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twobirdsonesong · 7 years ago

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Crisscolfer Gift Exchange 2017

Title: No Place Like Home for the Holidays Author: @twobirdsonesong Gifted to @imsorrydidijuststutter as part of the @crisscolfergiftexchange 2017 Summary: Sometimes taking someone home for the holidays is easy as Christmas. Ratings/Warnings: PG / such fluff

[AO3]

“I should have brought something.”

The house loomed large through the windshield, imposing despite the cheerful facade and bright winter flowers.

“Chris.”

“I should have something with me. I should have brought something. That’s what guests do. They bring things to parties.” Dread filled his stomach.

Darren shook his head. “You’re not a guest.”

“I am a guest. I’m very much a guest. They’re going to think I’m ungrateful. And rude. The worst guest.”

“They’re not.”

“I should have baked a pie,” said Chris. “I’m pretty good at baking pies. You like my pies.”

Darren nodded. “I do like your pies, but there are going to be plenty of pies here already.”

“Can we stop at the store?”

“We’re already in the driveway.”

“Can we go back? I can grab a bottle of wine. I mean, you’ll have to buy it, but I can pay you back for it. Anything to not be empty handed. Why didn’t I think to bring a bottle of wine?” Chris rubbed his damp palms against his thighs. This might have been a grand mistake.

“Probably because you can’t take it on a plane,” said Darren, infuriatingly reasonably.

“I could have packed it in my checked bag.”

“We didn’t check any bags.” Darren finally turned the key in the ignition and the car shuddered to stillness. The sudden quiet rang in Chris’ ears, followed by the heavy thud of his own beating heart.

“Can we please go back to the store?”

“We could. But that would mean my parents watching us backing out of the driveway after sitting here for five minutes.”

Chris glanced at the house; he couldn’t see anyone lurking in the windows, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. “They’re watching us?”

“Of course they are. We’ve been sitting here for five minutes. They’re probably all waiting.”

“Fuck.”

“Not for the next couple of days. Saddle up and get out of car.”

***

It wasn’t that Chris had actively been avoiding meeting Darren’s parents. It just hadn’t happened yet. Well, it had. Sort of. It had happened extremely briefly and in a situation Chris wouldn’t have at all described as “meeting the parents.” A quick hug on a red carpet at a movie premiere when he could hardly hear a word wasn’t the same as showing up to the family home.

They both had busy lives (and growing busier) and San Francisco was just far enough away from Los Angeles that it wasn’t as if they could pop over for a friendly, meet-the-boyfriend-brunch. Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Criss had been in town a number of times since he and Darren had started doing whatever it was they were doing, but Chris just happened to be otherwise occupied those times. So he hadn’t avoided them; not exactly.

But now they were unavoidable, real and present. Now, Darren’s rented car was sitting in the driveway of a surprisingly large and well-landscaped house, and Darren’s parents were inevitable. It shouldn’t be a surprise, Chris thought as he unfurled himself from the sedan. Darren’s family was wealthy, he knew this. Of course they had a big house on a hill in an affluent neighborhood in a rich city. They were going to take one look at Chris and turn him out on the doorstep.

“Are you coming or do I have to drag you?” Darren stood a few feet away, overnight bag over his shoulder, fondness in his eyes.

“No, I’m coming.”

“Cause my dad really hates to be kept waiting.”

Chris quickened his steps until he heard Darren laugh. “You’re an asshole.”

Darren nodded. “Yes.”

Chris’ heart beat heavily in his throat as they climbed the steps to the door; he wiped his damp palms on his thighs. The air felt too warm; too warm for December and too warm for the moment.

He’d never met someone’s parents before; never been in a relationship where it even came up. But Darren had started talking about his parents from almost the very beginning. Chris had seen pictures of them, had overheard Darren on the phone with his mom a number of times. Once, a few months before the hug on the red carpet, Darren had held the phone out towards Chris, a clear offer for him to take it and say hello to Mrs. Criss. Chris had never before tripped over his own heels trying to back away in such haste. He hadn’t realized, hadn’t even considered until that moment, that Darren had told his parents about them, whatever it was they were. But obviously he had, and continued to. Obviously, Mr. and Mrs. Criss knew enough about him - about them - to invite him to Christmas at their place. It was distinctly terrifying.

Darren still had a key to the house, but didn’t need it. The door was unlocked.

“And like I said, it’s just going to be my parents. My brother is in New York with his girlfriend and my grandparents didn’t feel like traveling that far this year. So it’s just the four of us. It’ll be easy.”

A cascade of aromas hit Chris the moment the door swung open, every holiday with his own family coming to mind. Roasting meat, a melange of sides, the heat of a stove that’s been on all day. What followed was the sound - the unmistakable cacophony of people intimately comfortable with each other talking over each other. There was, most assuredly, more than just two people in the house.

Chris felt sweat break out on his forehead. He gripped the strap of his overnight bag tightly.

“Uhm-“ Darren began, only to be interrupted by a young man appearing quite suddenly in the foyer of the house.

“Baby brother!” He greeted, all smiles with a beer in his hand.

“You’ve never once called me that,” responded Darren, dryly.

“First time for everything. Speaking of…”

Chris gulped audibly as attention turned to him. “Hi.”

“You must be the boyfriend,” said the person who Chris was quite sure was Darren’s brother. Chris knew a little about him, from his own internet searching and Darren’s stories, but they’d never officially met.

“I’m Chris.” He stuck his hand out to shake.

“Chuck. The brother.” He didn’t look at all like Darren

“Nice to meet you,” Chris said, assuming he sounded as awkward as he felt. Somewhere in the house other people were still talking and soft Christmas music filtered through the jumble of conversations. He wanted to flee.

“I thought you were in New York.” Darren asked, guiding Chris into the house and shutting the door. He helped Chris out of his coat and hung it on one of the already crowded coat hooks on the wall in the entryway.

Chuck shrugged, but the gleam in his eyes and the upturn of his mouth belied his nonchalance. “I’m here.”

Darren glanced down the main hallway, as though seeking out the filtering voices. “And everyone else?”

“Also here. Some of them, anyway.”

“But I thought-“

“Chuck, is that Darren? Finally?” Called a loud, deep voice from somewhere in the house.

“Yes!” Chuck answered and dread filled Chris’ stomach. Any chance of escaping slipped away from him completely.

Darren looked apologetically at Chris and mouthed: “Sorry.”

“Merry Christmas,” Chuck said cheerfully, clearly enjoying every uncomfortable moment. “Eggnog?”

***

Chris’ heart beat painfully hard as they walked into the kitchen. Darren’s hand discrete on the small of his back wasn’t comforting the way it should have been. All Chris could think was how obvious that hand would be to anyone who saw them, as though his mere presence at a family Christmas wasn’t obvious enough. As though the very reason for coming to Christmas dinner in the first place wasn’t obvious, at least to Darren’s parents.

Darren’s mother was a tiny thing in a long-sleeved dress and heels, a glass of wine in one hand. Her face broke open into the most joyous, open-hearted expression Chris had ever seen when she laid eyes on Darren.

A flurry of hugs and kisses followed. Darren’s father, a slightly taller (though not by much) man with white hair and a toothy grin, was a bit more reserved in his greetings, though not by much. He wore a suit jacket with a bow tie and squeezed Darren heartily, as though it had been years since they last saw each other.

Chris loitered a few paces back, eager to stay out of the way and, perhaps, to go completely unnoticed. It did not work.

Mrs. Criss stepped back from Darren and turned her considerable attention to Chris. “Are you going to introduce us to your friend or just let him stand there all night?”

Chris gulped at “friend” and glanced at Darren. Mrs. Criss’ tone was teasing, but her eyes were inquisitive.

“Mom, you remember Chris,” Darren gestured inelegantly. “My boyfriend.”

Chris gulped harder at that and felt his cheeks flush an embarrassing shade of red. It wasn’t a word he liked; it wasn’t a word they used. But there wasn’t a word for “the guy I’m mad about even though I don’t know what we’re doing or where this is going but he makes me feel like it’s worth trying.” It was just easier to say boyfriend.

Chris fought to not visibly square his shoulders as he stepped towards Darren’s mother. “Pleased to see you again, ma’am.”

“Darren’s been talking about you. We’re so glad we’ll be able to spend some real time together.” She looked like she wanted to give him a hug but settled on a handshake.

