the best you ever had
dan/carter. dan/carter/ofc. background dan/others.
It's all a roundabout way of getting to this:
"Remember that time," Dan murmurs, face smushed against the nape of Carter's neck very early in the morning, "you said what I wanted was not to play rough?"
One thing Dan does like about Carter is he doesn't ever give Dan shit about what he likes in bed (who he likes is another story). If anything, he wants Dan to be more forthcoming; but on the whole, if Dan has something specific in mind, Carter endeavors to give it to him.
Dan gets fidgety and doubtful anyway, as is his nature. "This is weird, right? Like, normal people don't pretend to be nice during sex, they're just nice. Making an exception for the weird stuff is what's normal when you're normal."
Carter rolls his eyes. "You're talking yourself into a circle."
"Wow, never been accused of that before."
"I promise you, you are the most normal person I've ever taken to bed. Alright? You're so normal you're boring."
Dan's skin tingles all the way down to his fingertips whenever he thinks of his cheek being lightly touched, being called sweetheart. He doesn't know why. It's just something he wants. But he's afraid of it being cheesy – will Carter light candles, pour wine? Does he think Dan's after some kind of eighties Harlequin soft focus softcore extravaganza?
It doesn't end up being a carefully planned thing; it just sort of hovers at the edge of consciousness until they're on the couch kissing because Carter thought Dan's movie choice was boring. And Carter pulls back a little, lips swollen and eyes dark, to murmur, "Now?"
At Dan's nod, they move into the other room. Neither of them bother flicking the light switch, leaving them in hazy mostly-darkness – a streetlamp outside filters conveniently over the dark blue of Dan's bedspread, where Carter deposits him before tugging his shirt off. Dan wets his lips, his hands pressed palm-down to the mattress, ready and waiting.
Carter strips off the rest of his clothes before crawling up the bed to kiss Dan, tongue flicking past Dan's lips. "Lay back," Carter says, so Dan does, eyes falling closed as his head hits the pillow only to open moments later, staring up at the dark. Carter exists at the periphery of his vision, spreading open Dan's unbuttoned shirt and kissing his chest, a slow and direct line down his torso.
He gets Dan out of his clothes with little participation on Dan's part. Instead Dan lets himself enjoy the sweep of Carter's hands over his skin, smoothing over his arms and hips, stroking his stomach. Everything feels hushed and singular. It all seems strangely innocuous, every little touch, so when Carter's lips close around Dan's cock, it's startling enough to wrest a gasp from him. He's still on top of the blankets and the air is cool, Carter's mouth the only distinct source of heat.
He doesn't go down on Dan for long, just gets him going before moving up for a kiss, nudging his nose against Dan's before their lips meet. And Dan has a weird thought, which is: he trusts Carter.
The thing with Marisol brought a few things home that Dan chose not to dwell on. Like the realization that even though he had missed being with women, he probably wouldn't have sought out the experience without Carter's prompting; he hadn't felt like there was something he was lacking.
"Here, honey, shift over," Carter says. His voice, though soft, feels sudden and loud in the silence. Dan answers wordlessly, moving so Carter can pull the blankets up over them, making the space they share smaller, warmer, more intimate. Their legs tangle. Carter's arm is solid around Dan's waist, the other pillowed under Dan's head. His lips press breeze-light over Dan's cheek and his temple and his jaw before finding his mouth again.
Dan realizes he hasn't spoken since maybe forty minutes ago, when they were still watching the movie and he was criticizing Carter's lack of taste. Carter had kissed him so he would stop talking, and it proved an effective technique. Carter is speaking now, low-voiced encouragements and stupid sex compliments, and then he mumbles, "What'd I do to get so lucky, huh, baby? Ending up here with you."
And for whatever reason, Dan just can't.
He turns his face away from Carter's mouth and then just sits up, reaching for the pull chain on the bedside lamp, which floods at least this corner of the room with light. But when even that is not enough, Dan slides out of bed, needing space with desperate suddenness. "Sorry, I'm sorry," he's saying, "I don't know what – I just need a minute or something –"
"Fine with me." There's nothing in Carter's tone to suggest he finds this odd, though he's watching Dan rather closely. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm just…" But Dan doesn't really know what's going on with him. He grabs a pair of sweats left draped over the back of his desk chair and pulls them on, then does the same with a discarded shirt he thinks is Carter's. "I'm sorry."
"No reason to be," Carter says easily. There's a beat and then he swings his legs over the side of the bed, reaching for his jeans. "Look, I think I'm gonna run down to the corner for some cigs, is that alright?"
Dan nods, releasing a relieved breath. A few minutes alone are just what he needs, even if he just uses them to berate himself.
"Alright," Carter murmurs, a little to himself, and gives Dan a final look before leaving the room.
