his venture. Fragile? Fragile, his ass. He can easily grow a baby inside him and still be an entirely productive member of society.
“See, baby?” He rubs his belly softly as he exits the store. “And nobody thought we could do it.”
Kurt giddily returns to the train station and mounts the five back home. Given the busy time of day however, the train is heavily packed. Rude as they are, no passenger moves to lend Kurt a seat. Although he’s clearly pregnant and carrying heavy fabrics, Kurt squeezes between the crowd, stands in the middle of the train, and grips the overhead metal pole for balance.
It’s all right, he tells himself. After all, it’s not as if he’s incapable of standing for a few minutes. Before his pregnancy, and before Blaine and his luxury cars, Kurt often stood in this very train for long.
He cannot breathe, though. The air around him is hot with exhaled breaths, and there lies little space between him and the people beside him. Kurt intakes a loud breath. People stare. He grips his shopping bag a little harder, pulling it closer to his body.
Ten minutes later, Kurt still feels short of breath. Standing leaves him feeling dizzy and lightheaded, and he desperately attempts to control this odd, awful feeling inside him, this uncomfortable feeling that clouds his vision and buckles his knees. He feels as though he might fall right then and there. He’s suddenly fatigued, and his vision blurs further, and he’s ten minutes away from home, and he’s not entirely sure he can make it all the way. He should beg for a seat on the train, but he’s standing between a crowd of people, and he doesn’t know that he can even make it to an empty seat.
Above him, the automated voice announces, “This is 110th street. The next stop is 103rd street.” He knows it’s the wrong stop, but he runs out. Behind him, he hears, “Stand clear of the closing doors, please,” and he falls into a bench, breathing heavily. He feels himself fading.
Kurt retrieves his phone from his pocket and calls Blaine, but Blaine never answers, busy as he is with work. Kurt then calls Rachel, and he’s only just done telling her his story and his current location when his cloudiness takes over.
When he opens his eyes again, he’s right back in his bed. Tucked in. In comfortable clothing. He’s not entirely sure he even left the bed to begin with.
Except he hears the front door slam shut. He hears his husband. He hears desperation. He hears Rachel respond, “He’s in the bedroom.”
Blaine’s voice thunders down the hall. “Kurt!” he yells, and there’s an evident fear in his voice. His loud and rapid footsteps indicate he’s running, and Kurt stands to meet him in the hall. But the sudden move leaves him lightheaded. He cups his forehead and retakes his seat on the edge of his bed.
“Kurt!” Blaine calls, his voice edging closer. He hastily opens the bedroom door, and Kurt looks up to see his frantic, worried husband approaching him rapidly, tight worried lines across his forehead.
“Oh Kurt, baby…” Blaine coos. He sits beside Kurt, wraps his arms around him gently, and hugs him delicately. Kurt runs his hands smoothly down Blaine’s back, his husband’s body shaking lightly beneath his hands.
“Are you okay?” Blaine asks, pulling away from Kurt’s neck to press featherlight kisses against his cheek and jaw. Kurt nods quietly, and Blaine takes the initiative to press a warm hand on Kurt’s belly.
“Thank God you’re okay,” Blaine breathes, worry exuding from his voice. Kurt’s quiet, but he smiles gingerly in response. Blaine feels safe to smile too, fear silently creeping out of his chest. His hands find Kurt’s left hand, and he holds it lovingly in both hands, kissing Kurt’s knuckles softly.
“Rachel says you called me,” Blaine says, and he gulps audibly.
“I did,” Kurt responds, lacing his fingers through Blaine’s. He quietly observes Blaine. His bowtie is uncharacteristically askew. His hair, mussed. He looks as though he ran home from the office.
“So, low blood pressure, huh?” Blaine asks flippantly. Although his tone is nonchalant and dainty, like he’s still convincing himself that everything’s all right, his voice quietly breaks. Blaine’s eyes also flicker down to their joint hands. Kurt suspects Blaine’s emotions are clipped, hidden and bubbling beneath his surface.
“Yes, nothing to worry about,” Kurt answers. With his free hand, he lifts Blaine’s chin, forcing Blaine to glance at him.