Darren’s father, surprisingly, had no such reservation. He clapped Chris heartily on the back; he smelled like expensive aftershave. “So glad you could make it. Lucky for you more of the family is here. Get it all done at once.”

Chris didn’t feel lucky at all.

“Yeah, about that,” Darren chimed in. “I thought no one else was going to be here.”

“Hoped, you mean,” Chuck threw out from across the kitchen, grinning as he did.

“Your grandparents decided to make a whole holiday out of it,” Mrs. Criss said, as though they hadn’t all just ruined Christmas for Chris. “Now, what can I get you boys to drink?”

“Oh, uhm. Whatever’s handy;” Chris demurred.

“Are you even old enough to drink?” Asked Chuck. Chris wasn’t, but Mrs. Criss poured him a glass of red wine anyway.

“Son?” Mr. Criss lifted a mostly empty glass of Scotch from the counter and shook it in Darren’s direction.

Darren nodded and finally left Chris’ side to reach into a cabinet for a bottle. He moved with deep familiarity around the kitchen, and it struck Chris then that Darren had spent years in this home, growing up, molding the person he’d become. This was a home to him far more than his shitty apartment in Los Angeles was, and probably would ever be.

“Chuck,” Mrs Criss said. “Take these out there.” She gestured to a few trays of hors d'oeuvres. The platters were silver, Chris was sure, decorated with real sprigs of holly.

Chuck rolled his eyes fondly and did as he was told.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Mr. Criss said. “Hope you’re not a vegetarian.”

Chris shook his head. “Oh no, I eat meat.” A few cabinets away, Chris heard Darren snort and it took every ounce of willpower he had not to turn and glare at him. The kitchen was suddenly very warm and his heart beat very loudly.

“Darren says you’re a chef?” He asked, to say something.

“I cook,” Mr. Criss demurred, shrugging in a way so reminiscent of Darren it hurt.

“He’s modest,” Darren chimed in, handing his father a fresh Scotch.

“Not exactly a family trait,” Chris said, not quite under his breath. Darren bumped his shoulder and smiled, warm and relaxed. Chris’ nerves about meeting the parents didn’t seem to affect him at all. Though Chris was hard pressed to remember a time when Darren seemed truly stressed; perhaps he simply hid it better. Chris wondered what Darren might be like if he ever took him home to Clovis.

“We wish you could have come for Christmas Eve,” said Mrs. Criss, taking a few things out of the fridge. “But we know how busy your show keeps you.”

They had been busy, but not with the show. In exchange for coming to San Francisco on Christmas, Darren had promised them a few days to themselves in some ski lodge where they didn’t plan on skiing at all.

“Christmas Eve is basically Christmas Part One,” Darren sort of explained.

“Ah.” Somewhere in the house It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas began playing.

“We basically just do this, but earlier in the day. It’s a brunch thing. There’s an egg casserole dish and a lot of champagne. It’s not as weird as it sounds.”

“It sounds delicious.”

“Hey, losers. Stop hiding in here,” Chuck reappeared in the kitchen, now without the trays he’d left with. “They’re asking for you, out in the living room. Cheeks to pinch. Life choices to judge and pick apart. It’s your turn; get out there.”

Darren rolled his eyes. “Come on,” he touched Chris’ elbow. “This’ll be fun.”

***

Chris would not have agreed it was fun. Darren introduced him to his mother’s parents; a small, smiling couple who were very friendly and who perhaps did not quite get who Chris was. Mr. Criss’ sister and her husband were there as well, having left their grown children to their own devices that year. It was very apparent that the aunt understood perfectly well who Chris was.

“Probably a good thing my cousins aren’t here,” Darren whispered in his ear at one point. “There are a lot of them.”

Chris didn’t have the big family Darren seemed to, but he didn’t think he missed out on anything. Even this smaller gathering seemed like a like to deal with. Keeping up with conversations. People talking over each other. The looming presence of fragile egos and feelings just waiting to be hurt. He was fine with the family he had.

But still, Chris liked watching Darren with his family, more uninhibited in a group of people than Chris had really seen him before. He laughed loudly and openly, eyes crinkling and hands expressive as he spoke. Darren was wearing a nice shirt, pressed slacks, and a tie with reindeer on it. He looked very fine indeed, with his hair a little messy and glasses perched on his nose, even if Chris still thought it strange to dress up for a family gathering. He looked the part of the doting son, the successful second generation.

Chris eventually retreated to a quieter corner of the living room, happy to keep observing the family while nibbling on what were actually quite excellent hors d'oeuvres.

He didn’t notice Chuck disappearing from the circle until he reappeared quite suddenly, and quite closely.

“You didn’t turn him gay, you know.”

Chris choked on a deviled egg. “What?” He squawked, loud enough that Aunt Criss glanced over at him.

Chuck took a sip of his beer and spoke lowly. “You’re not the first guy he’s been with. So, you don’t have to worry about that.”

“About what?”

“You know, that mom and dad are going to blame you for gaying up their first born son.”

“I wasn’t worried about that,” Chris countered, soundly petulantly defensive even to his own ears.

Chuck, infuriatingly, smirked. “Weren’t you?”

Chris opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He could feel the blush spreading down to his chest at the insinuation. Darren didn’t talk about it - his labels, his definitions - and Chris didn’t ask. Darren took him on a date, out to dinner and a show, and Chris just assumed. He didn’t ask what his parents knew, or didn’t know, or what they thought of the whole situation. He didn’t ask about Darren’s history, who came before him, who didn’t. Darren approached him and he said yes. It was as simple as that.

But of course Chris worried. Of course he wondered if he was a phase that would end. If Darren would come to his senses about who he was, about who Chris was, and let it go, let him go. Chris worried about it the moment Darren asked him to come home for Christmas, and he worried about it in the weeks leading up and the entire trip to the front door. And he worried about it standing next to Chuck, looking across the room at the man who’d occupied so many of his thoughts and daydreams in the last year. Of course he wondered if it was only just a dream.

“Have you met him yet?” Chuck asked.

“Who?”

“The college boyfriend.” He said it like it was obvious.

Annoyance finally broke through the embarrassment. “You know, Darren’s said a lot about you, but he never said you were an asshole.” Chris struggled to keep his voice to a low whisper. He didn’t need the family overhearing any of this.

“Hey, just looking out for my little brother.”

Chris believed him. He knew what it was like, the fierce need to protect someone. But still, he didn’t much care for the interrogation.

Across the room, Darren looked up from his conversation with his aunt and caught his eye. Darren smiled, but it was a question, probably at the concern furrowing Chris’ brow. He got up from the sofa and made his way over to them.

“You guys talking about me?” He asked, looking carefully at Chris.

The silence that followed said enough.

“Leave him alone, Charles,” Darren warned, equal parts serious and teasing.

Chuck lifted his hands. “Just doing a brother’s work.”

Darren touched Chris’ elbow. “If he’s fucking with you, just punch him. Or tell mom.”

“Hey,” Chuck protested.

Chris shook his head. “It’s fine. We were just...coming to an understanding.”

“About me?”

“Not everything is about you.” Chris wanted to touch the side of Darren’s pouting mouth, but didn’t.

Darren looked like he wanted to say more, but Mr. Criss’ voice sounded through the house, calling them all to dinner.

***

The Criss’ had an honest-to-god dining room, with a long, heavy wooden table and a china cabinet Chris was surprised to see still standing after two boys lived in the house. Chris felt useless, as the table was already set, the centerpiece already arranged, and the food was already en route to the table, brought out by Chuck and Darren.

To Chris’ relief, he was sat between Mr. Criss, who took his place at the end of the table, and Darren, sitting on his other side. He was only disheartened that Mrs. Criss was at the far end of the table opposite her husband, but he wasn’t going to complain. He supposed if things went the way he wanted them to, he’d have Christmases aplenty to get to know her better.

“This looks wonderful, Charles,” Aunt Criss complimented as they all settled down.

Chris has expected a turkey, perhaps because that’s often what his own family ended up with for Christmas. Or maybe he really expected something completely unexpected. But instead Mr. Criss has done a good old fashioned roast, steaming and fragrant with herbs, and surrounded by sides of potatoes, grilled asparagus, and honey roasted apples.

“Oh, thank you,” Chris said as his plate was taken away and handed over to be filled.

