I write our love in fourteen lines
Nate/Dan/Blair. 421 words. R.
Summary: Dan's kind of paralyzed by everything this could mean, everything that could change.
Note: Found this on my compooper and I hadn't posted fic in a while, so thought I might as well. I'm in a bit of a writing rut lately, blah.
The first time Nate kisses him, they're seventeen and drunk on piss-poor beer. Dan got Nate to talk about books, to reproduce in his rough voice familiar words like Fitzgerald and East Egg and class struggle.
Nate doesn't get it and Dan strives to explain and in the end Nate kisses him to shut him up, everything yellow under the streetlamps.
The foyer at the Waldorfs' is dim and quiet. Part of him hadn't expected to find Blair awake and part of him is disappointed she is; his nervousness increases at the sight of her. He feels like he can't blink under the directness of her gaze.
Dan thinks too much. Dan's been thinking too much the whole night, wandering absently, and, looking at Blair, he's kind of paralyzed by everything this could mean, everything that could change.
Blair rolls her eyes, yanks him closer, and Dan stops thinking.
The first time Dan has sex with Nate he's twenty-one, drunk again, and in the closet. A literal closet (Blair Waldorf's closet, to be exact), escaping party sounds at first and then just giving in to each other.
He pulls at Nate's clothes, mouth hot at his throat, lets Nate fuck him in her closet, surrounded by her smell and her things. Dan's hand reaches out aimlessly for a hold on something, anything, and he catches a fistful of silver gown. He comes so hard he jerks it off the hanger, a cloud of satin falling over them.
Blair finds him at the loft, buried behind work at his desk. It's nearing three in the morning and Dan is getting light-headed and study-exhausted, so at first he's sure she's some figment of his brain until she's in his lap, until he's surrounded by the slick solid heat of reality.
He thinks of the crisp goodbye kiss of her one-time fiancé and kisses her messily, feels the smudge of her waxy lipstick on his chin. He imagines polite lovemaking and fucks Blair Waldorf as hard as he can, spurred on by her little gasps in his ear.
Dan expects the threesome to be dirty, pornographic, something to write to Penthouse about and feel thrilling, secret shame over. But it's just him and Nate and Blair in bed, her small body crushed between theirs, the silence of sighs and gasps. He would be terrified if Blair didn't look at him like she trusted him, if Nate's hand wasn't gently encouraging on Dan's hip.
He's sort of impossibly in love with the both of them.
Nate/Dan/Blair. 421 words. R.
Summary: Dan's kind of paralyzed by everything this could mean, everything that could change.
Note: Found this on my compooper and I hadn't posted fic in a while, so thought I might as well. I'm in a bit of a writing rut lately, blah.
The first time Nate kisses him, they're seventeen and drunk on piss-poor beer. Dan got Nate to talk about books, to reproduce in his rough voice familiar words like Fitzgerald and East Egg and class struggle.
Nate doesn't get it and Dan strives to explain and in the end Nate kisses him to shut him up, everything yellow under the streetlamps.
The foyer at the Waldorfs' is dim and quiet. Part of him hadn't expected to find Blair awake and part of him is disappointed she is; his nervousness increases at the sight of her. He feels like he can't blink under the directness of her gaze.
Dan thinks too much. Dan's been thinking too much the whole night, wandering absently, and, looking at Blair, he's kind of paralyzed by everything this could mean, everything that could change.
Blair rolls her eyes, yanks him closer, and Dan stops thinking.
The first time Dan has sex with Nate he's twenty-one, drunk again, and in the closet. A literal closet (Blair Waldorf's closet, to be exact), escaping party sounds at first and then just giving in to each other.
He pulls at Nate's clothes, mouth hot at his throat, lets Nate fuck him in her closet, surrounded by her smell and her things. Dan's hand reaches out aimlessly for a hold on something, anything, and he catches a fistful of silver gown. He comes so hard he jerks it off the hanger, a cloud of satin falling over them.
Blair finds him at the loft, buried behind work at his desk. It's nearing three in the morning and Dan is getting light-headed and study-exhausted, so at first he's sure she's some figment of his brain until she's in his lap, until he's surrounded by the slick solid heat of reality.
He thinks of the crisp goodbye kiss of her one-time fiancé and kisses her messily, feels the smudge of her waxy lipstick on his chin. He imagines polite lovemaking and fucks Blair Waldorf as hard as he can, spurred on by her little gasps in his ear.
Dan expects the threesome to be dirty, pornographic, something to write to Penthouse about and feel thrilling, secret shame over. But it's just him and Nate and Blair in bed, her small body crushed between theirs, the silence of sighs and gasps. He would be terrified if Blair didn't look at him like she trusted him, if Nate's hand wasn't gently encouraging on Dan's hip.
He's sort of impossibly in love with the both of them.