this charming man
1335 words. PG13.
Dan. Nate. Some Serena and Blair for good measure.
Summary: But Dan wasn't really listening. Dan was looking at Nate's mouth and thinking oh.
Note: Set in some magical world where these people are actually friends! It's been too long since I wrote DN. Written for the teen comment ficathon.
Nate is pretty in the way girls are pretty: his blue eyes fringed with dark lashes, his soft pink mouth. Nate is pretty like the kind of girls Dan likes, sweet-faced with lost eyes. High-maintenance girls. Girls who don't know how to wash dishes or take the train. Dan thinks this is why he's so confused; why he wants to put his mouth on Nate, his teeth.
The night of the party is the night it started. They were all fall-down drunk, stumbling all over each other. Serena and Blair and Nate were all walking Dan to the train, some kind of strange but not unwelcome solidarity. Serena put her arms around Nate and kissed him and for once it was just funny instead of world-shattering. She got lipgloss all over his mouth and teased him for it, Blair chiming in in a patronizing purr, and somehow it ended with both girls together carefully applying Blair's cherry red gloss to Nate's mouth. Nate's expression was both amused and resigned. He told Dan, "They did this all the time when we were kids."
But Dan wasn't really listening. Dan was looking at Nate's mouth and thinking oh.
"He's so pretty," Blair cooed, pressing both hands to his cheeks. She held the little sponge-stick applicator, Serena the bottle. Then Blair kissed Nate too, their lips the same color, and Nate laughed into it, a flash of charm and white teeth. Not fair, Dan thought, but didn't know who he was envious of.
He was still watching them when Serena hooks an arm through his. She leaned her head against his shoulder, smelling like perfume and booze. "So serious," she said, reaching up to card fingers through his hair. "Don't be so serious."
"Oh, is lonelyboy having a sulk?" Blair said, pushing Nate away unceremoniously.
"No," Dan said, but it was enough, the damage done: both girls had turned their attention on him. It was rather overwhelming to have both of them focused on him at once. He suddenly had a lot of sympathy for Nate's childhood. And then they attacked.
Maybe that’s why Dan got confused – their perfume clouding his brain, their fingertips against his sides as they tried to make him laugh. They were surrounding him and over their heads Nate was laughing; Dan felt flushed, warm, unsettled.
Later Blair kissed him even though they have a ban on that kind of thing; Dan thought about how she and Nate probably tasted the same, sticky and vanilla.
Since then, Dan has been unable to quiet the buzzing in the back of his head that wonders about Nate's mouth, his throat, his shoulders, his hands. Two weeks later he and Nate are at a concert somewhere in Brooklyn and Dan can't stand next to him without feeling more miserably uncomfortable than he has since junior year of high school.
The crowd presses in around them, presses Nate warm up against Dan's side. Dan's spine is steel, tense as anything; Nate leans down to murmur, "You okay?" in his low voice, breath warm against the shell of Dan's ear, so close Dan could almost –
"I'm okay," Dan says. He turns to find Nate closer than he even realized, eyes so blue even in the dimness. Again, he says, "I'm okay."
Nate offers him a small smile and starts to say something else when the crowd surges, knocking Nate hard – and his crappy beer in its clear plastic cup sloshes all down Dan's front.
"Fuck," Dan says, holding the drenched fabric away from his skin. He can feel it dripping, soaking into the waist of his jeans.
Nate looks around and then gestures with a tilt of his head. "Come on," he says, grabbing Dan's wrist.
Nate pulls Dan through the packed venue to the highly questionable bathroom. "Here," he says, turning the tap on. The small sink is loaded up with empty plastic cups and the water is noisy against them. He gives Dan a handful of rough brown paper napkins from the dispenser. "Take it off."
"What?" Dan says.
"Your shirt," Nate tells him. "I'll rinse it."
"It's not – you don't have to –" Dan frowns at him. "Since when do you rinse things?"
Nate rolls his eyes but smiles; Dan's stomach flips over. "You think with Blair and Serena I never had to do bathroom cleanup? Dude, I could get barf out of anything with just hand soap and paper towels. Give me your shirt."
Dan hesitates but does so, mostly because he is uncomfortable and not interested in reeking of cheap beer. Which is normal. This is normal. Right.
Nate wrings the shirt out while Dan wipes vainly at the beer already drying and sticky on his skin. "Out of anything, huh?" Dan says, amused, and looks up to find Nate watching him.
"Huh? Uh, yeah." Caught, Nate turns away, rinsing the large stain out and then wringing again.
Dan stares at him. Nate's face is a little red and Dan doesn't think it's the heat of the club.
Dan smiles. "Nate," he says.
Nate glances at him with a questioning look, shutting the water off. Dan steps closer, dropping the paper towels on the floor with the rest of the trash, and puts his hand on Nate's cheek, tips up to kiss him, tentative but firm.