He's gone for probably fifteen minutes all told, during which Dan feels increasingly dumb while he sits awkwardly on the bed, then the couch, waiting for the sound of the door. Sylvia threads herself through his ankles insistently but it makes him feel edgy instead of comforted. When Carter does return, cursing about the fuckin' heat, it's with a six-pack and a bag of what smells like cheap, delicious burritos.
"You don't drink." It comes out automatically, and is not at all what Dan intended to say.
"Living vicariously through you." Carter levels him with a considering look, eyebrow slightly arched, but he apparently determines Dan isn't going to implode or anything, so he continues shuffling out of his jacket. "Hungry?"
"Stupid," Dan blurts, then elaborates, "I feel extremely stupid right now."
"Don't." Carter sets the bag and beers on the coffee table before taking a seat and turning on the TV. "My turn, and we're not watching more esoteric hipster garbage."
Dan stares at him. "Are we not going to talk about me royally freaking out for no reason?"
Carter returns the look. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"I don't know." Dan shifts uneasily in his seat. "I don’t know what's up with me."
Carter only shrugs. "You don't have to like every single thing we do together," he says. "You're not into it, we do something else. It's not a big deal. Now eat your fucking burrito before I give it to the cat."
"She wouldn't eat it, she has a very refined palate." It's a weak joke, but it makes Dan feel more like himself.
That's how they end up spending the rest of the night, bickering over what to watch until Carter hides the remote under the couch cushions so Dan can't argue with him anymore. And Dan feels pretty normal, his shoulder pressed to Carter's, Carter's hand on his knee. He feels good.
"If you fall for Carter Baizen," Blair says, "I will actually lose it. I'm serious, Dan. I will lose it."
Dan rolls his eyes. "I'm not falling for anybody."
They're both a little boozy – not drunk by any stretch, but enough that everything is shiny and sweet. The breeze is nice on their summer-hot skin. Blair smiles at him in that private way she sometimes does, her hand resting on his cheek.
"Where's Patrick Bateman tonight?" he asks, and she laughs, giving his cheek a light smack before her fingertips go back to trailing over his stubble.
"Sean is working late," Blair says.
"He's so boring," Dan says. "Don't you think he's so boring? I mean, he's a stockbroker, Jesus."
"A financial advisor," Blair corrects. "And his conversation is clever and always appropriate, which is more than I can say for you. But he isn't funny. I'll give you that."
Dan can't seem to stop tracing the line of her throat and collarbone, a strong wide V, over and over. There's a little bit of perspiration on her skin. Her shin rests against his, knee to ankle.
"How's he feel about you flirting with your friends?" Dan asks pointedly, raising an eyebrow.
She smiles again. "He probably wouldn't like it," she allows. "But he thinks you're gay, so."
"You sleep with one of your friend's exes…" Dan says with a mock-put-upon sigh.
"I still can't believe you," she says. "You never do anything this interesting. Or this…" Her gaze sweeps up and down before she decides on, "Innovative."
"Yeah, well, how would you know?" Dan says. "You've never had me."
He can feel Blair's throat work beneath his fingertips. "No," she agrees softly, "I never have."
The extent of Dan's history with Blair is: once they made out in the back of a taxi, and then went back to her place. Wrapped around each other in her bed but still dressed, she came, moaning loud and throaty, and then she fell asleep. Seriously. She came and then kissed him until she passed out, her tremors still running through his body. There was nothing to it except to jerk off in the bathroom and then go back to bed, letting her soft arms encircle him as she snuggled close. That was it. They never talked about it. It still makes him crazy to think about – the flutter of her lashes, her flushed cheeks, the way she bit her lip. Nothing gets him going like the memory of Blair's orgasm, her fingers gripping his arms so hard.
They were both fall-down drunk, so it's probably better nothing happened.
She's his friend, and he'd rather have that.
"You like him a lot, though." The repeated pass of her hand over his jaw is almost hypnotic – or maybe that's the alcohol talking. "Carter. I can tell."
"It's not serious," Dan says, and he'll keep saying it until it sounds true.
In bed, much more successfully than last time:
"Can you –" Carter starts, and –
"Uh-huh," Dan says, hand going up around Carter's throat automatically, pressing harder when he feels Carter swallow.
"I liked watching you go down on that girl," Carter says.
Sunday morning finds Dan exhausted from a late shift at the bookstore the night before that followed quick on the heels of an entire day at the office pretending to be useful: answering phones, filing, typing, trying to write in spare snatches of time, mostly meandering around the internet. Carter is here because Carter is always here now. He has a spare key and he rarely bothers crashing with Serena anymore, unless one or the other of them is feeling weird about how their relationship definitely is not a relationship at all.
So Dan has coffee while he reads. Carter says inappropriate shit. It's all very as per usual.
"Yeah," Dan says dryly, "I could tell."
