The set of Glee was one that didn't really sleep much, Darren had discovered. Between the boys learning choreography until one am and the girls up and getting make-up done at six, the extras, the caterers, the lighting and set designers, the cameramen and the stylists, you were hard-pushed to ever see the set locked, dark, and deserted.
Which is why when Darren finally shook himself awake after a spontaneous nap on Chris's trailer floor, head still swimming with tequila, and found that everyone else had vanished and Chris was currently hanging upside down off his couch, twisting into some weird as fuck yoga positions the first thing out of his mouth was,
"Hey man, let's go break into some shit."
Chris grinned at him, smile hanging somewhere above his eyes like the Cheshire cat and one hand scrambling for the half full tequila bottle on the floor, announced that it was "the best idea he'd ever heard," and swung his long legs over his head to roll and stumble almost gracefully into a standing position and ruffling Darren's hair as he walked past.
"Are you coming?" he whined from the door, taking a deep swallow from the bottle and clinging onto the doorframe too tightly until Darren's arm caught around his waist and sent them both careering down the wonky trailer steps and onto the hard ground.
It was one of the ideas that they would always maintain seemed like a good one at the time.
***
They made it across the studios with little incident, with Darren's arm around Chris's waist, pressing hot and firm where his shirt rode up his back, with Darren following every noise Chris made with a loud shhh! and a giggle muffled into his shoulder.
"How did you...just how man, I don't..." Darren managed to get out as he tripped in two circles with feet half forced into Chris's Gaga heels, before his ankles manage to twirl too far around each other and send him tumbling into a twisted pile on the floor.
"Rigorous practice," Chris said, throat rough as a golden drop slipped down his chin from the neck of the bottle. His fingers scrabbled at Darren's feet until he peeled off one shoe, thumb running across the ball of Darren's foot until his toes curled and twitched against it.
Darren's head fell back against the floor with a thud, hand swiping uselessly at the air near Chris, groping for the bottle.
He caught a glimpse of Chris's grin, the way he swung the bottle just out of reach of Darren's fingers and kicked his feet with a petulant whine.
"Coolllferr!"
And then Chris was hanging over him, pressing the cool glass against Darren's lower lip.
"Open up."
Darren's lips parted, Chris's eyes flickering down and darkening before he tipped the bottle, one hand sliding through Darren's hair to cup his head against the floor.
"Swallow," Chris whispered, his voice thick and rough and blowing soft against Darren's cheek, and he did as he was told.
***
An hour later and Darren had a Warblers tie knotted around his head, his fingers tugging uselessly at the buttons on his shirt as one arm managed to claw its way free of the garishly patterned cotton.
"It's so bright," Chris said, wrinkling his nose and prodding at the flowery shirt. Darren nodded dumbly, struggling with the buttons that blurred in front of his eyes as Chris turned on the radio and disappeared between the rows of clothes, letting out a cry of triumph.
"Oh my god, I forgot I even..."
"What is it?" Darren shouted over the obnoxious pop blaring from the radio, attempting to stand in the one Gaga heel he had left on and falling sideways into a mannequin, "Chriiiis?"
"You'll see!"
Darren fell back to the floor, lying half slumped against a chair and staring dismally at the almost empty bottle until –
"Tadaa!"
Chris spun from the corner, twirling to a stop in front of him with a breathless laugh and Darren's throat was suddenly burning dry.
Because he'd seen the nineteen year old Chris dance across his screen as a cheerleader, and it had been two years and the kind of ridiculous friendship that only blossoms when you've had to spend countless hours kissing on camera.
But this was...weird.
This wasn't Chris Colfer: Kurt Hummel Edition, all baby-faced and singing Madonna.
This was Chris Colfer with flushed cheeks and dark eyes and a wicked grin, squeezed into a costume so tiny Darren could see the flex and ripple of his skin beneath the fabric. He could see the way the sleeves cut deep into the swell of his biceps, the strip of stomach that stretched in the gap between the pants and shirt.
Darren swallowed, tipping the last of the tequila onto his tongue because fuck now Chris was dancing; raising his arms and rocking his hips in time to the stupid beat coming from the stupid radio. And his shirt was riding higher, revealing the light trail of hair that vanished between his hips and Darren's eyes followed it down and there was no way Chris was wearing underwear under those pants, they hugged too tight against his thighs.
Chris's hands dropped to twine in his own hair, pressing down his neck and chest as his head fell back, eyes dropping closed and Darren's shirt was sticking to the back of his neck, his palms clammy where they clung to the empty bottle.
"Darren, I think you should get up and dance with me," Chris said, sliding one hand lower to rake his nails over his own stomach.
Darren made a small noise in the back of his throat.
Chris was suddenly too close, grasping his hands around Darren's wrists and pulling him up hard until their chests were flush together and Darren's hands were crushed somewhere against Chris's stomach.
Darren looked up, his nose brushing Chris's cheek.
"Hi," Chris whispered and his hands had moved to cup Darren's hip, sliding through his belt loops to hook him closer.
Darren grinned and pressed their cheeks together, rubbing his palms over Chris's warm torso to slip behind him and lie against the small of his back.
