Dark Harbor Fanfic: "All in the Preparation"
Title: All in the Preparation
Fandom: Dark Harbor
Characters: David/Young Man
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 1104
Summary: It's an addiction, he will inevitably say when he lights up, when he blows smoke rings into the air. David has his own addiction - to those slim hips and wide shoulders, to the tousled hair and the wry smirk - so he tries not to judge too harshly.
Notes: Pre-Movie. Written for smallfandomfest for the prompt "planning". In the movie, David's "young man" is never given a name. I finally had to give him one. I named him James.
All in the Preparation
by Severina
"Mr. Weinberg? There's a… gentleman here to see you."
David looks up irritably from the reports strewn across his desk, stabs a finger at the intercom. "I thought I made it clear that I wasn't to be disturbed."
"Yes, sir," Dalia says. She seems suitably cowed, and David is about to turn his attention back to more pressing matters than his secretary's inability to follow a simple command when Dalia's voice again sounds over the speaker. "He's just very insistent that… Sir! Sir! You cannot go in there!"
Even through the heavy oak door he can hear the scuffle in the anteroom. And it's with no surprise that he sees it is the boy who pushes the door open, who tumbles into the room and comes to a skidding halt on the carpet with Dalia hard on his heels.
"I'm sorry, sir, he just-"
"It's all right, Dalia," he says, doesn't look her way as he waves her off with a flick of his wrist. Because he can't take his eyes off the young man, his slouchy jeans and oversized cable-knit sweater and scuffed boots looking so out of place in the pristine, clean lines of his panelled office. He senses Dalia eyeing him worriedly; leans back in his chair, folds his hands on the blotter and doesn't speak until the door has clicked shut behind her.
"We've talked about this," David begins.
"You haven't returned my calls," the boy says petulantly.
David sighs, sits up straighter. "We've talked about that, too," he says patiently. "You simply cannot be calling me at home. You're lucky that I've been the only one to check the machine. If Alexis-"
"Fuck Alexis!"
"I'd really rather not," David mutters.
David watches with narrowed eyes as he boy draws his cigarette pack from his pocket, shrugs one of the cancer sticks into his mouth. No matter how many times he tells James that the smoking bothers him, that too many family members have died hooked up to machines and gasping out their last miserable breaths, the boy continues to defy him. It's an addiction, he will inevitably say when he lights up, when he blows smoke rings into the air. David has his own addiction - to those slim hips and wide shoulders, to the tousled hair and the wry smirk - so he tries not to judge too harshly.
Still, he hears the steel in his own voice when he says, "There's no smoking in my office."
The boy sneers around the unlit cigarette before plucking it from his lips. "You said we were going to be together!" The boy is all waving arms and fervent passion, flashing eyes. David can't fault him for it. That energy and vitality is, after all, what attracted him to James in the first place. But he still glances warily at the door, listens vainly for the tap of Dalia's fingers on the keyboard.
"You said you would do whatever it took to make that happen!"
"And I will," David says. "These things take time. I can scarcely just leave my wife. It requires meticulous preparation, planning-"
"Preparation. Planning," the boy spits out. "You know what I think, David? I think maybe you're just tired of me. Maybe you found somebody else."
David can feel the tension headache rising insistently, resists the urge to press fingertips to his temples. Not this again. "James-"
"Is that it, David? Did you find someone else to suck your cock?"
He swivels the chair away then, stares out over the skyline and watches his reflection in the glass. "Must you always be so crude?"
"You like me when I'm crude," the boy says.
The office is so quiet that he can hear the snick of the cigarette being tossed onto the desk behind him. It seems that in the space of one heartbeat to the next the boy has rounded the corner of the desk. David resolutely doesn't turn from the window, not even when the rattle of his zipper fills the silence, not even when a warm hand snakes inside his boxers and warm fingers wrap around his cock.
He thinks of Dalia answering phones in the outer office, of the unlocked door. He raises a hand, truly means to push James away. Then he shudders instead. Perhaps it is just an aptly timed flick of his wrist or the joy that comes from the warmth of a hand that's not his own touching him, or maybe it's because he finally turns away from the window to stare into the intensity of those sharp blue eyes. Maybe it's because in the end, he simply cannot deny his young man anything. So he sighs back into the chair, digs his fingernails into the leather upholstery when James drops to his knees and the boy's talented lips wrap around his dick.
Then the only sounds are from the boy's industrious and enthusiastic performance and his own stifled moans.
When James has left him a boneless quivering mass in the chair he pulls away, props his head on his thigh next to his now-limp cock. He licks his lips unselfconsciously, smiles smugly. The sight is so wanton, so decadent that David feels lightheaded, has to move his fingers from the arm of the chair to bury them in his palm.
"You don't want to give this up."
He doesn't. Not just the sex, though the sight of James looking so delectable makes him want to take the boy home, lay him out on the king-sized bed and explore every inch of him. Makes him want to push the boy onto the ornate desk and bury his cock in his ass, make him writhe and keen, leave him as weak and breathless as he currently feels.
Except that a messy divorce from Alexis will leave him without a home to share with his young man, and the scandal will leave him without a plush corner office at one of the city's most desirable firms. He'll leave the marriage with little more than the threadbare suits and rattle-trap car that he started with. He simply can't let that happen.
He lifts a hand languidly to swipe at the boy's full lips, considers for the first time raising the other, darker alternative that has entered his mind on many sleepless nights, when he lays listening to Alexis snore beside him and wishing it was the boy who shared his bed.
"There is," he says slowly, "a way that we may… hurry things along."
The boy smiles up at him, rests his cheek on his thigh. "I'm listening," he says.