They've seen Marisol again and it went as well as the first time: nice, casual, Carter's idea. Dan ate her out while Carter fucked him, kissed his neck, called him pet names. Somehow having another person there mitigated whatever wigged Dan out, making it less real and more performance: Dan, playing the part of Carter's boyfriend to a captive audience.
Carter is sprawled on the other end of the couch, lazily trailing a feathery cat toy along the ground while Sylvia loses her entire mind, flip-flopping around so fast she resembles nothing so much as a white tumbleweed. "I liked seeing you like that."
"You like telling me what you like."
Carter grins, wolfish. He only ever calls Marisol that girl when he's trying to initiate dirty talk. It's a way of fitting her into her role: that girl they fool around with sometimes. "You're moody today."
Dan turns a page. "You like that too?"
Carter flicks the toy away (Sylvia skitters after it with a patter of paws) and sits up, sliding a hand up Dan's chest. "I liked tasting her on your mouth, your lips all slick." He thumbs over Dan's mouth, musing, "Kind of tart." And then he pulls away entirely, dropping back against the arm of the couch. "But you don't wanna hear this."
Dan looks down at him, thinking tease. "I don't?"
"I know you think I got too much to say. Can't help it. Benefits of being a big slut my whole life, I know what I want."
"I know, I know, as you like to remind me ad nauseam."
Things don't really get deep enough (ha ha, deep enough) between them for them to fight over anything, but if they were going to have an argument, it'd be about this. Dan doesn't consider himself uptight about sex (theoretically), especially considering the long way he's come from the over-Googling virgin of his teenage years. He just doesn't have as much to say about it as Carter does.
Dan sighs. "Alright," he says. "Cut me a break. This shit's new for me." He shuts his book and sets it aside. "Anything you want to know, ask away."
Carter tilts his head, observing Dan thoughtfully. "Serena was your first everything, wasn't she?"
"Pretty much." He lets himself be a little mean then, for no good reason. Just to be mean. "How many people have you been with? Or don't you know?"
Predictably, Carter is unbothered. "I counted it up once," he says. "Tried to, anyway."
"And?"
"Realized I don't care much for numbers."
"Realized you couldn't count that high?" Dan jokes, and is rewarded with a shove. He lets himself get closer then, kisses Carter on the mouth, pulls back but stays close. Pointedly, he says, "I want to hear it. I like hearing it."
Carter smirks a little before they kiss again, mumbling against Dan's mouth, "You think I don't fuckin' know that?"
Out at the bar on Friday, Dan a little drunk, Carter a lot sober. Nate has broken up with Autumn and is therefore being overly solicitous with Blair, which is very obviously getting under Sean's skin. Serena is entertaining two different boys that she somehow picked up on the trip over to the bar but she clearly isn’t all that interested in either of them, just honing her skills.
Dan looks around at all of them, feeling tipsy and relaxed. "I don't know what I'm doing with you," he laughs, and he's letting himself rest against Carter's side, pressed tight with a hand gripping a fistful of Carter's shirt.
"Most people don't, handsome," Carter says. He's doing that fond voice people use with drunks sometimes.
"Handsome Dan, that's the Yale mascot," Dan informs him. "I think that whenever you call me handsome."
Carter rakes Dan's hair back and then untangles it a little, causing one curl to drop back against Dan's forehead. "You're a sight cuter than a bulldog, I promise."
"I love when you talk like a cowboy, you fucking trusafarian," Dan says, laughing again, and lets Carter kiss him right there in front of everyone.
By the time they leave Dan has pretty much sobered up, but he still feels easy and loose, untethered. It gets him thinking and looking at Carter sideways; as soon as they get in, Dan is shoving him off towards the bathroom.
"Shower," he says, "Thorough," and Carter gives him a raised-eyebrow look of intrigue.
"Handsome has a plan, huh?"
When Carter gets out, Dan wastes no time yanking the towel from his hips, getting him on his stomach on the bed, and then kneeling on the floor next to it. "I think this is more within my skill set," Dan says, and spreads Carter open, puts his mouth there, tongue against Carter.
"Are you using a dental dam?" Carter says, though he doesn't altogether seem to mind: unlike Dan's handful of failure blowjobs, this has an immediate audible response. Short, needy, short staccato groans interspersed with a lot of Dan's name and some very choice swearing.
Dan pulls back with a little bit of a groan himself. "Those sounds you make drive me fucking crazy."
Carter is resting his face on his folded arms and all Dan can see is his profile: furrowed brow, eyelashes against his flushed cheek, lips parted. "Yeah," he breathes, an unthinking agreement.
Dan grins slowly, studying him. "How you doing over there?"
Carter's eye opens, fixing Dan with a half-hearted glare. "Don't go getting all smug on –" but it peters off into a moan, eyes fluttering shut again as Dan presses the tip of his thumb into Carter, just gently. He massages the spot, biting his lip as he considers the situation, and then lets the little square of latex slip to the floor before lowering his head again. He's rewarded with a breathless, strangled exclamation.
