Title: Bliss
Author: an-alternate-world
Rating: M+.
Characters/Pairings: Darren/you.
Word count: 1,105
Summary: Fic prompt. A second-person one-shot drabble where you're being seduced and sexed by one DCriss.. RPF (kind of).
Warnings/Spoilers: READ THE PAIRING. DON'T LIKE IT, DON'T READ IT.
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with Glee, FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the Glee universe. Nor do I know Chris or Darren and so I hope to God they never see this..


He's lying against your back, smelling of sweat and sex and it's musky and makes your insides thrill with memories. There's a combination of tension in your muscles from last night, and a waxy, unwilling-to-move sensation that leaves you cuddling his pillows while he noses at your spine with soft touches.

You sort of wish he'd be more brutal, because you want the finger marks on your hips to remind you that this is real, that this isn't some incredibly vivid dream or hallucination. But he's still being gentle and almost coy, teasingly light touches that make the muscles in your stomach twitch and quiver. And it sounds cliché, but the pads of his fingers are a little rough from all those stringed instruments he plays, where the callouses have built up from years of playing, and something about the scratch of his fingers and the softness of his palms has you arching into his touches, aching and desperate for more, more.

And you've always known he has talented hands and fingers. You've seen them on guitars and pianos and banjos, wrapped around microphones and drum sticks, but it's something really different when you're not just watching it them in a video, or him on stage, but instead squeezing your eyes shut because he's doing something that makes your stomach turn over with excitement and maybe a part of you is more turned on by the idea that it's him, rather than what he's actually doing.

He's talking quietly. His voice is low and growly, like he's been singing rather than panting hard because he's been fucking you. His words would make Shakespeare roll in his grave, because they're hardly pretty or poetic, and yet something about this is way more of a turn-on, because your body is vibrating with the words he's whispering into your skin. You never thought that such a filthy mouth would have this sort of effect on you, but it does, and sweet Jesus, he knows just what to say at the right time to make you clutch at his skin.

And sure, you're a little sweaty, but he's coating the sheets and you're back, and it's kind of slippery but it enables him to turn you over, press your head into the mound of pillows and your back into the mattress. His hands tangle with yours, so sure and steady and yet so tenderly, staring into your eyes. You've looked at pictures, zoomed in and in to figure out their colour, but you know you'll never see them like this again, this liquid, molten topaz as he stares you down, staring into your soul and managing to penetrate you in so many ways it makes your head spin. It's like the temperature keeps rising, swirling and fanning flames beneath your skin with touches and looks. It's kind of like you're two magnets, constantly reaching for the other to get closer even though the heat is almost stifling.

He twists you over, limbs tangling as he fucks into you from below, deep and slow and determined. He clearly knows what he's doing. If you thought he was determined to make people happy with his music, it's nothing like what his body can do. The muscles in his arms visibly flex against your hips and his abs are clenched tight, and sweet Jesus, you think nothing will compare to this ever again and you'll never be able to have sex, because Darren's going to ruin it for you with his relaxed skill and passionate determination and glorious body which shines with sweat and rolls with sinewy muscles and those dirty words that spill from his lips into the skin of your body.

You're not even sure what he likes, but he seems to like his hair being tugged at, and nails scraping over the skin of his chest which is slick with sweat. He whines faintly when you trace the crease in his abdominals, Adam's apple bobbing as he starts trying to make you come first, trying to make you lose your mind and gasp his name between the waves of pleasure you know he's going to make you ride.

And the bastard is smug when he succeeds, only by a few seconds, when his name falls from your tongue, breathy and grateful, as your body reacts and your brain short-circuits. You can feel his rhythm stuttering and faltering, frantic as his groans turn louder and louder (you always guessed he was vocal) and then he starts shaking, his shoulders rolling back as his head falls into the pillow and sweat stains the sheets and his legs wobble a little as he thrusts shallowly a few more times, savouring the moment as he tugs you down and kisses over your neck, tasting some of the sweat that's a thin sheen on your throat.

It sort of feels awkward now. You're nobody and he's very much somebody, but he's still undeniably a cuddle whore. He wriggles in the sheets briefly to get rid of the excess sweat before pulling you down, placing you firmly on his broad, solid, warm chest, where his heart is clearly thrumming beneath his skin. He smiles faintly, a hint of shyness creeping into his expression as he tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear and his thumb runs over your cheekbone. You still feel a little embarrassed, wondering if you'll go your way and he'll go his, but somehow it doesn't even matter because his arms are around you and you feel safe, protected, loved, and he's still petting your hair as you press your cheek to his chest, your ear over his sternum, listening to his heart beating.

His fingers drift over your spine and his voice rumbles in his chest as he talks. It's soothing and overwhelming and you had thought once that sweat was sort of gross, but it's him and somehow it's just comfortable to laze against his body and revel in the moment. You wonder if he tries this hard with everyone, or if it's just you, and maybe a little piece of your heart hurts at the idea that he's been with other people and his skill is actually developed from practice. But you don't want to think about it, so instead you nuzzle into him while his fingers massage the back of your neck and you relax, your body sinking heavily into his even though he laughs off your concern that you'll squash him, and he's just so fucking glorious that you can't fight his demands any longer, settling against him and deciding you never want to leave.


A/N: So um. Yeah. This happened as a result of a prompt a little while ago that got further developed this evening. So uh. Yeah. Hmm. Enjoyed it? Lemme know? It was something really different for me to attempt so~