“Dad used to be very particular about plating,” Darren explained softly. “He’d keep everyone out of the dining room while he plated everything to within an inch of its life before letting us back in for the grand reveal. He’s mellowed. Now, he just serves everyone at the table. It’s faster this way.”

Chris wasn’t going to complain. It saved him any potential embarrassment of dropping food on the pristine table cloth.

Conversation wilted as everyone dug into their food. Chris was relieved to see that everyone ate with an appetite; he hadn’t managed to choke down breakfast that morning and his stomach was nearly rumbling. Next to him, Darren refilled his wine glass and stole a few spears of asparagus off his plate.

Grandmother Criss delicately patted her mouth with her napkin. “So, how did you meet? I don’t believe you said earlier.”

The inevitable question came later than Chris had anticipated, but it still caught him off guard. “Oh, uhm.”

“Work,” Darren chimed in. “The TV show I’m doing. Chris was on it before I started. We met there.”

It was such an easy way of explaining something so rife with complication.

“And your characters are dating. On the TV show.” Grandmother Criss asked. She wore pearls and a bright red sweater and had the same smile as her daughter.

“Yes.”

Uncle Criss looked down the table at them. “And you’re, you know, together. Actually.”

“Yes.”

Together felt like a good way to frame it, as good as any. Better than dating, better than boyfriends. Both of those terms begged something they didn’t have, something they didn’t have time for. Or the freedom for.

“Isn’t that funny,” said Aunt Criss.

Under the table, Darren squeezed his knee. “Well, you know, we get to see each other all the time,” he said. “Get to spend all day together sometimes.”

Chris’ chest tightened. Somehow he hadn’t quite considered it like that. Through the show and their filming schedules he was given the luxury of immersing himself in Darren, from the very beginning. No awkward waiting between almost-dates for a call or a text that may or may not come. Darren was there in the morning at call time all the way until they wrapped. Hours spent on set talking and listening, getting to be near each other with the protection of the crew around. Chris didn’t have to think of any excuse to sit with Darren between set ups. He was supposed to. They were working together, acting together. And if sometimes Darren followed him home after wrapping for the day, well, that was part of it too.

“It works,” Chris added, putting his hand on top of Darren’s, out of sight but wholly present. “For us.”

Darren grinned, toothy and unashamed, and the conversation turned elsewhere.

***

After dinner, Chris refused to let Mrs. and Mr. Criss clean up the table by themselves.

“You really should join the others,” Mrs. Criss said as Chris stacked plates to carry to the kitchen. “We take care of this every year.”

“My mother would never forgive me if I didn’t help. You cooked, I can at least help clean up.”

Her smile was a homecoming.

Darren had disappeared into the study room with an apologetic look over his shoulder, herded by his aunt and uncle towards the piano Chris was quite sure awaited. He wasn’t wrong. From just down the hall, Chris heard the opening notes of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas ring out, softly struck on a finely tuned piano.

“We can hardly pull him away from that thing,” commented Mrs. Criss, fondness warm in her voice.

“I think perhaps we regret ever putting him down in front of one,” Mr. Criss added.

“Well, I don’t think he’d have made a very good banker,” Chris mused and then blushed under the curious look Mr. Criss gave him.

“No, I don’t think so either.”

Mrs. Criss loaded the last few dishes that would fit into the dishwasher and got it running. “We’ll get the rest later. Would you start the coffee pot? It’s all ready to go. I’m going to see what everyone wants before we get dessert out.”

Chris nearly groaned at the thought of more food. There were at least two tinfoil-covered pies on the counter and an overloaded tray of cookies. He didn’t even want to think about what else might be hiding in the refrigerator.

“Don’t worry,” Mr. Criss said as he walked over to the coffee pot and flipped it on. “You’ve got time to digest before the next round. Darren has a whole canon to get through, and that’s before Chuck joins in.”

In the study, a jazzier rendition of O Christmas Tree began and Chris imagined Darren bent over the keys of the piano, bobbing his head and twisting his shoulders to the music. Warmth tightened in his stomach and made it hard to breathe for a moment.

“Bourbon?” Mr. Criss offered, pulling a bottle out of the cabinet and tipping it towards him.

Chris shook his head. “Oh, no, than you. Don’t much care for it actually. Tried it just the once. That was enough.”

Mr. Criss smiled. “I don’t either, but people keeping giving it to me and I keep drinking it.” He offered Chris instead a refill of wine.

Chris thought he could very happily spend the next dozen holidays trading stories and quips with Darren’s father.

“Maybe you can join Darren on the piano this time around? Do a little Christmas duet, you know, for his mom.”

Chris nearly blanched. “Oh, I--”

“Whenever he calls, he goes on about you.”

The thought of Darren talking to his parents about him, about them, was something he’d have to revisit later he wasn’t panicking about this. “I couldn’t.”

“You sing for a living, yes?”

“Well, yes, but. In a closed off studio where no one can see you. And it’s not live.” The tour had been something of a nightmare for him. He’d strongly considered medicating just to get through it, but instead found a different, better source of strength and comfort in Darren.

“So you’re shy.”

“Yeah. I mean, I guess I am.” It was that, and more. The intimacy of a small room, nowhere to hide.

“Must be difficult in your line of work.”

Chris shrugged. “You get through it.”

Mr. Criss took a sip of bourbon. “Yes, you do.”

***

Darren was indeed seated at the piano, with his tie undone and his cheeks flushed from the warmth in the room and the drinks he’d had. Chuck was leaning against a wall while their grandparents sat together on a loveseat, shoulder to shoulder. Mrs. Criss was chatting quietly with the aunt and uncle while Darren played away. Garlands were hung on the walls, poinsettias placed on end tables. Cinnamon scented candles burned.

A tumbler of whiskey sat on the top of the piano, ice melting slowly, and Chris put his wine glass down next to it.

Darren looked up when Chris approached and his face broke open in a bright, toothy grin. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Sit with me.”

There was enough room on the piano bench for two, but it was a squeeze. Chris felt acutely every inch of Darren’s thigh against his leg, the press of his shoulder, the heat of him through their clothes.

“You gonna sing a song with me?” Darren asks, leaning more against him. His hands were splayed across the keys, easy, relaxed; veins crisscrossing the backs of his hands and nails blunt, buffed.

“Maybe.”

The opening notes of It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year tinkled through the room.

“A classic,” Chris murmured. He was painfully aware of the glances directed his way from Darren’s family members, and tried to ignore them. “Not the most fun to sing.”

“What about this?” Darren moved into Silent Night , soft and plaintive.

“Bit more in my range,” Chris said and Darren laughed.

“Maybe this?”

Chris’ heart squeezed when a familiar song began to play, jazzy notes ringing across his skin, through his veins. “It’s not that cold outside,” he said. “Not here.”

“It’s the only duet I know,” mused Darren, briefly leaning his cheek against Chris’ shoulder. His hair brushed softly against Chris’ cheek.

“That’s a lie.”

“But baby it’s cold outside.”

The urge to join Darren in the song bubbled up in Chris’ belly. “To be fair, this evening has been quite nice.”

“Is this our song?” Darren asked, continuing to play on the piano.

“We don’t have a song,” Chris answered.

“We should have one.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m warm .”

“But...baby it’s cold outside.”

Darren laughed, loud and long.

***

Chris woke before Darren, buried under the blankets in Darren’s old bedroom, his old bed. He’d been somewhat surprised when Darren had pulled him upstairs and not to a guest room, but he wasn’t going to protest, especially when the evening had gone so well.

A bit of light peeked through the drapes, just enough he could see some of the books on the shelves, the faded art on the walls, the old knick-knacks that Darren’s parents had left in his room. Maybe later he’d snoop around a bit, seek out something just embarrassing enough from Darren’s childhood he could save for a rainy day.

Chris stretched a little. Next to him, Darren was a solid, comforting weight. The house was quiet and the bed was warm, but he pulled himself away and tip-toed downstairs.

Mrs. Criss was also already awake, standing in the kitchen and sipping from a steaming mug while looking out of the window.

“Any snow?” Chris asked.

Mrs. Criss turned slightly and smiled at him. “No, no white Christmas this year.”

“Never is at my parents’ place either. Never snows at all.”

“Darren will have to take you skiing one day.”

