Fanfiction: "Beach" (Duke/Nathan)
15 Feb 2015 08:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
whatevermortalBeach
Duke Crocker/Nathan Wuornos | Haven | G | 226 words | AO3 link
Their first kiss tasted like scotch.
Their first kiss tasted like scotch. Nathan remembers the burn of it in his throat, the flavour like leather and used band-aids on his tongue, the wet warmth of Duke’s mouth. He remembers sand between his toes, in his hair, down the back of his pants.
He remembers the salty smell of the ocean and the musk of Duke’s deodorant.
He remembers Duke’s heavy-lidded gaze and the lazy, contented curl of his lips and the strands of hair ever-falling into his eyes. How Duke had revelled in stealing even booze from his deadbeat absentee father, how it had seemed perfectly natural to lean forward and press their mouths together.
It had been a rebellion of his own then, that first time, but Duke had made an open, pleased sound, had curled his hand around Nathan’s head, drawn him closer still and lengthened, deepened the kiss. Nathan had countered, pushed back, found himself lying on the beach with Duke straddling his lap. He’d—liked it.
He’d fallen a little in love.
It’s hard to pretend he didn’t, when he can recall it so clearly, when it makes his heart beat faster, when it sharpens his senses until he can smell and taste and hear and see it all, but the bitter edge that accompanies the memory makes it easier to pretend he’s fallen out of love since.
Duke Crocker/Nathan Wuornos | Haven | G | 226 words | AO3 link
Their first kiss tasted like scotch.
Their first kiss tasted like scotch. Nathan remembers the burn of it in his throat, the flavour like leather and used band-aids on his tongue, the wet warmth of Duke’s mouth. He remembers sand between his toes, in his hair, down the back of his pants.
He remembers the salty smell of the ocean and the musk of Duke’s deodorant.
He remembers Duke’s heavy-lidded gaze and the lazy, contented curl of his lips and the strands of hair ever-falling into his eyes. How Duke had revelled in stealing even booze from his deadbeat absentee father, how it had seemed perfectly natural to lean forward and press their mouths together.
It had been a rebellion of his own then, that first time, but Duke had made an open, pleased sound, had curled his hand around Nathan’s head, drawn him closer still and lengthened, deepened the kiss. Nathan had countered, pushed back, found himself lying on the beach with Duke straddling his lap. He’d—liked it.
He’d fallen a little in love.
It’s hard to pretend he didn’t, when he can recall it so clearly, when it makes his heart beat faster, when it sharpens his senses until he can smell and taste and hear and see it all, but the bitter edge that accompanies the memory makes it easier to pretend he’s fallen out of love since.