It's really not that bad.
Dan pulls away to trail a kiss over the back of Carter's thigh, sinking his teeth into the tender skin. "Turn over," he murmurs. "Give me your hand."
A little shiver runs through Dan as Carter does what he says, unspeaking, his gaze heavy-lidded and lingering. Dan drops a probably stupid, definitely thoughtless kiss to Carter's knuckles before grabbing the lube off the bedside table and slicking Carter's fingers. Then he sits back.
"Go ahead," he says. "Show me what you got."
Their eyes still locked (though Carter seems to be having trouble keeping his open), Carter reaches between his legs, past his hard cock, and starts teasing himself with his index finger. It doesn't take long before his body takes most of it, and then the next few at Dan's quiet, soft-voiced urging. "C'mon. One more."
A bead of precome leaks from the tip of Carter's dick, smearing across his skin. Dan wants to lick it; he always wants that more theoretically than he ever seems to in action. Carter's eyes finally shut as his breathing goes deep and quick. His tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip.
"Keep going," Dan tells him. "I'll be right back."
Dan goes into the bathroom to rinse his mouth out a few times (thorough showers or not, he isn't going to kiss someone on the mouth after sticking his tongue up their ass) and looks at himself in the mirror. His eyes are a little bright and color's high in his face, but just enough to make him look healthy, eager. He looks calm. He feels calm.
When he returns Carter is all worked up, making repeated trapped noises in his throat as he presses down against his fingers. There's something a little frustrated about it, like he can't quite get the angle right. His other hand strokes his cock, though he keeps having to grip tight at the base, getting himself under control.
Dan tugs off his clothes as he watches, then gets on the bed next to Carter so he can kiss his slack mouth, hand slipping downwards.
"You fucker, you took forever," Carter mumbles.
Dan smiles. His fingertips find Carter's slick knuckles, trace over where they disappear into his body. Then, very carefully, he starts to work one finger in alongside Carter's. "Should I say something cheesy about it being worth the wait?"
Carter makes a helpless gasping sound. "If you don't fuck me in the next minute I'm going to lose my mind."
"Yeah?" Dan makes him slow his pace to an almost leisurely slide. "Then maybe you should ask nice."
"You want an engraved invitation?"
Dan nips at Carter's earlobe, kisses wetly at his throat. "I want to hear how desperate you are."
Carter breathes a soft swearword but barely a minute passes before words are spilling from him, shameless in this as in everything. "Please fuck me – c'mon, fuck me, I'm dying here, honey –"
And Dan kisses him to shut him up, getting to it as quick at he can.
He wonders how many people Carter has been with, how many people have done this to him – a number that couldn't be counted, apparently. It's not jealousy, exactly, though Dan wouldn't deny feeling that to some extent; it's just that old feeling he used to have, of being the most unremarkable one in a crowd. But he makes himself shake it off because it doesn't matter, because Carter is gripping tight to him and still begging even though Dan is inside him now, giving him what he wants.
"I know," Dan soothes in between hard kisses. "I know."
He knows what Carter likes by now so Dan fucks him harder, faster, all the porn heat-of-the-moment words, but Carter shakes his head a little, says, "Slow – slow –"
Dan looks at him, his eyes shut tight as he fidgets, pushing back against Dan. And he slows himself down, all languorous thrusts and dragging, sweat-slicked skin. "Is that good?" Dan murmurs, low. "Is that what you want?"
"Oh, Dan," Carter breathes, kissing Dan again and again. "Oh, fuck, honey –"
This is the end:
Carter has gradually taken up residence in Dan apartment: the long-ago stolen toothbrush, the overpriced hair product designed to make him look effortlessly tousled, his razor next to Dan's, his clothes strewn by the laundry basket because he refuses to take a drawer but is also too messy to keep things in his bag. It's been four months since the last time he left town, maybe five, and that's a long time for Carter. That is a very long time.
So it's both a surprise and not when he says he's leaving.
He does his whole rebel without a clue act, shrugging his shoulders and lighting a cigarette. "Dunno," he says when Dan asks where and for how long.
"Ah," Dan murmurs, quelling his disappointment. "Well. I guess…it's been nice having sex with you."
Carter rolls his eyes but smiles. "Back at you." He pauses, taking a posed-looking drag. "I am coming back, you know. I'm not going off to war."
Dan gives him a curious look, starting to smile a little. "You're not, huh?"
Carter fidgets. "No."
Seems nothing to it then but to kiss Carter on the mouth, a cool and detached goodbye kiss that warms up when Carter pulls him closer. "So," Dan says, "Got time for a last hurrah?"
"Oh yeah," Carter replies, against his mouth, "I always make time for a couple of those."