Chris didn’t bother saying mentioning the ski lodge they’d be driving too next, or even that he’d never been skiing at all. He probably looked like someone who’d never been on the steep side of a mountain. The mere thought that Darren’s mother saw more to his future with Darren said enough.

“I was just getting breakfast started. It’ll be a bit, though. The boys all tend to sleep in after Christmas.” Mrs. Criss pulled a few things out of the fridge, a carton of eggs and what Chris was sure was a ham.

“Can I help?”

“Oh no, that’s all right, but thank you. I quite like the quiet after the storm, if you understand me. Would you like some coffee?”

“Actually, I think I might go back upstairs. If that’s okay.”

Mrs. Criss smiled gently. “Of course it is. Breakfast should be ready in an hour or so.”

Chris turned to leave, vaguely unsettled by not knowing why, when Mrs. Criss’ soft voice pulled him back.

“Chris?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I really am glad you joined us for Christmas. I know it can’t have been easy - giving up the holiday with your own family - but it meant a lot to Darren. And to us. I mean that.”

Chris swallowed hard past the tightness in his throat. “I had a great time.”

Mrs. Criss nodded. “Go back to bed. I’ll come get you both when breakfast is ready.”

Back upstairs, Darren was still asleep, tucked under the blankets. Chris looked at him for a moment - the curls messy on his forehead, the red patch on his cheek from being pressed into the pillow - and felt more at ease in his life than he had since the tour. Maybe longer. He took a deep, centering breath.

Darren grumbled as Chris slid back into bed, half rolling over as Chris tugged the blankets up around them. “B’fast time?”

“Not yet, but soon.”

“M’rry Chris’mas.” Darren pressed dry lips against his neck; his breath was warm, arm heavy as he slung it across Chris’ waist.

Chris closed his eyes. “Merry Christmas.”

#emily writes fic #crisscolfer #crisscolfer fic #crisscolfergiftexchange2017 #imsorrydidijuststutter #hopefully I did this right

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scatter-the-stars · 7 years ago

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Til My Days Are Through

Author: scatter-the-stars

Gifted to @invisibleraven as part of the the @crisscolfergiftexchange 2017

Summary: It was a secret he planned to keep. But with a slip of his tongue to his best friend when he was drunk, Chris finds himself face to face with his soulmate. And it's turns it to be the best mistake he ever makes.

Ratings/Warnings: PG13, no warnings

Read on AO3

#crisscolfer #crisscolfer fic #crisscolfer fic exchange 2017 #invisibleraven

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wordsareleftbehind · 7 years ago

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Up on the Rooftop

Author: froggydarren Gifted to @somethingdarrencrissish as part of the @crisscolfergiftexchange 2017 Summary: “You owe me,” he says, pout gone, determination set in his expression instead. “You promised me that if I did Halloween the way you wanted it to, I could have Christmas.” Ratings/Warnings: G

“No.”

Darren pouts. Chris, mostly able to resist the puppy eyes now, after years of exposure to them, rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

“No,” he repeats more firmly.

If it was anyone else, that would be the end of it. Chris knows that his tone — when he gets it just right, the way he wants it — can be stronger than anyone would ever expect. And for other people in his life, that’s enough.

But not Darren. Like Chris is to Darren’s puppy eyes, Darren is absolutely impervious to Chris’s tone. That, or he’s just too stubborn to even bother acknowledging Chris’s refusal.

“You owe me,” he says, pout gone, determination set in his expression instead. “You promised me that if I did Halloween the way you wanted it to, I could have Christmas.”

Read the rest on AO3

#CrissColfer #crisscolfer fanfic #somethingdarrencrissish #I'm sorry. tumblr won't let me tag you :(#Happy Holidays Stacey <3

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alittledizzy · 7 years ago

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Title: dive start (into love) Author: alittledizzy Gifted to @scatter-the-stars as part of the @crisscolfergiftexchange 2017 Summary: Chris really doesn't want to have to take his sister to swim practice there times a week... until he sees the lifeguard, and suddenly he doesn't mind at all. Ratings/Warnings: Rated PG, no warnings.

read on ao3

#crisscolfer

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drosophilase · 7 years ago

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fic: Yoda, Yuletide, and You

Title: Yoda, Yuletide, and You

Author: @drosophilase

Gifted to: @djchika as part of the @crisscolfergiftexchange 2017

Original prompt: “We made the mutual decision to go to this party separately and when I arrived there was this asshole flirting with you and I’m trying not to make it obvious that I’m seething with jealousy but it’s really difficult”

Ratings/Warning: Teen; allusions to sex (non-explicit), boss/employee relationship

Read on AO3!

Sorry this is two days late, thank you for the gracious extension and Merry Christmas Deej! Thank you so much for all you did to arrange this exchange <3

It had started, as most great love stories do, with a Yoda figurine on the corner of Chris's desk. "That green figurine, I like," croaked a terrible Yoda impersonation from the twenty-fifth (ok, just fifth) person Chris had interviewed that day. Darren Criss, his application said.

Chris raised an eyebrow. Giving interviews for a job at a nerd pop culture online news source, Chris thought he had heard it all. This guy is the first to be bold enough to do such a confident and terrible impersonation. Chris touches Yoda's pointy ear. "From my sister. She's determined to get me the entire Star Wars Funko Pop set over the next 20 Christmases and birthdays." He doesn't comment aloud on the terrible Yoda voice, but he does write a little Y in the corner of Darren's resume.

"That's so cool, man, it's awesome that your family knows what you love. I have a ton of Pops but I can't ever seem to finish a set. There's just too many other things I like. I just put my Chewie next to my Harley Quinn and go with it." There's a sort of sparkle in his eye, glowing gold in the sunlight filtering through Chris's office blinds.

Chris sets the resume aside (he'd already noted this one for the qualifications - degree in Theatre from Michigan University, four years on the Michigan Daily staff with one as senior editor. Proficiency in Final Cut and a few credits in web series and local theatre productions. Currently working in local news media and writing a blog on the Star Wars Extended Universe on the side. Even before he walked in looking like a dream, Chris was hooked). "Suicide Squad Harley or Batman: The Animated Series Harley?"

Darren scoffs, the black curls over his forehead bouncing. "Animated Series, dude. Hands fucking down. I try to forget that Suicide Squad ever existed. It's hard to be a DC boy these days."

Chris cracks a smile. "That's why the girls - well, Patty Jenkins, really - are going to save us all. Haven't you seen Wonder Woman?"

"If I've learned one thing in my time in this industry, no one ever listens to women when they should. You're right though, if they let Patty work she's going to do the whole damn thing."

"If only Ben Affleck could do his civic duty and disappear from the earth, I'd feel better about it."

Darren laughs with his whole body, his eyes crinkling in the corners. "Dude, yes. Just go softly into that dark night."

Chris cocks his head. "You didn't just make that pun, oh my god."

Darren smiles. "You didn't notice 'witty wordplay' under my skills? It's like in my top 3 best attributes."

Chris wishes he had the power to cancel the rest of his day's appointments and just end the day with Darren's interview. Instead, he takes the scant three minutes he has until the next interview to smile absently back at Yoda and make another note on the resume.

1. Wordplay

2. Smile

3. -Ass- Experience

The great thing about PopNow's building is the super cool collaborative open floor plan with lots of coworking tables, glass doors, and zero fucking privacy. Chris had always cringed sitting at the long tables, having to work face-to-face with someone else's computers and get distracted every time they got up to go to the bathroom. Honestly, half his drive to move up to staff editor was to get one of the more private (loosely) offices around the edges of the room with a single desk and a wall to stare at instead of a strange coworker.

Being promoted to division head of PopNow Nerd was Chris's ultimate dream (private office, final say on all published material, sitting in on meetings with creative directors and sometimes, investors. The control freak inside of Chris was fucking delighted). That is, until 3 months later when PopNow shifted their entire focus and all their resources to video reporting. Luckily, they weren't completely cutting out the website or articles that Chris joined the company to write. And, Chris was getting a lot more flexibility to hire new talent and explore new realms of reporting. And thank fucking god, Chris never had to be in front of the camera.

He knew he had to change with the times quick, though. He had writers - he just needed producers. And, after a quick poll of the office didn't yield many nerds willing to get in front of a camera (who would’ve thought), some on-air personalities.

Enter: Darren Criss.