.
Fandom: Dark Harbor
Characters: David/Young Man
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 1104
Summary: It's an addiction, he will inevitably say when he lights up, when he blows smoke rings into the air. David has his own addiction - to those slim hips and wide shoulders, to the tousled hair and the wry smirk - so he tries not to judge too harshly.
Notes: Pre-Movie. Written for smallfandomfest for the prompt "planning". In the movie, David's "young man" is never given a name. I finally had to give him one. I named him James.
All in the Preparation
by Severina
"Mr. Weinberg? There's a… gentleman here to see you."
David looks up irritably from the reports strewn across his desk, stabs a finger at the intercom. "I thought I made it clear that I wasn't to be disturbed."
"Yes, sir," Dalia says. She seems suitably cowed, and David is about to turn his attention back to more pressing matters than his secretary's inability to follow a simple command when Dalia's voice again sounds over the speaker. "He's just very insistent that… Sir! Sir! You cannot go in there!"
Even through the heavy oak door he can hear the scuffle in the anteroom. And it's with no surprise that he sees it is the boy who pushes the door open, who tumbles into the room and comes to a skidding halt on the carpet with Dalia hard on his heels.
"I'm sorry, sir, he just-"
"It's all right, Dalia," he says, doesn't look her way as he waves her off with a flick of his wrist. Because he can't take his eyes off the young man, his slouchy jeans and oversized cable-knit sweater and scuffed boots looking so out of place in the pristine, clean lines of his panelled office. He senses Dalia eyeing him worriedly; leans back in his chair, folds his hands on the blotter and doesn't speak until the door has clicked shut behind her.
"We've talked about this," David begins.
"You haven't returned my calls," the boy says petulantly.
David sighs, sits up straighter. "We've talked about that, too," he says patiently. "You simply cannot be calling me at home. You're lucky that I've been the only one to check the machine. If Alexis-"
"Fuck Alexis!"
"I'd really rather not," David mutters.
David watches with narrowed eyes as he boy draws his cigarette pack from his pocket, shrugs one of the cancer sticks into his mouth. No matter how many times he tells James that the smoking bothers him, that too many family members have died hooked up to machines and gasping out their last miserable breaths, the boy continues to defy him. It's an addiction, he will inevitably say when he lights up, when he blows smoke rings into the air. David has his own addiction - to those slim hips and wide shoulders, to the tousled hair and the wry smirk - so he tries not to judge too harshly.
Still, he hears the steel in his own voice when he says, "There's no smoking in my office."
The boy sneers around the unlit cigarette before plucking it from his lips. "You said we were going to be together!" The boy is all waving arms and fervent passion, flashing eyes. David can't fault him for it. That energy and vitality is, after all, what attracted him to James in the first place. But he still glances warily at the door, listens vainly for the tap of Dalia's fingers on the keyboard.
"You said you would do whatever it took to make that happen!"
"And I will," David says. "These things take time. I can scarcely just leave my wife. It requires meticulous preparation, planning-"
"Preparation. Planning," the boy spits out. "You know what I think, David? I think maybe you're just tired of me. Maybe you found somebody else."
David can feel the tension headache rising insistently, resists the urge to press fingertips to his temples. Not this again. "James-"
"Is that it, David? Did you find someone else to suck your cock?"
He swivels the chair away then, stares out over the skyline and watches his reflection in the glass. "Must you always be so crude?"
"You like me when I'm crude," the boy says.
The office is so quiet that he can hear the snick of the cigarette being tossed onto the desk behind him. It seems that in the space of one heartbeat to the next the boy has rounded the corner of the desk. David resolutely doesn't turn from the window, not even when the rattle of his zipper fills the silence, not even when a warm hand snakes inside his boxers and warm fingers wrap around his cock.
He thinks of Dalia answering phones in the outer office, of the unlocked door. He raises a hand, truly means to push James away. Then he shudders instead. Perhaps it is just an aptly timed flick of his wrist or the joy that comes from the warmth of a hand that's not his own touching him, or maybe it's because he finally turns away from the window to stare into the intensity of those sharp blue eyes. Maybe it's because in the end, he simply cannot deny his young man anything. So he sighs back into the chair, digs his fingernails into the leather upholstery when James drops to his knees and the boy's talented lips wrap around his dick.
Then the only sounds are from the boy's industrious and enthusiastic performance and his own stifled moans.
When James has left him a boneless quivering mass in the chair he pulls away, props his head on his thigh next to his now-limp cock. He licks his lips unselfconsciously, smiles smugly. The sight is so wanton, so decadent that David feels lightheaded, has to move his fingers from the arm of the chair to bury them in his palm.
"You don't want to give this up."
He doesn't. Not just the sex, though the sight of James looking so delectable makes him want to take the boy home, lay him out on the king-sized bed and explore every inch of him. Makes him want to push the boy onto the ornate desk and bury his cock in his ass, make him writhe and keen, leave him as weak and breathless as he currently feels.
Except that a messy divorce from Alexis will leave him without a home to share with his young man, and the scandal will leave him without a plush corner office at one of the city's most desirable firms. He'll leave the marriage with little more than the threadbare suits and rattle-trap car that he started with. He simply can't let that happen.
He lifts a hand languidly to swipe at the boy's full lips, considers for the first time raising the other, darker alternative that has entered his mind on many sleepless nights, when he lays listening to Alexis snore beside him and wishing it was the boy who shared his bed.
"There is," he says slowly, "a way that we may… hurry things along."
The boy smiles up at him, rests his cheek on his thigh. "I'm listening," he says.
.