"Hey."
Chris was rocking against him, one thigh pushing between Darren's and fingers slipping under his shirt to scratch over his waist. His face moved closer, mouth pressed half open against Darren's temple and his breath stirring against the tie tangled in Darren's curls.
One hand slid into the back pocket of Darren's jeans and he felt his breath hitch as Chris's hand cupped warm and tight over his ass, squeezing and tugging him closer until their hips slid hard together.
The music had dropped to something lower, something dirty and grinding and what they were doing could barely even be called dancing anymore. Not the way Chris's skin seemed to burn against his, through the thin, tight polyester of the stupid uniform and right through his body. Not the way the burn seemed to spread, hot and desperate up Darren's spine and right down to the pit of his stomach.
His head was spinning and Chris shifted his thigh upwards, rocking hard against where Darren was aching and straining in his pants, and his brain spun even harder. He felt his fingers claw uselessly as Chris's back, his feet tangle between his ankles and then Darren was falling with a crash to the floor, bringing Chris down heavy on top of him.
Darren's brain blearily registered how nice it was to have someone over him who was heavier, stronger, matching him in size and muscle, before Chris's hand looped into the tie around his head and wrenched him upwards so they were face to face. Chris was heavy on his lap, thighs clamped firmly over Darren's and their chests pressed flat together, heaving with deep breaths in synch and Chris's eyes were burning into his as his fingers played with the back of Darren's hair.
He rocked down deliberately, holding Darren's gaze steady, crushing their erections together and Darren's hands flew to clutch at his hips and hold him there, mouth stuttering open in a gasp.
Chris's eyes narrowed, something like a challenge dancing behind them as he rose and pressed down again, once then twice, and each time Darren's throat ripped with noise and he was bucking upwards mindlessly, meeting Chris's every movement.
"Darren," Chris breathed, finally, leaning in to touch their foreheads together and slowing his movements, "Darren, talk to me."
Darren caught a deep breath, a whine hitching in his chest as Chris settled and stilled over him, his fingers still tangled in Darren's hair while the other toyed with the collar of his shirt.
"I –" he managed, hands pawing uselessly at the skin of Chris's hips, raking upwards over his ribs to scrape up his back, "I want –"
"What do you want, Darren?"
Chris smelled like tequila and his eyes were bright and sparkling as he stared, unblinking into Darren's eyes. His hand was hot and damp where it lay on his neck, brushing against Darren's pulse with a softness that made him tremble.
"I want...fuck this uniform, Chris, I want you so bad."
Shock flickered across Chris's face for a moment and as he glanced down at the red polyester with a fleeting smile Darren gripped him harder and flipped them, slamming Chris flat down against the floor and rising over him.
Chris's teeth dug into his lip, biting it raw as he looked up with heavy, lidded eyes.
"It's...just the uniform though, right?" he said needlessly, and Darren rolled his eyes and leaned in to press his face against Chris's neck and inhale deeply. His neck was warm with sweat and fluttering under Darren's cheek.
"I don't care, Chris. Fuck it's the uniform and the drink and fuck, it's you and god –"
And then he was moving, sliding roughly down Chris's front, biting and licking a trail haphazardly over the shirt, tugging it upwards to suck across Chris's stomach. One hand found the bottle, tipping it and dripping splashes over his chest, his mouth dropping to chase and lap over Chris's skin, swirling his tongue messily around one nipple before dropping back down.
Chris was panting, his chest thrumming hard under Darren's mouth and one hand clutched in his own hair, head thrown backwards. Darren grabbed his thigh, hitching it over one shoulder as he moved lower to nuzzle his face against the thick bulge in Chris's pants, feeling the flex of muscle against his ear as Chris quivered and pressed upwards, thrusting against Darren's mouth and tightening his leg against his neck.
Darren mouthed wet over his cock, leaving a dark trailing stain up the length of red fabric, working over the shape of the head and sucking where the pants were already damp and salty and Chris was grinding against his face, moaning something unintelligible.
He tugged at Chris's pants, fumbling them down but they caught around his twisted thighs, smothering Darren's face and forcing his mouth away until Chris keened desperately, hands flying down to drag through his hair.
"Darren!" he groaned, "Fuck, Darren, don't you dare fucking stop."
"I'm trying," Darren gasped, pulling harder at the pants but his fingers didn't seem to want to work and he was so turned on that every movement had him rutting against the carpet, his cheek pressed to Chris's thigh as he gasped against him.
Chris heaved him upwards by the hair, Darren scrambling after him with a hiss of pain as Chris wrenched his head back and spoke harshly against his throat, forcing the words out with a bite against his skin.
"I want you to make me come. Now. And yes, I'm keeping the uniform on."
Darren's brain sparked and he choked out a moan, but Chris's hand was at his throat and pushing him up, the room spinning as he stumbled to his feet and dragged Chris up with him. He steered them towards the nearest surface, the table strewn with torn garments and piles of clothes, and forced Chris face first over it, bending him flat against the edge and pressing his cheek against the wood.
"You need to learn how to shut up sometimes, Colfer, and stop being so fucking bossy," he growled against Chris's ear, rubbing his aching cock up his ass in one slow, torturous movement.