The first day Darren’s new hosted series “Heroes and Zeroes” went live with an episode rating Disney villains on some complicated ranking system based on hotness, degree of evil, and personal style, the PopNow Nerd Facebook page gained like 5,000 followers. Darren’s video instantly became their most watched.

And the comments, well—Chris’s cheeks reddened just thinking about them. A bashful Darren appeared at Chris’s door two hours after the video went live, one hand buried in the shorter hair at the base of his neck. “So… I think people like it?”

Chris raised his eyebrows, looking over his glasses where he had the comments section open on his own computer. Girls and guys alike were tagging their friends just to point out how hot Darren is. With him there draped casually in his door frame, Chris would have to agree. “I would say yes, they do.”

Darren laughs an embarrassed sort of huff, looks down at his feet. Chris can tell that though he might be humbled by the success of the video, Darren is definitely feeling proud of himself.

“Actually,” Chris continued, “maybe you should reply to a few of them. Start building some rapport with the fans. Couldn’t hurt, and the higher-ups really want to see viewer engagement.”

The next day the Facebook page following had grown again by the thousands. Suspicious, Chris scrolled to Darren’s video again. The views just kept going up. And Darren himself was in the comments section, cheekily replying to a few of them.

Brittany Smith Oh my god, @Ashley did you watch this? I don’t even know what he said, I just keep staring at his hands for some reason

Darren Criss Next time pay attention to my face, we pay the makeup department a lot to cover up my lizard skin! ;)

Chris had one hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Darren was fucking funny. As if Chris didn’t have enough problems drooling over him already in production meetings, writing pitches, and the million times a day he stops by Chris’s office with just “one quick question.”

Chris glanced out his glass office doors to Darren’s desk (the one he has a perfect view of if he just pretends to work at his computer but instead looks right past his monitor out to the main office, no Chris didn’t put him there on purpose the desk was just open). And Darren’s comically large hot pink headphones, and Darren’s brow furrowed as he works hard at something on his computer, and Darren himself chewing on his lip and tugging on a curl and oh, god—

Chris has got it so bad.

“Fuck,” Chris says quietly, taking off his glasses to rub his tired eyes. He should have known better.

The crush stays mostly on lock down for almost two weeks. Chris is like, acutely aware every time Darren walks near his office door (inconvenient, since he has to walk that way for the bathroom, the breakroom, and pretty much everything else) and he gets flustered during staff meetings when Darren starts smiling at him.

And then, of fucking course, there’s Lea.

“Who is this Darren again? You’ve said his name like ten times in the last five minutes.”

Chris swallows hard and tries to keep his tone casual. “Just one of the on-air personalities we hired. He’s a good writer too, when we can keep him focused. The best idea man we have, after me of course. He’s been working here for like three months. I swear I told you about him. Curly black hair, stupidly big brown eyes?”

Lea gasps. “Christopher Fucking Colfer. Do you have a crush?”

Chris instantly feels his face burning. “You know Karyn Colfer would never give me such an unsightly middle name. Jesus, Lea, I don’t know… He’s just a great guy. We get along well. He’s my employee, for fuck’s sake.”

Lea scoffs. “That’s the highest praise I’ve heard you give another human in the entire time I’ve known you. You definitely like him.”

She’s always so infuriatingly good at pointing out the one thing Chris is trying to pretend doesn’t exist. “Yeah I… guess I do.”

She hums, sympathetic. “It’s been a long time since you’ve embraced another human being, Christopher. Maybe try leaning in this time instead of running away. It might do you some good.”

Eager to not hear yet another long-spun tail about her and her fiancé’s meet-cute, recent cohabitation, or extensive wedding planning, Chris says quickly, “Okay, yeah. Lean in. I’ll try that.”

“Just talk to him! You’re very charming, in your own way. He willingly works at PopNow Nerd, for Christ’s sake, just talk about your elaborate Halloween costume for next week, he’ll love that.”

Chris can’t argue with that.

“Lean in,” Chris murmurs to himself as he sees Darren get up for his second coffee and first trip to Chris’s desk right around the usual time, 9:20.

“Hey Chris,” Darren says, rapping on the open glass door twice. Chris looks up from pretending he’s engrossed in end-of-year reports and not sweating into his hoodie. “Quick question, to settle a debate: Richard Harris or Michael Gambon as Dumbledore? Must cite sources.”

Chris smiles. “Michael Gambon, without a doubt. I loved the look of Richard Harris, don’t get me wrong, but Order of the Phoenix Dumbledore, tracking down horcruxes Dumbledore, was not frail. Richard Harris could have never pulled off standing up to the Ministry and escaping with Fawkes, no way.”

Darren cocked his head. “So not what I would have thought you would say. And honestly, you’ve almost sold me on Gambon. I’m one of those who can’t overlook the didjupuyurnameinthegobletofire debacle but you have excellent points. Always surprising me, Chris.”

Was that… flirting? It was so hard to tell because Darren was so easily entrancing like this just all the time, but something about the way he said Chris’s name made him think it was different.

Darren had already half-turned to go but Chris calls him back, saying his name. Darren turns around, eyebrows quirked. This was deviating from their normal routine, Chris knew. He tries to calm his pounding heart. Lean in.

“You know, the real casting tragedy in the Potter series was how old James and Lilly were. Like, alright yes, the ‘mother’s eyes’ thing was absolutely shot to hell. But how are they going to tell us James and Lilly died at literally 21 years old and cast middle-aged actors?”

Darren smiles. “Dude, yes. They fucked up the ages of everyone in the Order of the Phoenix except for like, Tonks. And maybe they got away with Lupin since he would be more weathered. But casting mid-50s actors for characters barely pushing 35? It totally takes away the resonance of these young people fighting for the future of the world.”

He sits in one of the chairs Chris has arranged along the side of the wall (PopNow has a thing about the formality of sitting with a desk between them) and Chris should move to go sit next to him but it feels like this new thing is a bubble that he might burst at any second if he moved the wrong way.

Darren leaves twenty minutes later to go back to his desk, his empty coffee-stained Vader mug forgotten on the floor.

Chris smiles as he catches Darren eye through the glass. He’ll be back in an hour or two.

By the time mid-November rolls around, it seems that Chris and Darren’s quick coffee run questions have turned into thrice-daily chats have turned into… something. It’s started to become a running joke at staff meetings, that Chris and Darren are usually more ChrisandDarren these days. Chris ran into Darren once at his favorite lunch Chinese spot, and then he suggested another lunch spot for tacos and Darren suggested they go together, and now lunch is just always assumed to be theirs. Even when Chris had to work three days straight through lunch to meet the deadline on proposals for the next quarter, Darren showed up every day with cashew chicken, disappearing when Chris was stressed or offering alien conspiracy theories when Chris needed a break.

That was the thing about Darren, he was always just there. As soon as Chris opened the figurative door by starting a conversation, Darren blew the whole fucking thing open and made himself at home. It was hard to remember work before Darren.

It doesn’t dawn on Chris that they really haven’t seen each other outside of work until he overhears a few other producers and writers making plans to get drinks after work the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Chris doesn’t think anything of it—he never wanted to get drinks with anyone in the office before, and he figured no one wanted to drink with their boss anyway.

So he’s pretty floored when he clearly hears Darren (speaking in his still-loud “low voice”) ask Denise if Chris is invited.

Chris doesn’t even try to hear the answer (it’s no, Chris knows) as he reels. He can see Darren outside of work. Darren maybe wants to see Chris outside of work. Chris would have a reason to go somewhere other than home to his cat. He had never thought of it before but now Chris really, really wanted to be invited out to drinks. By Darren, that is.

Darren stops by his office (fifth time that day) with his coat over his arm and bag slung over his shoulder on his way out. “Happy Thanksgiving, Chris.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, he automatically replies. “Headed down to Republic with Denise and Lars and everyone?” Chris says it just to see how Darren will react.

Darren winces and looks sheepish. “You heard about that, huh? Yeah it seems like it’s just a writers’ thing, sorry about that, I didn’t decide that it would be exclusive.”

“No, yeah, it’s totally okay,” Chris says, waving his hand. “I wouldn’t want to like, intrude on the group anyways. Frankly, there’s few people in this office I’d want to see outside of these stupid glass walls.”

Darren pouts, put-upon. “I hope I made your short list.”

Chris knows his ears are red-tipped but he swallows and forces himself to say, “Duh. You’re like, the whole list.”