Nate is surprised into dropping the shirt, which Dan assumes lands somewhere horrible, but he recovers quickly, leaning into the kiss. Dan's fingers curl in Nate's hair a little and he smiles, giving Nate another quick kiss before pulling away.
There's a beat, and –
"Not yet," Nate says, arm sliding around Dan's waist and yanking him close. Dan laughs, the knot in his chest unraveling. But then he doesn't feel much like laughing at all, because there's a reason Nate has a million girlfriends and Dan is becoming very familiar with that reason.
Nate puts his free hand on Dan's jaw, fingertips pressing just under Dan's cheekbone and thumb swiping over Dan's lower lip before pressing beneath it to urge Dan's lips apart. Nate kisses him again, licks into his mouth; he closes his lips on Dan's, bites his bottom lip, sucks on the spot. Dan imagines Nate's mouth elsewhere, everywhere.
Dan's one arm is around Nate's waist and his other hand just kind of helplessly fisted in Nate's sweater at the small of his back. He's never let himself be kissed like this – just let himself be kissed, relinquishing all control of the situation. He didn't expect Nate to be the type to want to take control, but he's crowding Dan, pinning Dan back against the sink with his hips, running his hand flat over Dan's ribs.
Then there's loud, furious pounding at the door, startling them apart. They've been in here too long.
"My shirt," Dan says, peering down the dark crevice between sink and toilet it fell into. Nate's hand is still on his side, lightly stroking bare skin. It makes Dan feel shy, suddenly.
"Here." Nate unzips his sweater, leaving him in his t-shirt. He puts the sweater around Dan, holding it for Dan to put his arms through, then zips it up. "Sorry," Nate says softly, "About your –"
"It's okay," Dan says. "I think it was a sneak attack from Blair, she's been trying to get me to throw that out for years."
Nate smiles, oddly soft. His mouth is wet. He fiddles with the zipper another minute, makes sure the sweater lies right. Then he steps away. Dan feels kind of stupidly nervous and eager then, doesn't know what to do with himself. He wants to ignore the knocking and push Nate up against the door, take a little control back.
"Let's get out of here," Dan says.
Nate smiles slowly. "The show hasn't started yet."
"I've seen 'em," Dan says. "You're not missing much."
Nate looks at him for a long moment and then laughs. "Alright," he says, and his voice comes out soft as his smile. "Take me home."
1335 words. PG13.
Dan. Nate. Some Serena and Blair for good measure.
Summary: But Dan wasn't really listening. Dan was looking at Nate's mouth and thinking oh.
Note: Set in some magical world where these people are actually friends! It's been too long since I wrote DN. Written for the teen comment ficathon.
Nate is pretty in the way girls are pretty: his blue eyes fringed with dark lashes, his soft pink mouth. Nate is pretty like the kind of girls Dan likes, sweet-faced with lost eyes. High-maintenance girls. Girls who don't know how to wash dishes or take the train. Dan thinks this is why he's so confused; why he wants to put his mouth on Nate, his teeth.
The night of the party is the night it started. They were all fall-down drunk, stumbling all over each other. Serena and Blair and Nate were all walking Dan to the train, some kind of strange but not unwelcome solidarity. Serena put her arms around Nate and kissed him and for once it was just funny instead of world-shattering. She got lipgloss all over his mouth and teased him for it, Blair chiming in in a patronizing purr, and somehow it ended with both girls together carefully applying Blair's cherry red gloss to Nate's mouth. Nate's expression was both amused and resigned. He told Dan, "They did this all the time when we were kids."
But Dan wasn't really listening. Dan was looking at Nate's mouth and thinking oh.
"He's so pretty," Blair cooed, pressing both hands to his cheeks. She held the little sponge-stick applicator, Serena the bottle. Then Blair kissed Nate too, their lips the same color, and Nate laughed into it, a flash of charm and white teeth. Not fair, Dan thought, but didn't know who he was envious of.
He was still watching them when Serena hooks an arm through his. She leaned her head against his shoulder, smelling like perfume and booze. "So serious," she said, reaching up to card fingers through his hair. "Don't be so serious."
"Oh, is lonelyboy having a sulk?" Blair said, pushing Nate away unceremoniously.
"No," Dan said, but it was enough, the damage done: both girls had turned their attention on him. It was rather overwhelming to have both of them focused on him at once. He suddenly had a lot of sympathy for Nate's childhood. And then they attacked.
Maybe that’s why Dan got confused – their perfume clouding his brain, their fingertips against his sides as they tried to make him laugh. They were surrounding him and over their heads Nate was laughing; Dan felt flushed, warm, unsettled.
Later Blair kissed him even though they have a ban on that kind of thing; Dan thought about how she and Nate probably tasted the same, sticky and vanilla.
