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new wilby wonderful story
Title: Close
Fandom: Wilby Wonderful
Rating: PG-13
Paring: Duck/Dan
Summary: "What do you like?"
About 1000 words. Thank you to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lyra_sena for beta, and dsudis for discussion, clarifying, and my favorite line. Spoilers for the movie, natch.
Read at my site or below.
*****
I.
"What do you like to do?"
His breath was hot against Dan's ear, his hands firm and steady as they worked into Dan's trousers.
"Whatever," Dan managed to spit out. He kept his eyes tightly shut. "Anything."
"Can I suck you?" His hands were in Dan's shorts now, strong and urgent on Dan's erection; Dan pushed forward into it as the guy started to stroke him.
The guy. Like Dan didn't know who he was, like Wilby was big enough for any of them to be anonymous. But anonymity was part of the whole point of these nights at the Watch, so Dan was willing to pretend he had never seen this guy before, that he didn't know this was Duck MacDonald, that he painted, that he came into the video store every other week and rented old classic movies.
Pretending was easy. He had lots of practice.
It was dark at the Watch, and they were over by the trees, so it was easy to pretend about that, too, that there was any pretense of privacy happening. If he listened, he could hear the noises of the other men not so far off, their moans and heavy breaths and sex sounds.
It was always better not to look at it too closely. Not to think about it too closely.
"Yeah," Dan said, "go ahead, do it," and he didn't open his eyes then either.
II.
"It takes time for people," Duck said.
Duck's hand was slow and gentle across Dan's face. He only touched Dan for a a few seconds, but Dan's breath seemed to come oddly anyway. Even after Duck's hand left his face, returning to hang loosely between his own legs, Dan thought he could still feel Duck's fingers, as if even that light touch had somehow burned the impression of his fingertips into Dan's skin.
"It's rough," Duck said softly. He was still smiling; he had been almost since he came into the motel room.
"Sorry," Dan mumbled.
"No, I like it," Duck said, and now his face was serious.
Dan looked at him for a moment and finally said, "I like westerns."
"What do you mean?"
"Something I like," Dan said. "I like western movies." It was a stupid thing to say; he wasn't sure why Duck was here, not really, or why he was telling Duck anything.
But Duck was nodding along. "That makes sense. You're kind of a cowboy." Dan laughed a little at that, disbelieving, and Duck grinned and shrugged. "A quiet cowboy."
Dan laughed at that, too, shaking his head.
Duck was still smiling; his face went slowly serious, and Dan could see it in his eyes before he leaned forward. They had never kissed, not in any of those times up on the Watch; those had been quick, furtive fumblings -- secret, ashamed, to the purpose. Dan didn't know what Duck was doing here, but it wasn't any of those things. Duck's hand on his face had been more intimate than any of the clandestine blowjobs or handjobs had ever been. It was real.
For a second Dan thought about it, kissing Duck back, but he couldn't go through with it, not when he could still hear those voices in his head, his wife and all the others, not when it still made him feel sick with shame all the way through. He jerked back before Duck could kiss him.
"I, no -- you should go. I, uh, sorry."
"No problem," Duck said. He still had that same look of unflappable calm.
"I have some things to do," Dan said, getting up from the bed. "I'll see you."
He locked himself in the bathroom and thought about the beams at the old French house.
III.
Duck picked him up at the hospital when he was released. Dan sat in the passenger seat of the truck and watched the island pass by his window as Duck drove. He hadn't always noticed how pretty the place really was.
Duck had music on very quietly, and neither of them spoke during the ride. Dan had gotten used to Duck's silent presence during his time in the hospital -- Duck had visited him almost every day, and sometimes they talked, sometimes even about important stuff, but sometimes they didn't. Duck didn't seem to have a problem with just being quiet; he seemed perfectly comfortable with silence and calm, never getting awkward about it, and Dan found that was a quality he appreciated a lot.
Sandra Anderson was standing in front of Iggy's Diner when they passed; she waved to them, and Duck smiled and waved back.
Some people gave the truck dirty looks, but fewer than Dan might have guessed. Most people just ignored them.
A few days ago Duck had brought him his mail. There'd been a letter from his wife, from Vancouver. Dan had sat in the bed, staring at it for a long time before he opened it. Duck had asked him if he wanted Duck to leave the room while he read it, but he shook his head. It had only been a couple of sentences, anyway, the beginning of the arrangements for the divorce.
Duck parked the truck carefully in front of his tiny house and killed the engine. They both sat in the still vehicle for a moment.
"I think I'm going to reopen the video store," Dan said.
Duck glanced over at him. He was smiling slightly. "Yeah?"
"You think anybody will come?"
Duck shrugged. He picked up Dan's hand and looked down at the two hands wrapped together. "I will."
Dan felt himself smiling at that, too. He squeezed Duck's hand and leaned forward to kiss him.
The kiss was gentle and slow and patient and it lasted a long while, and Dan kept his hand and Duck's tight together.
