rating: PG-13 ( maybe, i don’t know, I’M REALLY BAD WITH RATINGS SORRY)
word length: 800
disclaimer: i make no profit from this work of fiction. and it is just that - a very creatively licensed work of fiction that did not happen and is entirely made up by my over-active imagination. both Chris and Darren are actual people and this is not Stranger Than Fiction so this is not true, real, nor dictating or documenting anyone’s actual life, etc, etc.
summary: Darren likes knowing Chris.
a/n: this is an unbeta’d, really short, really fluffy, shamefully self-indulgent ficlet i wrote into Ming’s submit. she is very tolerant of these things and also happened to like it. and then Certaintendencies also liked it so. here we are. i hope you like it as well.<3
master fic list can be found - here
Darren knows every cluster of freckles, every line of muscle, every bone, every dip, and curve of Chris’s body. Spent days - entire days, from the soft light of dawn to the gentle fall into night, - mapping him out. He knows the curve of his spine, the arch of his neck, the way he sounds like music when he’s falling apart.
There’s a day, middle of winter, but winter in LA, so it’s cool and slate-gray and it smells like rain and Darren loves it. He’s a sunshine boy through-and-through, but he likes the way Chris curls into him, the intricate, sharp line of his body suddenly smeared, blurred, blending with Darren’s.
He likes the way it feels like their bodies were meant to collapse into each other like fallen buildings, the way they are suddenly one instead of two.
The pale sun is painting shadows through the blinds, falling across Chris’s body, illuminating the dips and curves Darren knows so well. Darren likes to think he knows Chris’s body as well as the sun - could fall across him and just sink right into him, knows him well enough to fix his body into the right shape so that it fits Chris the way shadows and light do.
Chris is leaning back against the headboard, eyes closed, smile on red-red lips. It’s small and faint, and it’s one of Darren’s favorites because it means that Chris is happy enough to smile absently - without thought, without provocation, happy enough to be smiling for no reason at all.
Darren’s sprawled naked across the bed, head leaning against Chris’s bare thigh, only the sheet keeping Chris a little modest.
Chris is pale and sleep-warm and freckled and Darren’s never been one to sit still but this is okay, this he likes. He would stay still for this.
Darren is tracing a finger over the criss-cross of thick, raised scars on the center of Chris’s knee. He knows them well, knows there’s nights - and mornings and afternoons and in-betweens - where he’s spent on his knees, thumbing them while Chris falls apart above him.
He’s curious now, for no reason other than it’s something he doesn’t know and Darren wants to know all about Chris.
“What’s this from?”
Chris makes a vague humming sound, shoulders shifting in a lazy half-shrug. Darren watches the play of shadows over his collarbones for a little too long.
Darren smiles, presses his lips to Chris’s skin and opens his mouth, biting down and laughing when Chris jumps, eyes popping open.
“You bit me.”
“It’s happened before.”
Chris snorts, shooting Darren an entirely unimpressed look, but Darren can see the way Chris’s eyes go soft. Knowing.
Darren’s been known to bite.
Darren presses the question, because even though it doesn’t seem like Chris is actually avoiding answering, he still feels a quiet, sudden, sharp pique of interest. The kind that makes Darren want to straighten his spine a little, listen closely so he doesn’t miss anything.
“C’mon, tell me, where’s the scar from?”
Chris heaves a sigh but a little grin curls his lips when he looks at Darren so that’s okay, then.
“I got it when I was a kid. Bullies aren’t known for being gentle. It wouldn’t have scarred except they were creatures of habit. Bullied the same way every day – weren’t very creative,” he says, quietly, voice going dryly amused.
He offers another shrug, lips quirked oddly like he doesn’t know whether to smile or frown.
“It never got a chance to really heal properly.”
Darren breathes carefully, thinks that maybe the one thing he’ll regret with Chris is that he wasn’t there to fight Chris’s battles with him like he can now.
Darren picks himself up and then drops lower on the bed, next to Chris’s knee. Presses his lips to the scar, grinning a little when Chris says, very quietly, fondly, “It was years ago, Darren. I don’t think kissing it better is applicable anymore.”
Darren levers himself up and straddles Chris’s lap, hands pressing into the sides of his neck.
He says, gravely, “You obviously don’t know the rules. Kissing it better is alwaysapplicable.”
Chris’s laughter is high and sweet and almost absurdly fitting for the way Chris looks in that moment - pink-cheeked and rumpled and naked, skin soft and body loose.
Darren nods, slow and solemn.
“It’s okay, I’ll teach you. It’s okay.”
Chris snorts again, tugs him closer by his hips, says, still laughing, eyes bright, “You’re a child.”
Darren slips his arms around Chris’s neck and laughs, kisses him, deep and slow, thinks that maybe today he’ll trace every scar on Chris’s body with his tongue, so when Chris looks at them he won’t remember bullies and wounds that never heal properly. He’ll think of Darren loving him; Darren naked and pressing his mouth there, erasing old scars by imbuing them with new memories.