Something comes over Darren’s face. He’s more beautiful than Chris has ever seen. “Yeah? You’re at the top of mine. Maybe after the holiday we can compare lists. Have a good Thanksgiving, Chris.”

“Y-yeah, you too,” Chris manages to say, half-strangled, awkwardly waving as Darren turns and leaves.

Holy shit, Darren may have just asked him on a date.

There are three things Chris learns on the Friday a week after Thanksgiving weekend.

It is most definitely a date, Darren’s preferred drink is a whiskey sour, and he is the best kisser Chris has ever known.

“I thought maybe you only wanted to hear more on my nuanced analysis of Star Trek captains,” Chris teases after they break apart just inside his front door.

“Oh don’t get me wrong, I love your analysis,” Darren says breathily from where he’s kissing Chris’s jaw. “It’s just that I also love the way your arms look in your tee shirts and your butt looks in your jeans and that your lips are so damn kissable.”

Chris thrills as Darren stretches up to kiss him again, basically on his tiptoes. How is someone who appreciates all those things even real? Chris runs his hands along Darren’s shoulders, grips his elbows, squeezes his waist. Darren slips his tongue into Chris’s mouth and Chris reflexively grabs Darren’s perfect ass. Oh, he’s real all right.

“That’s awfully fresh, Mr. Colfer,” Darren says breathily even as he pulls Chris in, walking backwards. “Don’t you think that’s better suited for the bedroom?”

Later, Chris’s best shirt is maybe ruined and Darren is sleepy and soft and come-dumb, draped across Chris’s chest (he’s a cuddler, as Chris should have guessed).

“Give me five minutes and I’ll get up I promise,” Darren mostly mumbles as he rubs his face into Chris’s belly.

“Mmhmm,” Chris replies skeptically, sinking a hand into Darren’s curls and tracing his thumb over the sweat gathered at his temples. “I really don’t mind.”

Darren groans, low and long. “I have like, a thing about my hair being played with, dude. Once you start I’m always going to beg you to keep going.”

Chris smiles wickedly, pulling his fingers slowly through the soft strands and listening to Darren’s responses. “I could be okay with that.”

Chris thinks they’re totally rocking the first day back at work giving off very “we definitely didn’t have sex last night, no way, thanks for asking” vibes. Until a very concerned Eileen stops by his office after their afternoon meeting.

“This is definitely not my business Chris, but you know I care deeply about the balance of the workplace ecosystem, so I’m going to meddle just this once. Are you and Darren—”

Chris immediately opens his mouth, panicked, “Oh uh, no, I—”

“—Mad at each other?”

Chris stops mid-sentence. “Wait, what?”

Eileen is unfazed, as usual. “You definitely snubbed him during that planning meeting and he’s only stopped by your office once today instead of the usual six. I count on you two to keep meetings fun and productive. He makes you less cranky. I don’t know what you did, but fix it.”

She leaves before Chris can put words together. Well, that wasn’t what he expected.

Eileen apparently thinks we’re fighting.

Maybe we went too hard in the other direction.

O M G. She’s so nosy. Our coworkers are way too perceptive.

There’s only one way I want you hard. This ain’t it

Fuck. Why are my office walls made of glass?

That’s hot, Colfer. Feed your cat and come by my place tonight.

…Was that a euphemism?

Pre-Darren, holiday parties at the office were to be endured and survived. Chris would show up for the shortest time he could, drink two vodka sodas, talk to ten people, and get the fuck out. Now in the Age of Darren, Chris is actually brushing his hair and putting thought into his outfit and humming Christmas carols on the train.

Almost one month into their relationship feels way too new to tell all of PopNow, let alone just their department. (Chris had gone to HR with the intent to file their relationship but his hypothetical questions were met with vehemence that superiors could not date subordinates. So Chris had slunk out of there and didn’t mention it to Darren in case ignoring it meant it wouldn’t exist.) They’re arriving to the company holiday party separately and meeting oh-so-casually by the Christmas tree, avoiding all mistletoe and any game that might lead to awkward kissing with anyone. They are totally (almost) masters of acting totally normal at work, they can handle this.

What Chris can’t handle is the blonde with godawful dark roots and nose ring practically pushing her breasts into Darren’s face. At 20 freaking degrees outside there’s no need to wear a sweater that low-cut. Darren, Chris begrudgingly credits, is looking unwaveringly at her face. But this girl is hardcore flirting, hip cocked and chewing on the stirrer in her pink drink.

Chris knows he’s being ridiculous but at the same time, he can’t stop. She touches his shoulder for a second and Chris downs a shot. She laughs way too loudly and Chris crushes a cookie into crumbs. He tunes out the droning anecdote from some guy in accounting and instead vividly daydreams, replaying in his mind the past weekend spending a full 48 hours locked in Chris’s apartment.

Chris was so wrong to think that he could keep it together for this entire party. Darren is just so damn charming and every single person who works at PopNow is gravitating towards him. Chris understands the feeling, but the possessive jealous lizard brain just wants to take.

He spots an opening as Darren is trying to physically move away from a man who is whispering in Darren’s ear every other sentence. Hell no.

Chris steps between them deftly, delighting at the way Darren’s face absolutely lights up. “Chris, hi. Thank god.”

“So sorry to steal him away, but Darren there’s someone I want you to meet,” Chris apologizes to the guy in a rush, grabbing Darren by the elbow and leading him away.

“Thank god,” Darren says again from behind him as Chris weaves through the crowds. “That guy was like a level 5 creeper. I’ve been looking for you for half an hour and just couldn’t disentangle myself from these people who all want to talk about my videos. Which is flattering, I guess? But they’re like, strangers. I’m just trying to get buzzed and play that piano in the corner and start a Christmas carol sing-along. Wait, this is the bathroom…”

“Yes, it is,” Chris says, leading Darren into the single room family bathroom and following quickly, locking the door.

He presses Darren against the door and kisses him hard, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. “That was torture,” Chris whispers, tugging on Darren’s earlobe with his teeth.

“Colfer, were you j-jealous?” Darren chokes out, head lolling back as Chris moves down to kiss his neck. He wants to leave a visible mark. He settles for one right below Darren’s collar, right in the hollow of his shoulder. Darren moans, cradling Chris’s head. “Fuck.”

“Maybe I was,” Chris admits, pulling back and pushing stray hairs off his forehead. “That one girl was just so blatant, it was awful. And I couldn’t do or say anything! Maybe I should ask for a department transfer. Or find another job, I…”

Darren is wide-eyed. “Are you trying to abandon me?”

Chris shakes his head. “God, no, it’s just some ban on superiors dating their employees, I didn’t want to tell you before….”

“What about superiors dating their equals? Would that be okay?” Darren asks, a mischievous smile curling the corner of his mouth.

“Uh yeah, I think so,” Chris says, confused. “I don’t see why not?”

“Good,” Darren says, full-out grinning now. “Because Rebecca called me into her office today. Honestly I thought I had to be getting reprimanded or something, but she promoted me. Well it’s not totally official yet, but next week they’re creating new Video Editor-in-Chief positions in some departments. Equal with the department head. A new team-leading thing to further focus on video content. And the job in Nerd is mine. She said she heard I work great with my department head and I had to agree.”

Chris reels. “Holy shit. I knew Rebecca had asked me about you, but I didn’t know why. Holy shit! Darren, that is amazing. You are amazing. I am so proud of you.”

Darren’s eyes practically disappear, he’s smiling so hard. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you. I guess we don’t have to hide in this bathroom anymore…?” Even as he says it, Darren rubs a hand right over Chris’s crotch. Chris sucks in a loud breath.

“We don’t have to, but maybe we should for this part.”

Three whiskey sours in and with no prodding, Darren hops behind the piano and leads a rousing chorus of the promised Christmas carols, Broadway songs, and Disney hits. Four vodka sodas in and Chris is pulled into a clumsy duet of Baby It’s Cold Outside after he makes everyone in the area hold both hands up so he knows no one is recording. There’s no way this won’t end up in the Monday morning email thread, but tipsy, warm and fuzzy Chris is okay with that.

It’s the best company holiday party he’s ever been to. Which on the surface makes no sense—it’s in the same venue, with the same cheesy decorations, the same too-strong drinks and the same terrible ornament exchange. But this year, the Christmas tree seems taller and fuller and more beautiful than ever. And this year, the bartender is wearing a Santa hat and smiling and singing along. And even though an ornament exchange game with no stealing or trading allowed is a totally lame game, Chris somehow gets a Yoda ornament. He gasps, looking up at Darren, who is just across from him. Darren has that shit-eating grin, toasting his glass to Chris as he takes another sip. He remembered.