Chris strained his head around glaring hard at Darren with eyes flashing with hard lust, anger and arousal and opened his mouth to snap something clever, but Darren's hand closed over his lips before he could speak. One hand fumbled with his hair, pulling the tie out and looping it over Chris's head to replace his hand, stretching the striped fabric between his teeth and knotting it behind his head. Chris growled something indiscernible and wriggled under Darren's body, his eyes hard and angry and wild.
Darren leaned in, slotting them together like a puzzle and brushed his mouth over Chris's ear.
"Shhh," he said, and Chris shivered, rising to press backwards against him.
From this angle Darren could push Chris's pants down completely, trapping his ankles together and pushing his shirt up to wrinkled under his arms, letting his mouth drag slowly down the ridges of his spine.
Chris's fingers tightened around the edge of the table, tiny hitches of breath audible around the tie as he stared sideways, eyes trained on Darren as much as they could as he worked his way down Chris's back.
He found the tequila again, spilling the last of it down his skin and watching the flinch and tremble against the cool liquid, the slide and drip as it trickled down the slope of Chris's back and over his ass to pool against Darren's thighs.
He chased it, slowly, thoroughly.
Chris was rocking backwards, whining and gasping muffled words through the tie, wet from his mouth, but Darren ignored him and moved lower, dropping to his knees as he licked the last of the tequila from his skin and let his tongue drag across the underside of Chris's ass.
He rubbed his hands up Chris's thighs, gripping and spreading them to press his face between his cheeks and lap wetly over his skin. He tasted like sweat and alcohol and heat and Darren savoured it, sucking and licking as Chris shook under him, a stream of faint noises coming from behind the makeshift gag. His tongue slid, up and down and dipping against his hole until Chris was dripping and shiny, his skin slick and hot, red raw from the scrape of Darren's stubble and the graze of his teeth.
Darren let his hands travel back upwards, scratching and squeezing over the mess of his thighs and lingering hard over the curve of his ass, digging red marks into the pale skin up to his shoulder blades until Chris arched up into him.
He pressed forwards until his cock slide against the warm wet of Chris's ass, sliding easily between his thighs to bump against the base of Chris's cock and Darren let his head fall against the back of his sweat-dampened neck with a gasp.
One hand scrabbled around Chris's waist to grasp him hard while the other hooked around his neck, forearm clenched against the beating of his pulse as Darren thrust hard and hot, pumping his wrist and panting into Chris's hair.
His cock was trapped between the skin of Chris's thighs, sticky with spit and precome and burning hot with pressure and sweat, grinding tighter and tighter with desperate movements, wrist aching as he gripped Chris harder in his hand.
Chris rocked back with him, trapped between Darren's hand and hips and moaning something inaudible through the tie until Darren pulled at it with the hand at his throat, scratching down over Chris's cheek to pull the fabric from his mouth.
"Fuck, Chris...I need to hear you,"
And then Chris was half screaming his name, lost between shouts of harder and more, and fuck, and somewhere between the desperation and the heat and the pure filthiness of it all Darren came without warning and with a sudden spike of heat and a burning tingle that shot down his spine.
He rocked twice more, jerking Chris harder and swirling his thumb over the head and down, nails scraping and palm kneading against his balls and then Chris was twisting backwards, mouth pressed to Darren's cheek as he screamed and sighed and came, thick and warm over Darren's fingers.
They stilled, frozen against each other with backs arched and chests heaving, sweat and come sticking their skin together all over until Darren's knees buckled and he dragged them both to crumple on the floor.
Chris made a disgusted noise, and Darren blinked blearily, turning to see Chris lay flat on his back.
His throat was rough and dry and if he had the ability to get hard again that quickly, then he would because fuck.
Chris was shining, skin rubbed raw and red in odd patches down his chest, across his face from the tight cut of the tie and round his throat from Darren's arm. His hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, his chest and thighs slippery with white streaks of come, one leg bent and his arms crooked over his head as his eyes fell closed and he panted for breath.
Darren's muscles were screaming and tired, but he shifted his body closer, moving down to run the flat of his tongue over Chris's thighs.
Chris made a quiet noise but didn't stop him and Darren worked in slow, languid movements up his skin, licking the traces of their mixed come from his body, kissing across the red marks on his chest and throat and letting his mouth touch lightly across his cheeks to the corner of his mouth.
Chris opened his eyes, regarded him with an unreadable expression before cupping Darren's cheek and drawing their mouths together.
His kissed him softly, deep and leisurely, swirling his tongue around Darren's to swallow his own taste on Darren's tongue and he felt Chris's cock twitch against his own thigh, laughing tiredly into his mouth.
"I might need a moment before round two," he mumbled, dropping his face into the comfortable crook of Chris's neck and revelling in the soft feel of his hands against the back of Darren's neck.
"You're so old," Chris teased, stroking through his hair.
Darren pinched his waist with as much energy as he could muster, digging his nails in until Chris squeaked and wriggled.
"Give me twenty minutes," he yawned, nuzzling under Chris's ear, "I'm sure there's a corset in this wardrobe somewhere we can put one of us in next time."