Three weeks later, Carter's back.
dan/carter. dan/carter/ofc. background dan/others.
It's all a roundabout way of getting to this:
"Remember that time," Dan murmurs, face smushed against the nape of Carter's neck very early in the morning, "you said what I wanted was not to play rough?"
One thing Dan does like about Carter is he doesn't ever give Dan shit about what he likes in bed (who he likes is another story). If anything, he wants Dan to be more forthcoming; but on the whole, if Dan has something specific in mind, Carter endeavors to give it to him.
Dan gets fidgety and doubtful anyway, as is his nature. "This is weird, right? Like, normal people don't pretend to be nice during sex, they're just nice. Making an exception for the weird stuff is what's normal when you're normal."
Carter rolls his eyes. "You're talking yourself into a circle."
"Wow, never been accused of that before."
"I promise you, you are the most normal person I've ever taken to bed. Alright? You're so normal you're boring."
Dan's skin tingles all the way down to his fingertips whenever he thinks of his cheek being lightly touched, being called sweetheart. He doesn't know why. It's just something he wants. But he's afraid of it being cheesy – will Carter light candles, pour wine? Does he think Dan's after some kind of eighties Harlequin soft focus softcore extravaganza?
It doesn't end up being a carefully planned thing; it just sort of hovers at the edge of consciousness until they're on the couch kissing because Carter thought Dan's movie choice was boring. And Carter pulls back a little, lips swollen and eyes dark, to murmur, "Now?"
At Dan's nod, they move into the other room. Neither of them bother flicking the light switch, leaving them in hazy mostly-darkness – a streetlamp outside filters conveniently over the dark blue of Dan's bedspread, where Carter deposits him before tugging his shirt off. Dan wets his lips, his hands pressed palm-down to the mattress, ready and waiting.
Carter strips off the rest of his clothes before crawling up the bed to kiss Dan, tongue flicking past Dan's lips. "Lay back," Carter says, so Dan does, eyes falling closed as his head hits the pillow only to open moments later, staring up at the dark. Carter exists at the periphery of his vision, spreading open Dan's unbuttoned shirt and kissing his chest, a slow and direct line down his torso.
He gets Dan out of his clothes with little participation on Dan's part. Instead Dan lets himself enjoy the sweep of Carter's hands over his skin, smoothing over his arms and hips, stroking his stomach. Everything feels hushed and singular. It all seems strangely innocuous, every little touch, so when Carter's lips close around Dan's cock, it's startling enough to wrest a gasp from him. He's still on top of the blankets and the air is cool, Carter's mouth the only distinct source of heat.
He doesn't go down on Dan for long, just gets him going before moving up for a kiss, nudging his nose against Dan's before their lips meet. And Dan has a weird thought, which is: he trusts Carter.
The thing with Marisol brought a few things home that Dan chose not to dwell on. Like the realization that even though he had missed being with women, he probably wouldn't have sought out the experience without Carter's prompting; he hadn't felt like there was something he was lacking.
"Here, honey, shift over," Carter says. His voice, though soft, feels sudden and loud in the silence. Dan answers wordlessly, moving so Carter can pull the blankets up over them, making the space they share smaller, warmer, more intimate. Their legs tangle. Carter's arm is solid around Dan's waist, the other pillowed under Dan's head. His lips press breeze-light over Dan's cheek and his temple and his jaw before finding his mouth again.
Dan realizes he hasn't spoken since maybe forty minutes ago, when they were still watching the movie and he was criticizing Carter's lack of taste. Carter had kissed him so he would stop talking, and it proved an effective technique. Carter is speaking now, low-voiced encouragements and stupid sex compliments, and then he mumbles, "What'd I do to get so lucky, huh, baby? Ending up here with you."
And for whatever reason, Dan just can't.
He turns his face away from Carter's mouth and then just sits up, reaching for the pull chain on the bedside lamp, which floods at least this corner of the room with light. But when even that is not enough, Dan slides out of bed, needing space with desperate suddenness. "Sorry, I'm sorry," he's saying, "I don't know what – I just need a minute or something –"
"Fine with me." There's nothing in Carter's tone to suggest he finds this odd, though he's watching Dan rather closely. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm just…" But Dan doesn't really know what's going on with him. He grabs a pair of sweats left draped over the back of his desk chair and pulls them on, then does the same with a discarded shirt he thinks is Carter's. "I'm sorry."
"No reason to be," Carter says easily. There's a beat and then he swings his legs over the side of the bed, reaching for his jeans. "Look, I think I'm gonna run down to the corner for some cigs, is that alright?"
Dan nods, releasing a relieved breath. A few minutes alone are just what he needs, even if he just uses them to berate himself.
"Alright," Carter murmurs, a little to himself, and gives Dan a final look before leaving the room.
