For Briana’s birthday. I love you, Tinker Bell.
You can’t take your eyes off him. You really can’t.
Not when he’s standing right there, just a few feet far from you, right in the middle of the staking-rink, looking like a child with his legs wobbling, hands fumbling in an effort to keep balance. His breath comes out hitched and fast, frost following his mouth like smoke, and when he looks up from his feet and his eyes catch you, you see that his face has gone a little reddened and flushed, probably because of the cold.
You’re a little bit worried, actually, because you’ve known since forever that he isn’t so good at skating, but he’s him, so when you got here and offered to help, he just waved it down.
“I’m fine, I just need to practice a little.”
And he’s doing fine, you suppose. His thighs are still trembling a little bit, but when you smile and wave at him, a board grin suddenly breaks out on his lips. His eyes light up and his teeth peek out to that kind of proud, big, innocent, exciting grin of his that never fails to take your breath away.
“See? This is easy.” You say, skating towards him. “You’re getting better. Much better.”
“I’m getting much better. No thanks to you.” He smiles playfully at you, raising his voice a little bit, but at the same time blushing brightly at the compliment.
“Thanks to me, actually. I’m a good, well-qualified teacher.”
“No, you’re not.” He smiles challengingly, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
“You’re getting yourself in trouble, Mr. Colfer. Or are you begging me to punish you?” You narrow your eyes at him, your voice drops low and you skate towards him, and whisper just enough for you two to hear. “Because I can do that right now, you know, get you up in all four and spank you and then run the ice up and down your reddened, spanked, naughty ass. Right here.”
“D-Darren..” He hisses, face burning red at the thought. “Darren, there are people…”
“You’re a very, very naughty boy an—” You whisper again, but get cut mid-sentence, for he’s reaching his one of his hands out at you, probably to pat your arms, but suddenly losing balance, falling forwards. His arms swing helplessly in the air, a surprised, panicked yelp escapes his lips, “Oops! Aah! Darr-”
You catch his arms and waist and catch him balanced before he can finish your name. Even though his legs keep wobbling and arms swinging, he manages to stand up straight again after a while. But you don’t let go of your hands on him.
“Ahhh.. Lucky me. Thank you.” His eyes catch yours, a little bit panicked and his voice shakes when he laughs and suddenly you have this urge to come near and hold him and kiss his forehead so badly, even though you know you can’t. Not yet.
So you just tighten your hold on him, before flashing him a smile and letting go of his waist, but immediately he squeezes your hand and says, quickly:
“Hey, w-will you hold my hand?”
“What? But there are people and they can—”
“So that I won’t fall? Please?” He cuts in, his voice small. You look up to see his green eyes stare at you, wide and pleading. “Please?”
You chew your bottom lips and look around. Hundreds of people and cameras. You look back at him.
Screw it, you think, you couldn’t care less about what people are thinking.
So you nod, take his hand and squeeze it. He grins brightly and beautifully at you again.
Yeah, I couldn’t care less.