084. i say a little prayer for you
Title | i say a little prayer for you
Chapter | 1/1
Rating | pg-13
Characters | Nate. Nate/Quinn.
Summary | Maybe this can be reality.
Notes | Originally posted here.
Nate has a type.
He used to pretend he didn’t because he likes girls, in general, but the truth is that he likes them best when they’re blonde and leggy and just a little bit tragic.
He first sees her at a party.
There’s a student band, a lame one, and they’re playing Journey songs out in the quad as the sun flickers and fades from the sky.
She’s leaning back against a wall, dirty blonde hair braided messily and big sunglasses on over her eyes. The dress she has on hits her mid-thigh and the wind keeps flirting with its hem. In one hand, she’s holding a bottle of beer - disdainfully, between two fingers, like she doesn’t really want it.
He sidles up to her and offers a smile. “How’s the party?”
She glances over at him, one eyebrow arching impressively. “That is your pick-up line?”
Nate blinks, a little surprised by how scathing she sounds. “It was just a question.”
Lifting her free hand, she brushes her hair out of her face and pushes her sunglasses up on top of her head. Her eyes startle him - he is expecting blue but instead he counters a pretty hazel-y colour. Those eyes linger on his face for a breath and then all of a sudden she’s rising onto her tiptoes and pressing her mouth very lightly to his.
Her eyelashes flutter, so close to his, and just when he’s reaching out, his hands going instinctively to her waist, she steps back and out of reach.
“That was just a kiss,” she says, sunglasses sliding back over her eyes as she turns away from him.
He returns the kiss on a Tuesday, when he literally runs into her coming out of Psychology 1001. They’re blocking the doorway to the classroom but he really doesn’t care.
She looks ready to slap him, so he just kisses her again, smiles against her lips. She tastes like lemonade and he loves that.
“You can’t kiss a guy and not even tell him your name.”
“I was drunk,” she says breathlessly.
“Off one beer?”
Her smile quirks mysteriously. “I’m a lightweight.”
“Nice to meet you.” He is daring; he touches her hair, tucks it being her ear, instead of offering her a hand to shake. “I’m Nate.”
She laughs, tilts her head so that she’s leaning into his touch a bit.
When he sees her after his first soccer game, he can’t help his grin.
“Don’t flatter yourself.” She lifts her chin. “I was a cheerleader in high school. It seemed too weird not to come to a game.” She opens her purse and pulls out a cellophane-wrapped cupcake, iced in blue, and hands it to him. “Congrats on winning the game.”
Nate feels his eyes widen. “You made me a cupcake?”
“In my dorm’s kitchen. It might not be the good.”
He shoots her a look of barely-disguised awe. “You’ve gotta tell me your name.”
She touches his cheek and her fingertips are soft against his skin, tracing meaningless patterns before her knuckles brush against the scruff on his chin. “You remind me of someone,” she says very softly, her voice warm and wistful.
The first time he ever sees her in a pair of jeans, he’s sitting on the steps outside a building and she’s walking away from him. They’re dark denim and hip-hugging and holy crap. He thinks of Chuck, briefly, thinks of tap that ass when he calls out to her, “Hey, pretty girl!”
She laughs at him because he has foam from his latte smeared above his lip, but he smiles when he sees the way her lips quirk and the twinkle in her eyes. He offers her a taste of his drink and presents his mouth to her when she says yes.
He knows what the inevitable looks like.
Sex happens in his dorm room, not hers, exactly one month before Christmas.
Lying with her clothes scattered with his in a mess on the floor and her blonde hair splayed over his pillow, she is quiet and a little shaky. Her eyes glow amber in the moonlight. Nate eases his hands and his mouth over her body, waiting for her to relax.
They’re sober - minds clear, eyes bright. He can’t quite remember how they ended up here.
“Are you…”
Her breath keeps catching in her throat. She meets his eyes but he can’t quite understand the message she’s trying to convey to him.
Nate pushes himself away a bit and wonders about her for a moment. “Do you want to stop?”
“God, no,” she breathes, her eyes flying toward the ceiling momentarily. One of her legs hooks around one of his, the sole of her foot sliding against his calf.
He leans in to kiss her, says, “Let me…”
The end of that sentence remains undetermined, but her tongue sweeps into his mouth and she swallows his sentiment along with the groan that leaves his throat when she arches her back beneath him.