He's gone for probably fifteen minutes all told, during which Dan feels increasingly dumb while he sits awkwardly on the bed, then the couch, waiting for the sound of the door. Sylvia threads herself through his ankles insistently but it makes him feel edgy instead of comforted. When Carter does return, cursing about the fuckin' heat, it's with a six-pack and a bag of what smells like cheap, delicious burritos.
"You don't drink." It comes out automatically, and is not at all what Dan intended to say.
"Living vicariously through you." Carter levels him with a considering look, eyebrow slightly arched, but he apparently determines Dan isn't going to implode or anything, so he continues shuffling out of his jacket. "Hungry?"
"Stupid," Dan blurts, then elaborates, "I feel extremely stupid right now."
"Don't." Carter sets the bag and beers on the coffee table before taking a seat and turning on the TV. "My turn, and we're not watching more esoteric hipster garbage."
Dan stares at him. "Are we not going to talk about me royally freaking out for no reason?"
Carter returns the look. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"I don't know." Dan shifts uneasily in his seat. "I don’t know what's up with me."
Carter only shrugs. "You don't have to like every single thing we do together," he says. "You're not into it, we do something else. It's not a big deal. Now eat your fucking burrito before I give it to the cat."
"She wouldn't eat it, she has a very refined palate." It's a weak joke, but it makes Dan feel more like himself.
That's how they end up spending the rest of the night, bickering over what to watch until Carter hides the remote under the couch cushions so Dan can't argue with him anymore. And Dan feels pretty normal, his shoulder pressed to Carter's, Carter's hand on his knee. He feels good.
"If you fall for Carter Baizen," Blair says, "I will actually lose it. I'm serious, Dan. I will lose it."
Dan rolls his eyes. "I'm not falling for anybody."
They're both a little boozy – not drunk by any stretch, but enough that everything is shiny and sweet. The breeze is nice on their summer-hot skin. Blair smiles at him in that private way she sometimes does, her hand resting on his cheek.
"Where's Patrick Bateman tonight?" he asks, and she laughs, giving his cheek a light smack before her fingertips go back to trailing over his stubble.
"Sean is working late," Blair says.
"He's so boring," Dan says. "Don't you think he's so boring? I mean, he's a stockbroker, Jesus."
"A financial advisor," Blair corrects. "And his conversation is clever and always appropriate, which is more than I can say for you. But he isn't funny. I'll give you that."
Dan can't seem to stop tracing the line of her throat and collarbone, a strong wide V, over and over. There's a little bit of perspiration on her skin. Her shin rests against his, knee to ankle.
"How's he feel about you flirting with your friends?" Dan asks pointedly, raising an eyebrow.
She smiles again. "He probably wouldn't like it," she allows. "But he thinks you're gay, so."
"You sleep with one of your friend's exes…" Dan says with a mock-put-upon sigh.
"I still can't believe you," she says. "You never do anything this interesting. Or this…" Her gaze sweeps up and down before she decides on, "Innovative."
"Yeah, well, how would you know?" Dan says. "You've never had me."
He can feel Blair's throat work beneath his fingertips. "No," she agrees softly, "I never have."
The extent of Dan's history with Blair is: once they made out in the back of a taxi, and then went back to her place. Wrapped around each other in her bed but still dressed, she came, moaning loud and throaty, and then she fell asleep. Seriously. She came and then kissed him until she passed out, her tremors still running through his body. There was nothing to it except to jerk off in the bathroom and then go back to bed, letting her soft arms encircle him as she snuggled close. That was it. They never talked about it. It still makes him crazy to think about – the flutter of her lashes, her flushed cheeks, the way she bit her lip. Nothing gets him going like the memory of Blair's orgasm, her fingers gripping his arms so hard.
They were both fall-down drunk, so it's probably better nothing happened.
She's his friend, and he'd rather have that.
"You like him a lot, though." The repeated pass of her hand over his jaw is almost hypnotic – or maybe that's the alcohol talking. "Carter. I can tell."
"It's not serious," Dan says, and he'll keep saying it until it sounds true.
In bed, much more successfully than last time:
"Can you –" Carter starts, and –
"Uh-huh," Dan says, hand going up around Carter's throat automatically, pressing harder when he feels Carter swallow.
"I liked watching you go down on that girl," Carter says.
Sunday morning finds Dan exhausted from a late shift at the bookstore the night before that followed quick on the heels of an entire day at the office pretending to be useful: answering phones, filing, typing, trying to write in spare snatches of time, mostly meandering around the internet. Carter is here because Carter is always here now. He has a spare key and he rarely bothers crashing with Serena anymore, unless one or the other of them is feeling weird about how their relationship definitely is not a relationship at all.
So Dan has coffee while he reads. Carter says inappropriate shit. It's all very as per usual.
"Yeah," Dan says dryly, "I could tell."