Blaine hesitantly looks up. His eyes are suddenly wet, and their usual bright, sunny energy, nowhere to be seen. Kurt scrunches his eyebrows in confusion. Blaine releases Kurt’s hand, instead wrapping his arms around Kurt’s torso and burying his face in his husband’s chest.
“Blaine…?”
Blaine’s voice runs deep with emotion. “I was so worried about you,” he confesses, and he’s suddenly crying—sobbing—and tightening his hold on Kurt.
“What were you thinking?”
“I don’t know… I wasn’t… I was just bored…”
“Do you know what it’s like to be in the office and be worried about you every day? I’m so scared. Kurt, I’m scared. I can’t lose you and our baby.”
Kurt runs his hand soothingly down Blaine’s back. “You won’t lose us. I promise I won’t leave this bed until the day she’s ready to be born.”
Blaine breathes in Kurt for a while. Kurt’s heart twinges knowing he worried his husband like this.
Finally, Blaine slowly pulls away from Kurt’s chest. He wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I know you don’t like to be on bed rest. I know you want to be able to do something, but.” Blaine moves his hand to Kurt’s face and holds Kurt’s cheek softly. “You are doing something, okay? You are keeping me sane, and you are keeping her safe.”
“I know.” Kurt holds back tears. He tries hard not to think about his regret had something happened to the baby. He pushes away the image of him and Blaine suffering the loss of a miscarriage.
“I wish I could stay at home with you,” Blaine says, “and make it a little better for you but you know I can’t. I am and always will be so grateful that you are carrying our baby and that you’re putting up with all of this for her.” Kurt nods and absentmindedly moves his hand to his stomach. Blaine follows suit.
Blaine momentarily leans down and presses a hard kiss to Kurt’s belly. “I love both of you so much,” Blaine says. “You don’t even know.”
“I do know,” Kurt responds quickly before leaning forward and pressing a hard kiss against Blaine’s lips.
Kurt doesn’t leave his bed for the next two and a half months. He’s still bored out of his mind (although he does still have those fabrics), but he knows, in the end, the boredom is worth it. In the end, his boredom brings him Sophie. And with Blaine and Sophie, he’s never bored again.
----
mikaoru prompted: kurt is 6m preg and he's antsy because he's not working or studying so he gets to make some clothes and he wakes up one morning and goes to buy some fabrics and on the way back home he takes the train and it's full of ppl so he can't take a seat and has to get off a few stops before his bc his blood pressure was going down and he felt like shit, he calls blaine who's at work and then rachel who picks him up and gets him home and stays with him until blaine comes back and b is all worriedand wow
magicallyklaine prompted: crisscolfer + darren winning a grammy
To summarize: Darren wins in more ways than one. All fluff.
Read on AO3.
The applause dies. The crowd goes silent, waiting, quietly rooting for their favorites in their heads.
On the stage, the presenter speaks articulately into the microphone. “And the Grammy goes to…” She looks down, struggles to rip open the envelope.
Darren’s breath grows heavy. His hands shake, and his stomach roils nervously. Around him, the air is thick with anticipation, all eyes on the bright stage before them, all ears listening closely. Darren is well aware a camera is on him, capturing his every expression, but he cannot hide his nervous antics, the way his eye uncontrollably twitches. (Not that anyone sees that, but he feels his whole body tingle with anxiety.) He thinks – what if I did win? But he doubts. Once, twice, three times. Just as he doubted himself in the upcoming days. There’s no way in hell he snagged this award. There are so many more talented artists in the industry. Why him?
Beneaththe table, Chris reaches for Darren’s hand and holds it softly, interlocking their fingers. Chris soothingly runs his thumb across the back of Darren’s hand, and Darren sneaks a glance at him. He knows Chris believes. But it’s impossible. He was lucky enough just to be nominated. When Chris smiles back at him (equally nervous, Darren can tell, and yet somehow, incredibly confident), Darren exhales.
Time ticks by slowly, and yet, too quickly. The envelope is finally open.
The presenter looks up, smiles, and reads. “…Darren Criss.”
