"Hey, Chris!" calls Darren as he pulls open the door to Chris trailer and barges in after a perfunctory knock.  He stops short when he sees Chris sprawled on his back on the couch, his right arm flung over his eyes.  The lamps are off, but there is enough light from the lot that a dim glow permeates the room.  A small kit is open on the table, and a syringe lay on the floor just out of reach of the fingers of Chris left hand, which is dangling close to the floor.  

Darren stumbles backward a step.  "I...um...sorry.  Sorry."  He stands frozen for a second, then he pulls himself back together.  "Ill come back," he whispers.  

Ten minutes later hes back with a thick, navy hand towel and two small bottles.  Shifting them all to one hand, he opens the door as quietly as possible and calls softly, "Chris, its Darren."  He gets a groan in response.  

Perching on the edge of the couch, he places the bottles on the table and the towel in his lap and strokes Chris shoulder lightly.  "Hey, buddy, I know youre hurting, but Im gonna help you.  Just hang on."  

Chris whispered response is barely audible.  "Just go."  

Undeterred, Darren smiles slightly and is careful to keep his voice low.  "You need me, babe.  You dropped your syringe before you used it, didnt you?  And Im guessing when you tried to pick it up, you got so nauseated you didnt get any further than this, did you?"  

He takes Chris inaudible muttering as agreement.  

"Its gonna be OK," he soothes, rubbing his thumb softly over the hard muscle and bone of Chris shoulder before taking his hands away and getting down to business.  

He picks up the towel, and folding it in thirds lengthwise he stretches towards Chris face.  "Move your arm, babe."  

"Nnnnnn."  Chris protests.  

"Chris, youre not the first person Ive nursed through a migraine.  Trust me.  Just let me help you, OK?  Im going to make you feel a lot better, just move your arm."  

Chris moves his right arm tentatively away from his face, keeping his eyes squeezed tightly shut even though theres not much light in the trailer.  Darren quickly places the towel over Chris eyes, pressing down gently with his palms to seal out any residual light.  He brushes a few stray hairs from Chris forehead (sweaty and cold) before moving his hands away.  

Reaching down to the floor for the syringe, he studies then removes the complicated cap.  Seriously, who can operate one of these crazy things when theyre in pain?  He sets the syringe close by on the table.  Then he reaches for the button low on Chris shirt just above his belt and begins fumbling the buttons open one by one, moving up toward Chris collar.  

Chris hands flutter in protest.  

"Im going to have to inject this in your belly, if you want to feel better.  I could put it in the fat on your hip, but the whole world knows you dont have any.  Besides, I dont think you want me to go there."  Chris is still dressed head to toe in todays Kurt costume, complete with the worlds tightest pants.  Do they have a special shoe horn for getting him into these outfits?  Its clear that the migraine has driven Chris straight to his trailer after filming.  Darren can see smears of makeup and pancake still around his neck, something that Chris is always anxious to remove as soon as possible when the cluster headaches dont drive him to his knees.  Or, in this case, his back.  

Finally releasing the last button, Darren parts the sides of the shirt, still tucked securely in those ridiculously tight pants and tugs on the t-shirt underneath until a patch of pale, flat stomach is uncovered just around his navel.  Unable to resist, Darren smooths his hand over the lovely, exposed skin before reaching for a small packet in the kit.  Ripping off the top, he pulls out an alcohol-soaked wipe.  

"This is going to be cold, OK?"

"Mmmfp."

"Ill take that as an OK."

He swipes at the bare skin and then swiftly administers the injection, bracing himself so not to flinch when the trigger snaps and releases.  He hopes it wont leave a bruise, but it probably will.  Damn Imitrex.  Chris doesnt move at all through the whole procedure.  Tossing the used syringe on the table, Darren leans over and presses his lips to the small puncture mark before pulling Chris t-shirt back down over the exposed spot.  The action takes less than a second, but he sees Chris skin break out in gooseflesh before he has him covered again.  

Darren stands swifly.  

"Im going to take off your shoes, OK?"  

Darren doesnt wait for a response.  He begins untying the shoelaces of the gray Chuck Taylors and pulling them off, one by one.  Chris sighs and wiggles his toes in his socks, so Darren bends down and takes a foot in both hands to press his fingers into the arches while stroking the delicate bones on the top of the foot with his thumbs.  Then he does the same to the other foot.  Chris doesnt resist at all, even though there are few things more intimate than touching someone elses feet, and Chris isnt exactly the touchy-feely type.  Clearly, Chris is going to set aside his goddamed pride and obsession about privacy this one time.  Darren suddenly understands the effectiveness of torture:  pain can rearrange your priorities pretty quickly.  

However, when Darren finally straightens and shifts around to begin to unbuckle Chris belt, Chris body tenses, and his hands shoot down with splayed fingers to stop him.  

Darren pauses then perches on the edge of the sofa.  

"Im not going to rape you, Chris, but Kurts pants cant be comfortable.  Im not sure how you breath in those.  Just let me get you some air."  