They've seen Marisol again and it went as well as the first time: nice, casual, Carter's idea. Dan ate her out while Carter fucked him, kissed his neck, called him pet names. Somehow having another person there mitigated whatever wigged Dan out, making it less real and more performance: Dan, playing the part of Carter's boyfriend to a captive audience.
Carter is sprawled on the other end of the couch, lazily trailing a feathery cat toy along the ground while Sylvia loses her entire mind, flip-flopping around so fast she resembles nothing so much as a white tumbleweed. "I liked seeing you like that."
"You like telling me what you like."
Carter grins, wolfish. He only ever calls Marisol that girl when he's trying to initiate dirty talk. It's a way of fitting her into her role: that girl they fool around with sometimes. "You're moody today."
Dan turns a page. "You like that too?"
Carter flicks the toy away (Sylvia skitters after it with a patter of paws) and sits up, sliding a hand up Dan's chest. "I liked tasting her on your mouth, your lips all slick." He thumbs over Dan's mouth, musing, "Kind of tart." And then he pulls away entirely, dropping back against the arm of the couch. "But you don't wanna hear this."
Dan looks down at him, thinking tease. "I don't?"
"I know you think I got too much to say. Can't help it. Benefits of being a big slut my whole life, I know what I want."
"I know, I know, as you like to remind me ad nauseam."
Things don't really get deep enough (ha ha, deep enough) between them for them to fight over anything, but if they were going to have an argument, it'd be about this. Dan doesn't consider himself uptight about sex (theoretically), especially considering the long way he's come from the over-Googling virgin of his teenage years. He just doesn't have as much to say about it as Carter does.
Dan sighs. "Alright," he says. "Cut me a break. This shit's new for me." He shuts his book and sets it aside. "Anything you want to know, ask away."
Carter tilts his head, observing Dan thoughtfully. "Serena was your first everything, wasn't she?"
"Pretty much." He lets himself be a little mean then, for no good reason. Just to be mean. "How many people have you been with? Or don't you know?"
Predictably, Carter is unbothered. "I counted it up once," he says. "Tried to, anyway."
"And?"
"Realized I don't care much for numbers."
"Realized you couldn't count that high?" Dan jokes, and is rewarded with a shove. He lets himself get closer then, kisses Carter on the mouth, pulls back but stays close. Pointedly, he says, "I want to hear it. I like hearing it."
Carter smirks a little before they kiss again, mumbling against Dan's mouth, "You think I don't fuckin' know that?"
Out at the bar on Friday, Dan a little drunk, Carter a lot sober. Nate has broken up with Autumn and is therefore being overly solicitous with Blair, which is very obviously getting under Sean's skin. Serena is entertaining two different boys that she somehow picked up on the trip over to the bar but she clearly isn’t all that interested in either of them, just honing her skills.
Dan looks around at all of them, feeling tipsy and relaxed. "I don't know what I'm doing with you," he laughs, and he's letting himself rest against Carter's side, pressed tight with a hand gripping a fistful of Carter's shirt.
"Most people don't, handsome," Carter says. He's doing that fond voice people use with drunks sometimes.
"Handsome Dan, that's the Yale mascot," Dan informs him. "I think that whenever you call me handsome."
Carter rakes Dan's hair back and then untangles it a little, causing one curl to drop back against Dan's forehead. "You're a sight cuter than a bulldog, I promise."
"I love when you talk like a cowboy, you fucking trusafarian," Dan says, laughing again, and lets Carter kiss him right there in front of everyone.
By the time they leave Dan has pretty much sobered up, but he still feels easy and loose, untethered. It gets him thinking and looking at Carter sideways; as soon as they get in, Dan is shoving him off towards the bathroom.
"Shower," he says, "Thorough," and Carter gives him a raised-eyebrow look of intrigue.
"Handsome has a plan, huh?"
When Carter gets out, Dan wastes no time yanking the towel from his hips, getting him on his stomach on the bed, and then kneeling on the floor next to it. "I think this is more within my skill set," Dan says, and spreads Carter open, puts his mouth there, tongue against Carter.
"Are you using a dental dam?" Carter says, though he doesn't altogether seem to mind: unlike Dan's handful of failure blowjobs, this has an immediate audible response. Short, needy, short staccato groans interspersed with a lot of Dan's name and some very choice swearing.
Dan pulls back with a little bit of a groan himself. "Those sounds you make drive me fucking crazy."
Carter is resting his face on his folded arms and all Dan can see is his profile: furrowed brow, eyelashes against his flushed cheek, lips parted. "Yeah," he breathes, an unthinking agreement.
Dan grins slowly, studying him. "How you doing over there?"
Carter's eye opens, fixing Dan with a half-hearted glare. "Don't go getting all smug on –" but it peters off into a moan, eyes fluttering shut again as Dan presses the tip of his thumb into Carter, just gently. He massages the spot, biting his lip as he considers the situation, and then lets the little square of latex slip to the floor before lowering his head again. He's rewarded with a breathless, strangled exclamation.