She’s getting dressed when he wakes up in the morning. He’s bleary-eyed and still half-asleep when he reaches toward her and mutters, “Hey, what’re you doing?”
Her bra is a sharp red colour and he admires the way it contrasts with her pale skin. “I didn’t want this,” she whispers, but there’s a sharp note in her voice. “High school was…” She shakes her head. “I did not come here for complicated.”
“Neither did I!” he protests a little indignantly. “I came here for everything else.”
She glares at him for a moment, and then she sinks onto the edge of his mattress, still holding her shirt in her hands. Her eyes are two shades, a cautious mélange of defeat and hope. “My name is Quinn,” she says very softly.
They don’t tell each other about before.
He comes to know Quinn Fabray as she exists at eighteen years old, her hair shining in the California sunlight. He knows her as the girl who polishes off an entire bottle of wine with him one night when she tries to teach him to play guitar on the floor of her room, as the girl who lets him tangle his fingers in her hair. He falls in love with the melody of her voice, the taste of her skin, the rhythm in the way she walks.
And she knows Nate Archibald as the boy who steals cookies from meal hall on a daily basis, as the boy who makes a solid attempt to teach her how to play soccer and kisses her grass-stained limbs at the end of the day. He likes to think that she falls in love with the way he is often to lazy to shave, with the way his shirts smell when she wears them, with the way he can make her laugh and the way he still calls her pretty girl from time to time even though he knows her name now.
Christmas break means dinner with the Vanderbilts and visits to his father in jail. Serena is only around for two days out of the whole week and a half, and Chuck and Blair are still caught up in a cycle of on-again, off-again that Nate can only watch from the sidelines.
He is homesick for school, for the sun, for her.
She calls at midnight on Christmas and he tries to imagine her in Ohio when he teases and asks her to sing him carols.
Quinn makes study cards for his psych midterm.
“Would you rather,” she asks him, “be normal or extraordinary?”
He’s lying on his back on his bed, tossing a football in the air and catching it over and over again. He looks over at her, wearing a pair of his boxers with her shirt.
“Whichever one you pick,” he decides.
He sneaks her into the shower of his dorm one day after she beats him at soccer - he let her win, he really did, but then she giggled and said, “Semantics,” and she was too cute for him to keep trying to convince her.
He smiles at her under the steam of warm water - the space is small and she’s pressed against up, her face an inch or two away from his.
“Tell me your secrets,” he suggests, running his hands down her arms, her skin wet and slippery under his palms.
Quinn’s tongue curls against his. “You wish.”
They’re eating samosas at a tiny restaurant they’ve fallen in love with one night when the thought slips into his mind and then out of his mouth before he can help it, “Don’t you wish that this was real life?”
She bites back a smile and licks her lips. “Do you think that it’s a dream?”
“No, I just mean…I want to erase it all. Everything that happened before September.”
Her knees bump his under the table. “Maybe we can.”
After exams, Nate goes home in a private jet, and Quinn flies commercial back to Ohio.
He wears a blazer with the Vanderbilt crest on it - he has dinner with his grandfather as soon as he lands. He combs his hair and he shaves. When Quinn appears in the doorway of his room, her dress is long, past her knees, and her hair is not braided or loose but pulled up in a tight ponytail. There is a small silver cross resting against her neck.
Nate steals her hair tie, lets golden waves tumble onto her shoulders, and sinks a hand into her hair as they kiss.
“We have an expiration date,” she murmurs against his mouth, their teeth bumping.
He shakes his head. “This is just a vacation. We’re going to come right back here, to reality.”
She tilts her head a bit, considering him, and tightens her grip on the lapels of his blazer. “Promise me,” she says.
So he does.
She calls him two days later, on Skype. It’s mid-morning and he’s lying in bed - he has to haul his laptop onto the mattress in order to answer her call, blinking sleepily into the webcam.
“Na-ate…” Her lips curve into a pretty smile; her hair’s a mess from sleep and he misses her in a powerful rush. “Are you awake?”
He closes his eyes, still sleepy, still missing her, even as he promises, “Yes.”
There’s a moment of silence and then her voice, incredibly soft and a bit shaky at first.
The moment I wake up, before I put on my makeup, I say a little prayer for you...