Since then, Dan has been unable to quiet the buzzing in the back of his head that wonders about Nate's mouth, his throat, his shoulders, his hands. Two weeks later he and Nate are at a concert somewhere in Brooklyn and Dan can't stand next to him without feeling more miserably uncomfortable than he has since junior year of high school.
The crowd presses in around them, presses Nate warm up against Dan's side. Dan's spine is steel, tense as anything; Nate leans down to murmur, "You okay?" in his low voice, breath warm against the shell of Dan's ear, so close Dan could almost –
"I'm okay," Dan says. He turns to find Nate closer than he even realized, eyes so blue even in the dimness. Again, he says, "I'm okay."
Nate offers him a small smile and starts to say something else when the crowd surges, knocking Nate hard – and his crappy beer in its clear plastic cup sloshes all down Dan's front.
"Fuck," Dan says, holding the drenched fabric away from his skin. He can feel it dripping, soaking into the waist of his jeans.
Nate looks around and then gestures with a tilt of his head. "Come on," he says, grabbing Dan's wrist.
Nate pulls Dan through the packed venue to the highly questionable bathroom. "Here," he says, turning the tap on. The small sink is loaded up with empty plastic cups and the water is noisy against them. He gives Dan a handful of rough brown paper napkins from the dispenser. "Take it off."
"What?" Dan says.
"Your shirt," Nate tells him. "I'll rinse it."
"It's not – you don't have to –" Dan frowns at him. "Since when do you rinse things?"
Nate rolls his eyes but smiles; Dan's stomach flips over. "You think with Blair and Serena I never had to do bathroom cleanup? Dude, I could get barf out of anything with just hand soap and paper towels. Give me your shirt."
Dan hesitates but does so, mostly because he is uncomfortable and not interested in reeking of cheap beer. Which is normal. This is normal. Right.
Nate wrings the shirt out while Dan wipes vainly at the beer already drying and sticky on his skin. "Out of anything, huh?" Dan says, amused, and looks up to find Nate watching him.
"Huh? Uh, yeah." Caught, Nate turns away, rinsing the large stain out and then wringing again.
Dan stares at him. Nate's face is a little red and Dan doesn't think it's the heat of the club.
Dan smiles. "Nate," he says.
Nate glances at him with a questioning look, shutting the water off. Dan steps closer, dropping the paper towels on the floor with the rest of the trash, and puts his hand on Nate's cheek, tips up to kiss him, tentative but firm.
Nate is surprised into dropping the shirt, which Dan assumes lands somewhere horrible, but he recovers quickly, leaning into the kiss. Dan's fingers curl in Nate's hair a little and he smiles, giving Nate another quick kiss before pulling away.
There's a beat, and –
"Not yet," Nate says, arm sliding around Dan's waist and yanking him close. Dan laughs, the knot in his chest unraveling. But then he doesn't feel much like laughing at all, because there's a reason Nate has a million girlfriends and Dan is becoming very familiar with that reason.
Nate puts his free hand on Dan's jaw, fingertips pressing just under Dan's cheekbone and thumb swiping over Dan's lower lip before pressing beneath it to urge Dan's lips apart. Nate kisses him again, licks into his mouth; he closes his lips on Dan's, bites his bottom lip, sucks on the spot. Dan imagines Nate's mouth elsewhere, everywhere.
Dan's one arm is around Nate's waist and his other hand just kind of helplessly fisted in Nate's sweater at the small of his back. He's never let himself be kissed like this – just let himself be kissed, relinquishing all control of the situation. He didn't expect Nate to be the type to want to take control, but he's crowding Dan, pinning Dan back against the sink with his hips, running his hand flat over Dan's ribs.
Then there's loud, furious pounding at the door, startling them apart. They've been in here too long.
"My shirt," Dan says, peering down the dark crevice between sink and toilet it fell into. Nate's hand is still on his side, lightly stroking bare skin. It makes Dan feel shy, suddenly.
"Here." Nate unzips his sweater, leaving him in his t-shirt. He puts the sweater around Dan, holding it for Dan to put his arms through, then zips it up. "Sorry," Nate says softly, "About your –"
"It's okay," Dan says. "I think it was a sneak attack from Blair, she's been trying to get me to throw that out for years."
Nate smiles, oddly soft. His mouth is wet. He fiddles with the zipper another minute, makes sure the sweater lies right. Then he steps away. Dan feels kind of stupidly nervous and eager then, doesn't know what to do with himself. He wants to ignore the knocking and push Nate up against the door, take a little control back.
"Let's get out of here," Dan says.
Nate smiles slowly. "The show hasn't started yet."
"I've seen 'em," Dan says. "You're not missing much."
Nate looks at him for a long moment and then laughs. "Alright," he says, and his voice comes out soft as his smile. "Take me home."