And then Chris realizes that it wasn’t the party that had changed, it was him. And it was Darren. Because of Darren. Even the most dreaded event of the year has Chris laughing, smiling, relaxing, even feeling the joy of the Christmas spirit.

He blames Darren and his magic that when someone comes up to them shrieking mistletoe! and dangling a bunch over their heads, Chris doesn’t laugh it off. He looks at Darren, closer than the careful distance they’ve been keeping all night, and is hit with the full force of his sparkling brown eyes. You’re beautiful, Chris thinks, and grabs Darren’s lapel before he can think too hard.

Darren is dazed when they pull apart, the mistletoe bearer long-gone. “Merry Christmas,” Chris says so fondly, brushing his thumb over the spot hidden under Darren’s shirt.

“Merry Christmas,” Darren says, taking Chris’s hand and holding it tight, laced with his.

#djchika #crisscolfer #crisscolfer fic #crisscolfergiftexchange #cc gift exchange 2017 #bee writes fic #NOW i can go read all the rest of the fic yessssss

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crisscolfergiftexchange · 7 years ago

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WELCOME TO THE CRISSCOLFER GIFT EXCHANGE - VALENTINES EDITION 2018!

As the title of the activity suggests, a gift exchange is sort of like a secret santa but for fic and art and instead of exchanging gifts for Christmas this one’s for Valentines. You sign up to write a fic or create artwork based on another participant’s prompts and you in turn will receive fic or artwork based on prompts you’ll submit.

Easy as meringue pie. (I have no idea if meringue pie is easy to make but it sure is easy to eat so there)

Now the rules and schedules:

Sign-ups are currently open and you can sign up until January 10.

CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP

Ideally by January 12 you should receive an email as to whom you’ll be gifting your work, their prompts and any likes or dislikes they may have.

For fic minimum word count is 1,500 words since we don’t have a lot of time to write but feel free to exceed just as long as you’re sure you can finish the fic in a month Because schedule for posting your fic is on February 12.

From what I can see most exchange blogs prefer posting the work on the exchange blog itself but honestly I don’t have the time to do that and I’d rather the authors/artists see all the nice notes on their own posts so post the fic and/or art on your own blogs and I’ll reblog them on this blog afterward.

When you post your fic please follow this header format:

Title:

Author:

Gifted to @giftee (obviously replace this with your giftee’s username)as part of the @crisscolfergiftexchange Valentines Edition 2018

Summary:

Ratings/Warnings:

Feel free to add whatever else you’d like to the header, but please make sure the ones indicated are present.

Let’s make this fun and make sure NOT TO TELL ANYONE who your giftee is until the day of posting.

However you should feel free to send anonymous asks to your giftee because receiving anonymous asks that are nice is always lovely.

That’s it! Keeping this simple because we don’t have a lot of time so let the fun begin!

If you have any questions feel free to message me @djchika or at this blog.

#crisscolfer #obnoxious crisscolfering #darren criss #chris colfer #tv: glee #rpf

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twobirdsonesong · 7 years ago

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CrissColfer Gift Exchange - VDay Edition 2018

Title: Bleed to Love Him Author: @twobirdsonesong Gifted to @ticklishblaine for the @crisscolfergiftexchange - Valentine’s Day Edition 2018 Summary: Some of Chris' favorite moments are riding in a car with a boy. Ratings/Warnings: PG / none that I can think of!

[AO3]

Go Your Own Way

If I could Baby I'd give you my world Open up Everything's waiting for you

“Get in loser, we’re going for a drive.”

It’s five o’clock in the morning, Chris is in his pajamas, and nothing about Darren sitting his driveway makes sense. Except it does. Of course it does.

“Where are we going?” Chris asks. He’s still in his pajamas, yelling at Darren from the doorway, and choosing to believe that his neighbors are sound asleep and missing all of it.

“Does it matter?”

Of course it doesn’t. “Are you in one of your moods?”

“I don’t have moods.” Darren might also be in his pajamas, Chris can’t quite tell. The world is still dark around them.

“Okay.”

“Cool, so get dressed.”

Chris blinks. “No, I mean, okay, you don’t have moods. Not, okay, I’ll go for a drive with you before the crack of dawn.”

Darren looks at him like he’s the one in the wrong. Chris is growing accustomed to that look. “So, you’re not coming?”

“You haven’t even said where you’re going.”

“Nowhere. I just want to go for a drive.” He’s inches from pouting, Chris can tell.

Chris folds his arms across his chest. He wants to go, wants to get in the car with Darren and let him take them somewhere. Anywhere; it doesn’t matter at all. But he doesn’t want to say yes. He doesn’t want to always say yes to him, when yes can be so easy when it comes to Darren. And the space between the two tugs in his gut, restless and aching.

He sighs, unfolds his arms. “All right. Just, give me a minute to get dressed.”

Darren’s smile lights up the night.

***

Bleed to Love Her

Somebody's got to see this through All the world is laughing at you Somebody's got to sacrifice If this whole thing's going to turn out right

Somewhere in Oregon, Chris relaxes. Between the fresh salt air, the verdant trees all around, and the hang of grey in the sky, the knot in his chest loosens. Just a little, just enough.

Darren is driving, one hand on the wheel, the other resting easy on his thigh. He’s been talking over the radio for miles, chattering about something Chris has only been half paying attention to. He hasn’t been ignoring Darren, not exactly; just letting the rhythms of Darren’s speech wash over him. He doesn’t often get to just bask in the moment, any moment.

“Are you sleeping over there?”

Chris opens his eyes. He hadn’t realized they’d closed. “No.”

“I feel like I no longer entertain you. The spark is gone. The magic has died. We’ve become those people.”

Chris smiles, stretches his legs as far as they’ll go. He’d taken his shoes off 60 miles ago. “You’ve been talking about music theory since Winchester Bay. You lost me at ‘but the really interesting thing about tonal systems is…’”

Darren laughs. “Fine, fine. It really is interesting though.”

“I’m sure you think so.”

Chris does find it interesting, because Darren does; because passion lifts his voice and brightens his eyes and it makes Chris believe happiness is still possible.

“Do you know why I wanted to do this?” Darren asks.

“What? The road trip?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want me to guess?” Through the window, Highway 1 continues to unwind in front of them. It feels endless.

“I just wanted some time with you. Just us. No one else.”

Chris swallows. Darren is staring straight ahead, watching the road. They don’t take time for each other; they don’t have the time to dedicate the way others do. Scraping a short week to drive up the coast had taken planning and careful work and sacrifices. But when Chris thinks about chilly, empty beaches at dawn, and fresh crab from a roadside shack, and Darren asleep next to him in a cheap motel, it’s worth it. Somehow.

Chris reaches over and rests his hand on top of Darren’s. “All right, talk music to me.”

***

The Chain

And if you don't love me now You will never love me again I can still hear you saying You would never break the chain

The car is quiet. Too close in the distance wildfires burn; the sky turned a hazy orange all week.

Behind him, Chris’ house is safe beyond the flames, even if smoke lingers in the air.

Darren doesn’t realize he’s started crying until the road blurs in front of him.

Eventually, it begins to rain.

***

Say You Will

Something in you put a hold on my heart It's hard to believe now Here is a place that will never be dark

“This burger is terrible.” Flecks of food cling to the corners of Darren’s mouth and there’s a smear of ketchup in his beard.

Chris pushes his fries around his plate and tries not to stare too obviously. “Then why are you eating it?”

“Because I never trust a salad in the desert. Unnatural.” The next bite he takes is even bigger than the last. It should be disgusting, the way his cheeks bulge, the sound of his chewing in the half-empty diner. Chris is used to it.

“That seems like truly faulty logic.” Chris’ own lunch is a chicken salad sandwich. It’d seemed safer than the tuna, or egg salad, but he’s not so sure anymore.

“Hasn’t let me down yet.”

Chris lifts an eyebrow pointedly at the rather sad looking burger in Darren’s hands. “Hasn’t it?”

Darren draws back, regards the food, and mournfully puts the remains of it down. “Fair.”