Nate laughs and opens his eyes. He blows a kiss to the camera.
fin
Chapter | 1/1
Rating | pg-13
Characters | Nate. Nate/Quinn.
Summary | Maybe this can be reality.
Notes | Originally posted here.
Nate has a type.
He used to pretend he didn’t because he likes girls, in general, but the truth is that he likes them best when they’re blonde and leggy and just a little bit tragic.
He first sees her at a party.
There’s a student band, a lame one, and they’re playing Journey songs out in the quad as the sun flickers and fades from the sky.
She’s leaning back against a wall, dirty blonde hair braided messily and big sunglasses on over her eyes. The dress she has on hits her mid-thigh and the wind keeps flirting with its hem. In one hand, she’s holding a bottle of beer - disdainfully, between two fingers, like she doesn’t really want it.
He sidles up to her and offers a smile. “How’s the party?”
She glances over at him, one eyebrow arching impressively. “That is your pick-up line?”
Nate blinks, a little surprised by how scathing she sounds. “It was just a question.”
Lifting her free hand, she brushes her hair out of her face and pushes her sunglasses up on top of her head. Her eyes startle him - he is expecting blue but instead he counters a pretty hazel-y colour. Those eyes linger on his face for a breath and then all of a sudden she’s rising onto her tiptoes and pressing her mouth very lightly to his.
Her eyelashes flutter, so close to his, and just when he’s reaching out, his hands going instinctively to her waist, she steps back and out of reach.
“That was just a kiss,” she says, sunglasses sliding back over her eyes as she turns away from him.
He returns the kiss on a Tuesday, when he literally runs into her coming out of Psychology 1001. They’re blocking the doorway to the classroom but he really doesn’t care.
She looks ready to slap him, so he just kisses her again, smiles against her lips. She tastes like lemonade and he loves that.
“You can’t kiss a guy and not even tell him your name.”
“I was drunk,” she says breathlessly.
“Off one beer?”
Her smile quirks mysteriously. “I’m a lightweight.”
“Nice to meet you.” He is daring; he touches her hair, tucks it being her ear, instead of offering her a hand to shake. “I’m Nate.”
She laughs, tilts her head so that she’s leaning into his touch a bit.
When he sees her after his first soccer game, he can’t help his grin.
“Don’t flatter yourself.” She lifts her chin. “I was a cheerleader in high school. It seemed too weird not to come to a game.” She opens her purse and pulls out a cellophane-wrapped cupcake, iced in blue, and hands it to him. “Congrats on winning the game.”
Nate feels his eyes widen. “You made me a cupcake?”
“In my dorm’s kitchen. It might not be the good.”
He shoots her a look of barely-disguised awe. “You’ve gotta tell me your name.”
She touches his cheek and her fingertips are soft against his skin, tracing meaningless patterns before her knuckles brush against the scruff on his chin. “You remind me of someone,” she says very softly, her voice warm and wistful.
The first time he ever sees her in a pair of jeans, he’s sitting on the steps outside a building and she’s walking away from him. They’re dark denim and hip-hugging and holy crap. He thinks of Chuck, briefly, thinks of tap that ass when he calls out to her, “Hey, pretty girl!”
She laughs at him because he has foam from his latte smeared above his lip, but he smiles when he sees the way her lips quirk and the twinkle in her eyes. He offers her a taste of his drink and presents his mouth to her when she says yes.
He knows what the inevitable looks like.
Sex happens in his dorm room, not hers, exactly one month before Christmas.
Lying with her clothes scattered with his in a mess on the floor and her blonde hair splayed over his pillow, she is quiet and a little shaky. Her eyes glow amber in the moonlight. Nate eases his hands and his mouth over her body, waiting for her to relax.
They’re sober - minds clear, eyes bright. He can’t quite remember how they ended up here.
“Are you…”
Her breath keeps catching in her throat. She meets his eyes but he can’t quite understand the message she’s trying to convey to him.
Nate pushes himself away a bit and wonders about her for a moment. “Do you want to stop?”
“God, no,” she breathes, her eyes flying toward the ceiling momentarily. One of her legs hooks around one of his, the sole of her foot sliding against his calf.
He leans in to kiss her, says, “Let me…”
The end of that sentence remains undetermined, but her tongue sweeps into his mouth and she swallows his sentiment along with the groan that leaves his throat when she arches her back beneath him.