Fandom: Wilby Wonderful
Rating: PG-13
Paring: Duck/Dan
Summary: "What do you like?"
About 1000 words. Thank you to
lyra_sena for beta, and dsudis for discussion, clarifying, and my favorite line. Spoilers for the movie, natch.Read at my site or below.
*****
I.
"What do you like to do?"
His breath was hot against Dan's ear, his hands firm and steady as they worked into Dan's trousers.
"Whatever," Dan managed to spit out. He kept his eyes tightly shut. "Anything."
"Can I suck you?" His hands were in Dan's shorts now, strong and urgent on Dan's erection; Dan pushed forward into it as the guy started to stroke him.
The guy. Like Dan didn't know who he was, like Wilby was big enough for any of them to be anonymous. But anonymity was part of the whole point of these nights at the Watch, so Dan was willing to pretend he had never seen this guy before, that he didn't know this was Duck MacDonald, that he painted, that he came into the video store every other week and rented old classic movies.
Pretending was easy. He had lots of practice.
It was dark at the Watch, and they were over by the trees, so it was easy to pretend about that, too, that there was any pretense of privacy happening. If he listened, he could hear the noises of the other men not so far off, their moans and heavy breaths and sex sounds.
It was always better not to look at it too closely. Not to think about it too closely.
"Yeah," Dan said, "go ahead, do it," and he didn't open his eyes then either.
II.
"It takes time for people," Duck said.
Duck's hand was slow and gentle across Dan's face. He only touched Dan for a a few seconds, but Dan's breath seemed to come oddly anyway. Even after Duck's hand left his face, returning to hang loosely between his own legs, Dan thought he could still feel Duck's fingers, as if even that light touch had somehow burned the impression of his fingertips into Dan's skin.
"It's rough," Duck said softly. He was still smiling; he had been almost since he came into the motel room.
"Sorry," Dan mumbled.
"No, I like it," Duck said, and now his face was serious.
Dan looked at him for a moment and finally said, "I like westerns."
"What do you mean?"
"Something I like," Dan said. "I like western movies." It was a stupid thing to say; he wasn't sure why Duck was here, not really, or why he was telling Duck anything.
But Duck was nodding along. "That makes sense. You're kind of a cowboy." Dan laughed a little at that, disbelieving, and Duck grinned and shrugged. "A quiet cowboy."
Dan laughed at that, too, shaking his head.
Duck was still smiling; his face went slowly serious, and Dan could see it in his eyes before he leaned forward. They had never kissed, not in any of those times up on the Watch; those had been quick, furtive fumblings -- secret, ashamed, to the purpose. Dan didn't know what Duck was doing here, but it wasn't any of those things. Duck's hand on his face had been more intimate than any of the clandestine blowjobs or handjobs had ever been. It was real.
For a second Dan thought about it, kissing Duck back, but he couldn't go through with it, not when he could still hear those voices in his head, his wife and all the others, not when it still made him feel sick with shame all the way through. He jerked back before Duck could kiss him.
"I, no -- you should go. I, uh, sorry."
"No problem," Duck said. He still had that same look of unflappable calm.
"I have some things to do," Dan said, getting up from the bed. "I'll see you."
He locked himself in the bathroom and thought about the beams at the old French house.
III.
Duck picked him up at the hospital when he was released. Dan sat in the passenger seat of the truck and watched the island pass by his window as Duck drove. He hadn't always noticed how pretty the place really was.
Duck had music on very quietly, and neither of them spoke during the ride. Dan had gotten used to Duck's silent presence during his time in the hospital -- Duck had visited him almost every day, and sometimes they talked, sometimes even about important stuff, but sometimes they didn't. Duck didn't seem to have a problem with just being quiet; he seemed perfectly comfortable with silence and calm, never getting awkward about it, and Dan found that was a quality he appreciated a lot.
Sandra Anderson was standing in front of Iggy's Diner when they passed; she waved to them, and Duck smiled and waved back.
Some people gave the truck dirty looks, but fewer than Dan might have guessed. Most people just ignored them.
A few days ago Duck had brought him his mail. There'd been a letter from his wife, from Vancouver. Dan had sat in the bed, staring at it for a long time before he opened it. Duck had asked him if he wanted Duck to leave the room while he read it, but he shook his head. It had only been a couple of sentences, anyway, the beginning of the arrangements for the divorce.
Duck parked the truck carefully in front of his tiny house and killed the engine. They both sat in the still vehicle for a moment.
"I think I'm going to reopen the video store," Dan said.
Duck glanced over at him. He was smiling slightly. "Yeah?"
"You think anybody will come?"
Duck shrugged. He picked up Dan's hand and looked down at the two hands wrapped together. "I will."
Dan felt himself smiling at that, too. He squeezed Duck's hand and leaned forward to kiss him.
The kiss was gentle and slow and patient and it lasted a long while, and Dan kept his hand and Duck's tight together.
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