The diner is a roadside stop attached to a gas station in the middle of Montana. A couple truckers sit at the counter, hunched over coffee and sandwiches, staring at their respective plates in comfortable, restful silence. In a creaking booth in the back a couple who must be in theirs 70s flip through maps and guide books. Chris assumes they’re the owners of the expensive, if dusty looking RV parked outside. They seem happy, content.

“Think I can hit 100?” Darren asks suddenly. He’s started eating the fries off Chris’ plate, and Chris tugs it closer, out of Darren’s reach.

“Miles per hour?”

“Yeah.”

Chris frowns. “You mean like, in your car?”

“Yeah. I’ve always wanted to.”

“Why?”

Darren shrugs and reaches for his half-empty glass of iced tea. It’s left a ring of condensation on the old, scratched table and he wipes at it with his fingers. “Seems like something to do.”

Chris flashes through all the things that go wrong. Blowing a tire and careening off the road. Losing control and smashing into something. Getting pulled over and ticketed and it somehow ending up on TMZ. It feels like one of the times it would be easier to say no to him.

Instead of voicing those worries he says, “Well. We’ve got a full tank of gas and the second half of a flat state ahead of us.”

Darren looks up. “Yeah?”

Chris shrugs and stretches his legs out under the table, resting his feet on the seat between Darren’s knees. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

“Okay.”

***

Sara

He was singing And undoing And undoing the laces Undoing the laces

The windows are fogging up and Chris cannot believe he’s here. He cannot believe he’s in the backseat of his car with his shirt rucked up over his belly and Darren’s hand down his pants. But he is.

“There’s a gear shift joke in here somewhere,” Darren pants. His breath is hot, damp against Chris’ neck, and his hand is even hotter.

“Shut up.”

He’s too old for this. Too old to be squashed in the backseat of a car. Too old to have pulled over into an empty lookout point because Darren wouldn’t stop massaging his thigh and it was this or crash the goddamn car.

Chris strains and sweats and tries to get closer. They don’t have the room for this. They’re far too smart for this.

Suddenly, the car brightens. Approaching headlights cutting through the heavy fog in Chris’ blood. Darren freezes; a bead of sweat travels down the side of his throat. Chris tries to hold his breath, but his heart is beating too hard against his ribs. He’s sure it’s echoing off the roof.

The headlights trace an arc across the roof of the car, steady as anything, until they slowly, finally disappear. The overheated car slips back into heavy darkness as the other vehicle rounds the bend and motors on past them, disappearing into the night. The return of silence rings.

Darren laughs first and can’t stop, body shaking against Chris’. “Oh fuck. I thought we were about to get busted.”

“Jesus Christ.” Chris may never recover from this.

“That was like, shit, hearing your parents come up the stairs or something. Fuck.”

“I can’t feel my legs.”

“That might be because I’m crushing them.” Darren shifts, eases more of his weight off Chris and onto the backseat.

“That was stupid,” Chris tells him, and it was.

“That was hilarious.” It kind of was that too, but Chris doesn’t want to admit that.

Chris shoves Darren, just because, but Darren grabs his hands and pulls him close again.

***

Dreams

Dreams of loneliness, Like a heartbeat, drives you mad In the stillness of remembering, what you had, And what you lost and what you had and what you lost

“You don’t have to do this,” Chris says, staring blankly into his half-packed suitcase.

“I want to,” Darren replies. He’s standing somewhere nearby, a steady presence, but not touching.

“I can fly. It’ll be faster.” He isn’t sure how many pairs of socks he needs, how many ties. He has a black suit waiting in his closet, that much he knows. That part is easy.

“Between getting to LAX, dealing with security, the inevitable delays, and the terrible in-flight meal options, I bet I can get you home faster.”

Chris sighs. Darren isn’t wrong. The thought of dealing with an airport right now, with all the people and the smells and the wasted time, makes his stomach turn.

“I can come with you,” Darren offers, quietly.

Chris’ legs give and he sags down onto the bed, exhausted through and through. “You know you can’t.”

Darren is restless, moving through the bedroom, touching the familiar things. “I want to.”

“I know.”

“So let me drive you. I’ll get some tunes. I’ll download some books.” Darren comes over and sits down on the bed, still not touching. But waiting. “It’ll be fine.”

It’s not going to be fine, Chris knows, not for a while. But giving over 6 hours to let Darren take control, he might be able to do that.

He reaches out and lets Darren take his hand.

“It’ll be fine.”

***

Rhiannon

She rings like a bell through the night And wouldn't you love to love her? She rules her life like a bird in flight And who will be her lover?

“Do you even know how to change a spare?” Chris asks, leaning against the warm body of the car.

“Would I be down here on my knees if I didn’t?”

Chris presses his lips together and waits.

“Shut up,” Darren says. “I can hear your smirk from down here.”

They’re somewhere in Nebraska, maybe Iowa, heading for Chicago. It’s hot, the heavy sun beating down from the cloudless, endless sky. Chris can feel the heat from the pavement through his shoes, radiating from the car through his shirt.

“Just call a tow truck,” he says, not for the first time.

The car is pulled over on the side of I-80, sitting at a slight tilt from a flat fire. Darren is on his knees in the dirt, surrounded by tools, and swearing under his breath.

“We don’t need a tow truck,” Darren replies, stubborn as always.

“It kind of looks like we do.” They’re far enough out it the middle of some version of nowhere that Chris is grateful he even has cell signal. There hasn’t been another car in either direction in 10 minutes.

“It’s just a flat. I can fix a flat.”

“Have you ever before?”

“I’ve helped my dad a couple times.”

Chris sighs. He’s met Stubborn Darren before, and knows that they’re going to be here for as long as it takes.

He’s never changed a tire before, but he can pull up an instructional video and roll up his metaphorical sleeves. They do enough in their lives alone; Darren doesn’t have to do this by himself too.

Together, they loosen the lug nuts and jack up the car and replace the busted tire with the spare, and get everything back in order quicker than Chris assumed they would. And with fewer snide comments than expected on top of it.

“Lug nuts though,” Darren says. Chris almost misses it, distracted as he is watching the flex in Darren’s hands and wrists as he works the lug wrench.

“Hmm?”

“Nuts,” Darren repeats. “Lotta nuts, here. Big, heavy nuts.”

Chris shakes his head. “Moron.” He stands up, and gives Darren his hand to pull him to his feet.

There’s dirt on his jeans, a smudge of grease or something else on his forehead, a bit of sweat on his neck. Chris swallows, heat in his stomach.

“What?” Darren asks, throwing the tools back into the duffle bag they came in.

“Nothing.”

“Were you checking me out?” He cocks his hip to the side. “Christopher?”

“I don’t need to check you out. I can look whenever I want.”

Darren runs his hands down his stomach. “Is this rugged, dirty, mechanic look doing it for you?”

“Get back in the car.”

Darren laughs. “Yes, sir.”

***

Gypsy

And it all comes down to you Well, you know that it does, well Lightning strikes maybe once, maybe twice Oh and it lights up the night

“I made us a playlist.”

“Cool,” Chris says, but his stomach grows heavy. He does not want to be awash in someone else’s words, the words Darren has not found for himself.

“Really loving that enthusiasm,” Darren drawls, glancing at him. “Really living for it.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s a good one,” Darren prompts. “I promise.”

“Your last playlist was 10 hours of show tunes.”

Darren snorts. “It was not.”

“Oh I’m sorry. 8 hours,” Chris amends. He’s not really stretching the truth.

“I seem to remember you singing all the way through Wyoming.”

“I did not.”

“You did. I have the video proof.”

Chris grins, rolling his head on the headrest to look at Darren. “Okay.”

Darren hands over his phone. His lock screen is generic, but his background isn’t. “It’s in Spotify.”

“I know how playlists work.” Chris opens up Spotify, rolling his eyes at Darren’s last played song.

“It’s called ‘Playlist for Chris.’”

“Clever.”

Darren pinches his knee. “Just play it.”

Chris hits play and leans back into the seat as the first guitar chords sound through the car. They have a lot of miles ahead of them, and plenty of music to listen to along the way.

#emily writes fic #crisscolfer fic #cc fic #crisscolfergiftexchange #ticklishblaine #I wanted this to be a whole hell of a lot longer #but #life the universe and everything #I hope it's still okay #also I hope you like Fleetwood Mac?

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