And then suddenly, time comes to a full stop. Darren’s ears ring loudly. His heart beats wildly. His hands shake further. His jaw drops a little, and the honey gold hazel of his eyes are clouded over with pure shock. Was that really his name he heard? Or is about to walk on stage and make a fool of himself? Next to him, Chris rises in excitement, his beautiful grin gracing his face, and that smile is enough to ground Darren once again. Darren’s world comes back to life. The audience erupts in applause.
Darren stands carefully and shakily buttons his jacket. He thinks of the first time Chris won a Golden Globe, how many times he’s watched that video, and he realizes how close he’s mimicking that shock. He runs a careful hand through his curls.
“Congratulations, baby,” Chris says in his ear, elated. Chris leans in to kiss Darren’s cheek, but Darren instinctively turns his head to kiss him full on the lips. To hell with being on air. He’s just won an award, and he’s ecstatic, and nothing and no one can take this wonderful moment away from him. As he walks away, Chris patting him on the back, Darren thinks about Chris’s red cheeks, how he must inevitably be blushing at the prospect of their personal kiss airing on national television, an image sure to follow them across the internet. Darren wants to care for the sake of Chris, but. He can’t.
On his walk to the stage, he thinks about the energetic, gifted, and ambitious young Darren who saw this moment in his head many times, even went so far as to rehearse in front of his mirror, and despite the belief that it would take him forever to get him, continuously believed. Here’s to you, Darren thinks. We did it.
In a daze, Darren climbs the stairs up to the stage (and doesn’t fucking fall, thank God) and is handed his award. He treasures the weight of it in his hands, heavier than he thought and real and incredible, and he’s overcome with disbelief. This is his. He knows two days from now, this overwhelming feeling in his chest will blur in his memory, so he savors it while he has it.
The presenter hugs him, a wide smile across her lips, and Darren returns the hug a little too tightly, too excitedly. He apologizes quietly, and she shakes her head and says, “Congratulations.” Finally, she steps aside, and Darren is left to take over the microphone. The audience awaits. Hell, America awaits. Actually, the world awaits.
“Wow,” Darren blurts out. His chest tightens with incredulity. “Shit,” he breathes.
The audience laughs, and although he feels oddly afraid, the uproarious laughter melts his fears away. Darren wants to be graceful and charming and inspirational, but. Shit. He forgets rehearsed speeches and instead, the words tumble out of his mouth.
“I have so many people to thank for this,” he starts. With the bright lights above his eyes, he can only see the front rows before the stage, and he can’t find every person who matters to him, but he speaks to them anyway. “Thank you, of course, to the Academy. This is for everyone who ever indulged me in this dream and everyone who helped me on this difficult road here. You deserve this more than me. This is also for every artist out there, especially the other nominees in this category, who produce the wonderful music I listen to every day and constantly create culture. This is yours as much as it is mine.”
Then, Darren unconsciously holds the Grammy to his heart. He hopes the music doesn’t start playing soon. “But more importantly, thank you to my absolutely amazing husband, Chris, without whom none of this is possible. You are my muse and my best friend, and without you, I would not know love. Also, to our daughter, who I know is watching this when she should sleeping. That’s a warning, Melanie.” He holds his Grammy up just as the music begins to play. “Thank you!” he repeats one last time, and then, he’s quickly lead away, the announcer overhead teasing the audience with presenters and awards to come.
Darren smiles uncontrollably as soon as he’s backstage, unable to control his grin. He turns to answer questions and snap photos, but he sees his wonderful husband walking briskly towards him, so he lifts a finger and asks everyone to patiently wait. He instantly crushes his lips against Chris’s, and Chris wraps both arms around Darren’s neck. Darren wraps his only free arm around Chris’s waist, and he feels his chest soar with an incredibly giddy feeling.
“Congratulations,” Chris repeats, Darren running his lips softly down his jawline and neck. When Darren finally pulls away, Chris holds his face in his hands and smiles. “Without me, you would never know love?” Darren shrugs, laughing. “You’re really sappy,” Chris continues.
“And you love it,” Darren teases. He answers the rhetorical question. “I would know nothing without you. I’d be empty, soulless. Who the hell would I write for?”
“Okay, Darren Everett, tone it down. I already love you.”
“Don’t I know it,” Darren says quietly, and just like he does every morning, he suddenly feels very lucky to gaze into those beautiful blue eyes and see his own love reflected. “I count my lucky stars every day.”