She’s getting dressed when he wakes up in the morning. He’s bleary-eyed and still half-asleep when he reaches toward her and mutters, “Hey, what’re you doing?”
Her bra is a sharp red colour and he admires the way it contrasts with her pale skin. “I didn’t want this,” she whispers, but there’s a sharp note in her voice. “High school was…” She shakes her head. “I did not come here for complicated.”
“Neither did I!” he protests a little indignantly. “I came here for everything else.”
She glares at him for a moment, and then she sinks onto the edge of his mattress, still holding her shirt in her hands. Her eyes are two shades, a cautious mélange of defeat and hope. “My name is Quinn,” she says very softly.
They don’t tell each other about before.
He comes to know Quinn Fabray as she exists at eighteen years old, her hair shining in the California sunlight. He knows her as the girl who polishes off an entire bottle of wine with him one night when she tries to teach him to play guitar on the floor of her room, as the girl who lets him tangle his fingers in her hair. He falls in love with the melody of her voice, the taste of her skin, the rhythm in the way she walks.
And she knows Nate Archibald as the boy who steals cookies from meal hall on a daily basis, as the boy who makes a solid attempt to teach her how to play soccer and kisses her grass-stained limbs at the end of the day. He likes to think that she falls in love with the way he is often to lazy to shave, with the way his shirts smell when she wears them, with the way he can make her laugh and the way he still calls her pretty girl from time to time even though he knows her name now.
Christmas break means dinner with the Vanderbilts and visits to his father in jail. Serena is only around for two days out of the whole week and a half, and Chuck and Blair are still caught up in a cycle of on-again, off-again that Nate can only watch from the sidelines.
He is homesick for school, for the sun, for her.
She calls at midnight on Christmas and he tries to imagine her in Ohio when he teases and asks her to sing him carols.
Quinn makes study cards for his psych midterm.
“Would you rather,” she asks him, “be normal or extraordinary?”
He’s lying on his back on his bed, tossing a football in the air and catching it over and over again. He looks over at her, wearing a pair of his boxers with her shirt.
“Whichever one you pick,” he decides.
He sneaks her into the shower of his dorm one day after she beats him at soccer - he let her win, he really did, but then she giggled and said, “Semantics,” and she was too cute for him to keep trying to convince her.
He smiles at her under the steam of warm water - the space is small and she’s pressed against up, her face an inch or two away from his.
“Tell me your secrets,” he suggests, running his hands down her arms, her skin wet and slippery under his palms.
Quinn’s tongue curls against his. “You wish.”
They’re eating samosas at a tiny restaurant they’ve fallen in love with one night when the thought slips into his mind and then out of his mouth before he can help it, “Don’t you wish that this was real life?”
She bites back a smile and licks her lips. “Do you think that it’s a dream?”
“No, I just mean…I want to erase it all. Everything that happened before September.”
Her knees bump his under the table. “Maybe we can.”
After exams, Nate goes home in a private jet, and Quinn flies commercial back to Ohio.
He wears a blazer with the Vanderbilt crest on it - he has dinner with his grandfather as soon as he lands. He combs his hair and he shaves. When Quinn appears in the doorway of his room, her dress is long, past her knees, and her hair is not braided or loose but pulled up in a tight ponytail. There is a small silver cross resting against her neck.
Nate steals her hair tie, lets golden waves tumble onto her shoulders, and sinks a hand into her hair as they kiss.
“We have an expiration date,” she murmurs against his mouth, their teeth bumping.
He shakes his head. “This is just a vacation. We’re going to come right back here, to reality.”
She tilts her head a bit, considering him, and tightens her grip on the lapels of his blazer. “Promise me,” she says.
So he does.
She calls him two days later, on Skype. It’s mid-morning and he’s lying in bed - he has to haul his laptop onto the mattress in order to answer her call, blinking sleepily into the webcam.
“Na-ate…” Her lips curve into a pretty smile; her hair’s a mess from sleep and he misses her in a powerful rush. “Are you awake?”
He closes his eyes, still sleepy, still missing her, even as he promises, “Yes.”
There’s a moment of silence and then her voice, incredibly soft and a bit shaky at first.
The moment I wake up, before I put on my makeup, I say a little prayer for you...
Nate laughs and opens his eyes. He blows a kiss to the camera.
fin