He grabs Chris hands gently by the wrists and moves them firmly back to his sides, and then he returns to the belt buckle, pulling the belt even tighter for a moment to release the catch, and then letting the ends fall open.  He thumbs open the button on the pants and slides down the fly, studiously ignoring the fact that the movement just made his own, much baggier, pants feel suddenly a whole lot snugger.  NOT here to rape Chris, he reminds himself.  But he pauses for a moment just staring at the now exposed bulge hidden under the complicated brown and white print on a pair of exquisitely expensive Alexander McQueen briefs.  Are those skulls?  Then he lifts the hem of Chris t-shirt and soothes the red indentations in Chris skin left from the belt and waistband with his warm fingers, the whole time mesmerized by the display.  

He realizes his mouth is watering, and he shakes his head slightly and drags his eyes away while reminding himself that he has a job to do that does not involve leering at his co-stars package (although I should talk to my agent...).  He reaches to the table and grabs the two bottles, uncapping each.  He squirts a quarter-sized dollop of sweet almond oil in the palm of his hand and then follows that with a drop of essential oil from the other bottle.  As he warms the oil by rubbing it between this palms, the smell of lavender fills the room.  

He picks up one of Chris hands (so warm and soft) and rests it on his lap for a second while he adjusts to a better position along the three inches of sofa cushion not taken up by Chris sprawl.  He smooths the oil on Chris hand, then using his thumb and forefinger, he begins to lightly squeeze the skin between Chris fingers, starting at the thumb.  Chris moans.  

"Am I hurting you?"  

Chris shakes his head, then he gives another moan, but this one is definitely pain.  

"Easy," Darren soothes, reaching a hand up to stroke Chris hair.  Hes leaving oil, but Chris is going to need a shower later anyway.  "Use your words, because I dont think youre up for head bobbing quite yet."  

"Feels good.  Dont stop," Chris mutters.  

Darren continues to minister to Chris hands for a long time, and they heat from warm to hot as he works the lavender oil into them.  Eventually Darren slides up the couch and gently places Chris left arm across his lap so that he can perch on the edge of the sofa cushion, tucked close to Chris armpit.  He reaches both hands out to hold Chris face.  Burying his fingers in the hair just above his ears he uses his thumbs to work circles into Chris temples.  

"Mmmmmm," Chris rumbles.  

Darren smiles softly to himself.  

"Thats the spot, huh?"

"Mmmmmm."  

Using strong fingertips, Darren begins massaging Chris scalp, slowly working his way down until his hands are at the base of his skull. Using his thumb and fingertips, he begins working the muscles in Chris neck, finding knots and releasing them, one by one.  Little by little, he sees Chris body relax as the drug kicks in and the massage rubs away painful spots.  Darren moves his hands down Chris neck to his shoulders, working his hands under the button-down shirt (but, unfortunately, not under the t-shirt).  Rubbing through soft cotton, he kneads Chris shoulders with warm, strong fingers, feeling the muscles ease under his ministrations.  

Feeling bolder, Darren uses the heels of his hands to press small circles into the top of Chris pecs, feeling hard muscle there.  When Chris doesnt object, he begins to move his hands more boldly lower, silently cursing the stupid t-shirt between his hands and Chris chest, but not quite daring to reach down and pull it off.  Theyve had their hands all over each other in filming, even today, but Darren doesnt, as a practice, rub the chests of other men.  Well, maybe he does; hes never been good with boundaries, but Chris is so private, and Chris is gay, so the dynamic is just different.  Darren realizes that he doesnt know why hes doing this.  He was just swept up in it, but he cant seem to stop...doesnt want to stop.  He suddenly realizes that hes waiting for Chris to put on the brakes, and thats hardly fair, since Chris is dying here, or at least wishing he were dead.  

Hes just about convinced himself to stop, to leave and let Chris recover on his own, but as he skims Chris nipples, he feels them pebble under his palms and he catches at one with his thumbnail while still working circles with his hands.  Chris breath hitches, but he still doesnt say anything, doesnt stop it, doesnt move, face still half-hidden under the towel.  

Now Darrens hands are on Chris sides, no longer massaging, but just stroking patterns with light fingertips.  Hes so turned on it hurts, and his breath is coming faster.  Why is he so turned on?  Chris, meanwhile, isnt reacting at all, except...oh.  He sees the skulls on Chris briefs are now...larger, being stretched and stretched.  Darrens breath comes out with a shudder.  Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod.  

"Darren," Chris murmurs softly.

Darrens fingers freeze, and he doesnt trust himself to articulate an actual word.

"Mmm?"

"Will you drive me home?"

"Mmm hmm."  He begins to mentally fan himself.  Calm down, Criss.  Chris is in PAIN.  He needs a ride home; he doesnt need...complications.  Think about other things.  Road kill.  Dead babies.  Global warming.  Grandma in a teddy.  

"And will you stay with me?"

This brings Darren right back to the moment.  

"What?"

"Spend the night with me."  

Darren is brought up short.  Then a very broad smile spreads across his face.  

"OK.  Id like that."