“Mhm,” Chris snorts. “Flatterer.”
“Seriously though,” Darren says. “Thank you for supporting me and loving me every day.”
“Thank you for being you,” Chris whispers intimately. “And loving me too. I’m so proud of you.”
Nothing makes Darren’s heart beat faster than those words. (Except Chris’s ‘I love you’.)
“Now, go take your million pictures,” Chris insists. Darren nods.
That night, Darren celebrates his award in a way younger Darren never expected he would. There’s no drinking and partying and loud yelling and bragging. He’s instead at home, cuddled comfortably on the couch with his gorgeous husband and their very awake daughter (“Daddy, can I hold it? Daddy, are you going to put it on the mantel? Daddy, can you sing me my song again?”), watching the show’s highlights. And he would have it no other way.
He’s won his award, and he has his loving family. Two dreams come true.
It's not Christmas anymore, but I've had this crisscolfer christmas drabble sitting in my word docs for a while. inspired by this post.
Chris is kneeling in the living room, quietly tying his sneakers, when his husband slides carefully behind him, suspiciously close. Surprised, Chris looks up, his eyes questioning, and Darren wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. Darren extends his hand to help Chris up and then points above their heads.
Ah, mistletoe. Chris rolls his eyes.
“Darren!” He groans. “Again? Are you serious?”
“What?” Darren asks innocently, feigning ignorance. “It’s not me. It’s the laws of Christmas. And nature.”
“Nature didn’t put twenty mistletoes in our home.”
“You have to kiss me, Chris.” Darren puckers his lips playfully, and Chris resists the urge to laugh.
“Says who?” Chris questions.
“Says…” Darren begins, ransacking his brain for a clever response.
Amused, Chris suggests, “The laws of Christmas?”
“Yes!" Darren answers excitedly. "Exactly.”
Chris narrows his eyes. “You’re lucky I like you,” he says. The small smile playing across his lips betrays him. He leans forward and softly kisses Darren.
When they pull away, Darren points out, “You mean ‘love you’.”
Darren and Chris can’t find their daughter after school. A brief look into them as parents.
Read on AO3
They’ve been waiting in the car for twenty minutes now, and they can’t find her.
Darren’s right hand sits mindlessly on the steering wheel, his left hand thrumming gently on the car door, when Chris looks at him and asks, “What if she was kidnapped?”
The idea hadn’t even occurred to Darren. “Chris…” Darren begins, ready to retort, but when he turns to look at his husband, he sees an evident panic rising. Fear. Worry. Horror. Darren’s taken aback, and he scrunches his eyebrows in concern.
“Baby,” he says, and his hand reaches up to caress Chris’s face softly. “She’s fine. She’s just late.”
“I’m serious! She always waits for us exactly at 4 pm, like clockwork, at the main entrance door. She is twenty minutes late. I have called her three times, and she has not answered once. She won’t answer her text messages either. I’m serious, Darren. I’m really worried.” Chris shakes a little, so Darren makes a point to calm his husband’s qualms. If he’s honest with himself, he too can feel Chris’s fear rising in him.
Because their daughter isn’t with him, and she’s nowhere to be found.
“I’m going to check inside to see if she’s waiting right by the main entrance.” Chris exits the car, and Darren watches him press the front doorbell, to no avail. He peeks through the doors into the school, scanning the hallways, and then looks through the window, and Darren assumes he finds the main office empty, because he returns quickly to the car.
Oh god, Darren thinks, what if she really was kidnapped? What if they took her phone? What if she was waiting for us and somebody grabbed her?
His face remains calm for Chris’s sake.
“She’s not there,” Chris states, voice shaky. “She’s always there waiting for us. Always. Where do you think she is?”
“I don’t know.” Although Darren feels fear crawling up his throat, he leans across and kisses Chris’s cheek swiftly. “I’ll go find her.”
He dismounts the car and zips his coat up a little higher, pulls his hat down a little further. He walks around the school towards a side entrance. When he knocks on the door, a teacher opens.
“Can I help you?” she asks, and behind her, he sees a cafeteria full of kids. Relief sweeps over him.