It's really not that bad.
Dan pulls away to trail a kiss over the back of Carter's thigh, sinking his teeth into the tender skin. "Turn over," he murmurs. "Give me your hand."
A little shiver runs through Dan as Carter does what he says, unspeaking, his gaze heavy-lidded and lingering. Dan drops a probably stupid, definitely thoughtless kiss to Carter's knuckles before grabbing the lube off the bedside table and slicking Carter's fingers. Then he sits back.
"Go ahead," he says. "Show me what you got."
Their eyes still locked (though Carter seems to be having trouble keeping his open), Carter reaches between his legs, past his hard cock, and starts teasing himself with his index finger. It doesn't take long before his body takes most of it, and then the next few at Dan's quiet, soft-voiced urging. "C'mon. One more."
A bead of precome leaks from the tip of Carter's dick, smearing across his skin. Dan wants to lick it; he always wants that more theoretically than he ever seems to in action. Carter's eyes finally shut as his breathing goes deep and quick. His tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip.
"Keep going," Dan tells him. "I'll be right back."
Dan goes into the bathroom to rinse his mouth out a few times (thorough showers or not, he isn't going to kiss someone on the mouth after sticking his tongue up their ass) and looks at himself in the mirror. His eyes are a little bright and color's high in his face, but just enough to make him look healthy, eager. He looks calm. He feels calm.
When he returns Carter is all worked up, making repeated trapped noises in his throat as he presses down against his fingers. There's something a little frustrated about it, like he can't quite get the angle right. His other hand strokes his cock, though he keeps having to grip tight at the base, getting himself under control.
Dan tugs off his clothes as he watches, then gets on the bed next to Carter so he can kiss his slack mouth, hand slipping downwards.
"You fucker, you took forever," Carter mumbles.
Dan smiles. His fingertips find Carter's slick knuckles, trace over where they disappear into his body. Then, very carefully, he starts to work one finger in alongside Carter's. "Should I say something cheesy about it being worth the wait?"
Carter makes a helpless gasping sound. "If you don't fuck me in the next minute I'm going to lose my mind."
"Yeah?" Dan makes him slow his pace to an almost leisurely slide. "Then maybe you should ask nice."
"You want an engraved invitation?"
Dan nips at Carter's earlobe, kisses wetly at his throat. "I want to hear how desperate you are."
Carter breathes a soft swearword but barely a minute passes before words are spilling from him, shameless in this as in everything. "Please fuck me – c'mon, fuck me, I'm dying here, honey –"
And Dan kisses him to shut him up, getting to it as quick at he can.
He wonders how many people Carter has been with, how many people have done this to him – a number that couldn't be counted, apparently. It's not jealousy, exactly, though Dan wouldn't deny feeling that to some extent; it's just that old feeling he used to have, of being the most unremarkable one in a crowd. But he makes himself shake it off because it doesn't matter, because Carter is gripping tight to him and still begging even though Dan is inside him now, giving him what he wants.
"I know," Dan soothes in between hard kisses. "I know."
He knows what Carter likes by now so Dan fucks him harder, faster, all the porn heat-of-the-moment words, but Carter shakes his head a little, says, "Slow – slow –"
Dan looks at him, his eyes shut tight as he fidgets, pushing back against Dan. And he slows himself down, all languorous thrusts and dragging, sweat-slicked skin. "Is that good?" Dan murmurs, low. "Is that what you want?"
"Oh, Dan," Carter breathes, kissing Dan again and again. "Oh, fuck, honey –"
This is the end:
Carter has gradually taken up residence in Dan apartment: the long-ago stolen toothbrush, the overpriced hair product designed to make him look effortlessly tousled, his razor next to Dan's, his clothes strewn by the laundry basket because he refuses to take a drawer but is also too messy to keep things in his bag. It's been four months since the last time he left town, maybe five, and that's a long time for Carter. That is a very long time.
So it's both a surprise and not when he says he's leaving.
He does his whole rebel without a clue act, shrugging his shoulders and lighting a cigarette. "Dunno," he says when Dan asks where and for how long.
"Ah," Dan murmurs, quelling his disappointment. "Well. I guess…it's been nice having sex with you."
Carter rolls his eyes but smiles. "Back at you." He pauses, taking a posed-looking drag. "I am coming back, you know. I'm not going off to war."
Dan gives him a curious look, starting to smile a little. "You're not, huh?"
Carter fidgets. "No."
Seems nothing to it then but to kiss Carter on the mouth, a cool and detached goodbye kiss that warms up when Carter pulls him closer. "So," Dan says, "Got time for a last hurrah?"
"Oh yeah," Carter replies, against his mouth, "I always make time for a couple of those."
Three weeks later, Carter's back.