Chris awakens to Darren bouncing enthusiastically on his bed. He's wearing a pair of loose pajama pants and a worn blue t-shirt and his hair is a dark, curly mess. He's looming over Chris like some sort of demented Hobbit.
"They say it's your birthday," he sings. "Dun dun dun dun dun—"
"Oh my gosh," Chris exclaims. "What is wrong with you?"
Darren does an elaborate air guitar solo that ends with him tipping onto his knees, then collapsing next to Chris, rolling over and cuddling into his side.
"You're 21 today," Darren informs him. "I wanted to wake you with song."
"Blow jobs are better," Chris says. "FYI."
Darren sits back on his knees, singing, "Shot through the heart, and you're to blame—"
"Can I send you back?" Chris asks. "Even for store credit. I want a new boyfriend."
Darren clambers on top of Chris, leans down and bites him under his chin, a light nip. Chris's back arches, unbidden. He swallows a curse.
"I think you like me," Darren breathes into Chris's ear, which does funny things to Chris's stomach. He cups Chris through his boxers and lifts his eyebrows. "I think you like me a lot."
"Whatever, I woke up like that," Chris retorts.
"Because you were dreaming about me?" Darren says hopefully, and it takes every ounce of self-control Chris has not to yank him down and kiss him.
"No, I was dreaming about Hugh Jackman," Chris lies. While he has had some kinky Wolverine dreams before, he was definitely dreaming about Darren and this thing he does—
"You and your Wolverine issues," Darren sighs, rolling off him but keeping contact. He slips his hand under Chris's shirt, thumbing over his hip bone.
That. That is what Chris was dreaming about. He shudders.
Darren looks at him with interest.
"Shut up," Chris says.
Darren's smile makes him look almost wolfish, and no, Chris is not going there—
"I'm no superhero," Darren says, "but I can do this..."
He begins to peel Chris's pants off his hips, his back curving as he goes down, down, down.
*
"Definitely the black," Lea says.
They're in some boutique in Beverly Hills because Lea decided Chris needed a new outfit for his birthday party tonight. He honestly can not tell the difference between this pair of pants and the grey ones they just made him try on. The color, yes. He is not that much of a gay failure. But what else—
"The black does nice things for your ass," Amber observes, touching her hand to his hip and pushing in a gesture that obviously translates to turn around.
"I don't like you all staring at my ass," Chris says, voice strained.
"Well, then don't get these pants, honey," Amber says. "Because everybody is gonna be lookin'."
Chris bites his lip. He is 21 today, a 21-year old virgin. Maybe a little ass attention wouldn't hurt him.
Chris does not even know where his brain goes sometimes.
"Let's get them," Chris says, and Lea claps her hands in delight.
*
"I want to know how far you've gone," Ashley says over brunch, and Chris nearly spits his Diet Coke all over the table.