“I’m looking for my daughter, Melanie Colfer-Criss. She’s in the after school chorus program. Is she here?”
“Well, I can let you in to look around, but all the chorus kids were already released. I don’t believe she’s here.”
Panic. He looks back at the car and sees Chris hunched over his phone, probably sending Mel a barrage of texts.
Darren thanks the teacher quickly, masking his sudden worry, and then runs into the school. He wanders every hallway, checks the chorus room, even the indoor gym, but he. can’t. find. her. anywhere. He doesn’t text Chris, as he knows from experience that Chris must be silently panicking in the car, always the first to let fear take control when it comes to their daughter. (And Darren doesn’t blame him.) But ten minutes later, Chris texts him.
[4:28 pm] She’s here.
And an angry face emoji.
Darren exhales loudly. He makes it back to the car to find Chris with his arms crossed in the passenger seat and Melanie looking innocent in the back.
“I was just talking to my friends, Papa!” Melanie insists when Darren opens the door to return to the driver seat.
Chris is stoic, quiet. He shrugs his shoulders and looks out the window. Darren knows he’s relieved, but must be simultaneously furious as Melanie is officially thirty minutes late and made them both worry out of their minds. With no courtesy call or text. Chris isn’t precisely mad at their daughter, Darren knows, but the situation. The panic and frustration that took over him, sitting, waiting in the car, melds into negative emotions.
“We were worried about you,” Darren says sternly. He puts the car in drive and briefly looks at his 12-year-old daughter through the rearview mirror.
“I know, but Dad, I was talking to my friends, and I got distracted, I’m sorry!”
“Why didn’t you check the time?” Chris asks.
“I just didn’t!” She defends herself. “I forgot!”
“Yes,” Darren says, “But Mel, you didn’t bother to call or text either of us, and you knew we were out here waiting for you. Not five or ten minutes. We waited for thirty minutes. You don’t think after thirty minutes, we would start to panic, thinking maybe Mel got kidnapped and she’s actually missing?”
“I didn’t look at my phone, Dad!”
“That’s the problem. When you know that your Papa and I are waiting for you, you make a point to check the time and either be here when we’re out front or at least tell us you’re going to be a little late. You didn’t think about how either of us would react.”
“I’m sorry, Dad,” she says exasperatedly. Darren risks a glance at Chris, whose elbow is perched on the door, head in his hand. With his right hand, he reaches for Chris’s empty one, lacing their fingers together and placing their joint hands on Chris’s armrest. Chris looks at Darren and smiles faintly, and Darren reads him effortlessly.
“How would you have felt,” Chris says, “if I didn’t answer my phone?” Darren listens carefully. He would have never thought of turning the situation on her like that.
“What?” Melanie asks, confused.
“If I told you I would come pick you up at 3 pm on the dot,” Chris continues, “and you were waiting for me for thirty minutes, how would you feel if I didn’t answer my phone?”
“I don’t know…”
“Exactly,” Chris turns in his seat to face their daughter. “You don’t know, because you expect me to always pick up your phone call when you need me, and I always do. So I expect you to pick up mine when you know that I am waiting for you. It is your responsibility. You may feel as though your dad and I are blowing this out of proportion because you knew you were okay, but we didn’t. We love you, so it’s our duty to make sure you’re okay. We have to worry about you.”
“Papa,” Melanie’s voice breaks. “I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you,” Chris responds, turning back around. “But don’t do it again.”
Darren squeezes Chris’s hand gently and smiles softly when Chris squeezes in return. In that moment, he silently admires Chris and particularly, their parental teamwork. They’ll still have to have a conversation with Melanie, and in the future, she’ll probably cause many more panics, but he knows and trusts that he has the best partner for the job.
a super short drabble because a) I feel incompetent for not writing more often lately, b) The Origin of Love from the musical Hedwig and the Angry Inch (past 3:58) makes me think about cc 100% of the time (please go listen to it, as this makes more sense with it), and c) we always need more cc fluff in our lives.
Together, they lie quietly in bed, sated and content, naked bodies hidden beneath the blanket pulled up to their chests, both wholly comfortable. And relaxed. Because this is their time to be happy. To be together. Outside of what Darren often calls their ‘crazy kinetic life’, this is their time to just be them.
They shamelessly and fearlessly stare at each other, simply soaking in each other, this moment, and their feelings, something they quite often avoid in public (although Darren admittedly fails at it). Darren’s warm honey gold eyes deeply explore Chris’s own light blue, both pairs mutually alight with an eternal fire kindling in their hearts. Chris runs his hands down Darren’s newly shaved chest, while Darren’s hands find and grip Chris’s waist tightly.
Chris’s eyes stray downwards, and his hands stop momentarily. Suddenly, he asks, “Have you ever seen Hedwig and the Angry Inch?”
Darren narrows his eyes. “Have I ever seen—” he begins unbelievingly, joking. He rolls his eyes playfully. “Of course I’ve seen Hedwig and the Angry Inch! Who do you think I am, Chris?”
“I’m making a point, jerk.” Chris softly pokes Darren’s chest. “I’m not done. Do you remember the song ‘The Origin of Love’?”
“Sure,” Darren responds. Although Chris’s are still downcast, Darren looks at him pointedly, wondering where he’s going with this.
Chris shortly gets there, however. “Do you think…” And his eyes meet Darren’s. Darren’s chest fills with a tingling sensation. “…we would have been one?”
“You mean, do I think ‘the gods grew quite scared of our strength and defiance,” Darren quips, “and Thor said, “I’m gonna kill them all with my hammer, like I killed the giants, and Zeus said, ‘No, you better—’”
“Darren!” Chris laughs. “Answer the question.”
“Do I think humans are halves of a whole? And that love is when we find that other half we’ve been separated from?”
Chris nods. “…I don’t know,” Darren replies honestly.
“But…” Darren continues. One hand moves to hold the small of Chris’s back, keeping their bodies safe and warm together, while his other hand moves up to caress Chris’s face softly. “I do know that if that is indeed true, only you could be my other half.”
As per tradition, they’re both in their trailer, this time studying their last script together. Darren curls his arm behind Chris’s back, forcefully pushing their bodies closer together. Not that Chris minds, of course. He won’t voice as much, but he loves the intimacy of just them two huddled together on their tiny couch.
"So," he says quietly, turning in his seat to fully face Darren.
"So…" Darren responds. He gravitates closer to Chris, turning his face and leaning forward to press their foreheads together.
"You realize these are Kurt’s and Blaine’s last lines, right?" Chris whispers, resting his hand gently on the back of Darren’s neck. His fingers play softly with his untamed curls. Their eyes meet, and Chris sees a brief flicker of confusion etch across Darren’s face.
"Seriously?" Darren asks, unbelieving. Darren’s hands meet Chris’s hips, and they close the minute space left between their two bodies, slowly pulling Chris even closer, nearly settling him on Darren’s lap. "I thought Kurt and Blaine were in another scene."
"They are," Chris clarifies, "but they don’t speak. This is it right here." Chris quickly pulls his face away from Darren’s and collects his script from the end table. As he folds back the page, he shows Darren what he’s referring to. "After this, no more Kurt. No more Blaine."
"Wow," Darren replies, and his eyes go a little wide with shock. He takes the script from Chris, silently poring over it, as Chris reads beside him. With a few silent minutes, Chris lets Darren absorb this sudden end, so he’s caught by surprise when Darren turns to him again, inquiring lightly yet seriously, "But there is more Chris and Darren, right?"
At first, he’s confused. “Wait, wh-” He begins, but when he realizes, he laughs, covering his mouth with his hand, and shakes his head at himself. “Oh yeah, absolutely!” He replies nonchalantly, although he’s well aware of the question’s implication. “I was confused for a minute there. I was like, ‘Who the hell are Chris and Darren? How do I not know those characters?’” Darren laughs too, burying his nose in Chris’s neck.
Finally, with all humor gone, Chris responds. “But yes…” With his index finger, he turns Darren’s face up to look at him. Then, he briefly presses his lips against Darren’s, their lips smacking quietly as they pull apart. “There is so much more Chris and Darren left.”
"Then, I’m okay." Darren nods. "I’m happy." He softly kisses Chris again, loosely wrapping his arms around Chris’s torso. "I will miss them, though."
