Fic: Chlorine (It's 3 AM, I Must Be Lonely)
Title: Chlorine (It's 3 AM, I Must Be Lonely)
Author: Aspen (humanhosepipe@gmail.com)
Pairing: Duncan/Logan
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,597
Summary: Let's twist again, just like we did last summer.
Spoilers/Warnings: For episodes 12 and up; I imagine this takes place in episode 13. Angsty with a side of blow job!
Notes: I had a dream that Duncan was gay and that's why he'd broken up with Veronica, so I stumbled out of bed and wrote this in a haze not dissimilar to Duncan's. I hope it doesn't seem implausible.
Finally, Duncan made up his mind. He rolled over and, sighing sleepily, pulled at the drawstring on Logan's pyjama pants. He'd gotten its careless knot undone by the time Logan clamped a hand on his shoulder and shoved him away, hard and cold.
"What are you doing."
"You can't sleep," said Duncan, propping himself up on one elbow. This was true. Logan was sitting there against the headboard in his wide, luxurious bed, his bedside lamp still on, an arm crossed over his bare chest, staring off into space. Duncan knew he was probably even twisting his bottom lip pensively with the fingers of his right hand. He'd seen Logan's dad doing that once, too, and it was a far cry from how rugged and heroic Mr. Echolls looked in the movies. After a moment, Logan focused his dark eyes onto Duncan and laughed. It was that vacant laugh that he always did at the most inappropriate times - like the absent-minded cousin of Logan's typical forceful laugh.
"How'd you know my tight pajamas were keeping me awake," drawled Logan, snorting softly and retying the drawstring into its artless bow with jerking hands. Duncan blinked a little, watching him do it.
"I just thought it'd help you sleep," he said lamely. For a minute, time seemed to crawl. His mind was a mess of memories and feelings that could never quite break the surface to become something real - it was often that way now that he was on anti-depressants. He remembered the foggy glass windows of Logan's poolhouse, the taste of chlorine on his tongue and in his throat, the uncomfortable heat of the previous summer and the terrifying feeling of having nothing else. It had been before Logan started dating Caitlin Ford and obsessing over her resemblance to a Barbie doll.
Time sped up again. Logan glanced at him. His eyes were flinty, his look almost a glare, but he seemed to soften after a moment of looking at Duncan.
"Gee, thanks, buddy. Best pal o' mine," he muttered, drawing his arms back up against his chest and looking off into his own thoughts again.
"Whatever." Duncan shrugged and rolled over again.
Closing his eyes made it dark, but really, he was still surrounded by gentle orange lamplight and the stony, stubborn thoughtfulness of Logan, sitting heavily next to him. It was hard to sleep; the one thought that Duncan couldn't help thinking over and over was that he just wanted to do it. To help. It was always weird to suggest it to Logan in any manner, though. Sometimes he was enthusiastic. He laughed his sharp laugh, like he found it really funny, clapped Duncan on the back, and said stuff like, Yeah, I could go for a suck right now. Knock yourself out, D.K. But sometimes he seemed reluctant - almost suspicious. The words Hey - you're not gay, are you, man? knocked around in Duncan's head every now and again. A lot of things fought for recognition in Duncan's head and so often, only things like that won out.
It had been a long time anyway, Duncan thought blankly, remembering Logan's skin tasting of chlorine and how much he hadn't cared about the chemical bitterness as he'd pulled his mouth clumsily over and over it. He remembered Logan's orange board shorts hanging off one knee and the summertime buzz in his ears and the trickle of sweat down his sideburn. Before Logan had become preoccupied with Caitlin, and Duncan tried to feel comfortable with Heather.
The memories instantly disappeared from Duncan's imagination when next to him, Logan shifted, and a second later the darkness of Duncan's eyelids became pure as Logan tapped the bedside lamp off. A familiar foot knocked against his under the duvet; Logan hunkered down between the sheets and flopped onto the pillow, after giving it a loud punch.
Now instead of a soft orange glow there was only the heavy sound of them breathing and the most plaguing thought of all. Logan's mom was dead.
That thought, that constant realization and remembrance, was going to be there for a long time, glimmering at him under the surface. Maybe not as long as Lilly's, Duncan thought. Lilly's dead still hurt, but it was dull and scarred. Logan's mom is dead was a fresh and awkward pain.
"Hey," said Logan. His voice vibrated ticklishly on the back of Duncan's neck.
"Yeah?" asked Duncan, opening his eyes. In Logan's dresser mirror he could see the dim blue numbers of the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was 2:49 in the morning.
"It's cool if you want to," Logan said, his voice was gravelly. It took Duncan a moment to process what Logan was saying; he rolled onto his back and tried to look at Logan's face in the darkness, but he could only see the sharp, dark silhoutte of Logan's skinny shoulder, his skin lit vaguely blue from the glow of the alarm clock. Suddenly Duncan could taste the chlorine again.
"Want me to?" he asked, unsure.
"Yeah, sure," said Logan easily. "It's been a while."
Like it had been a while since they'd gone surfing, or a while since they'd played GoldenEye.
When Duncan reached for the drawstring of Logan's pajamas this time, he found it untied again and Logan half-hard under the soft flannel. Duncan palmed at the shape of him briefly though the pyjama pants, then rolled himself, rustling noisily on the sheets, onto his stomach, chest half-pressed against Logan's side. His fingers felt clumsy in their eagerness as they tugged at the elastic of the waistband of Logan's pyjamas - he was always such a klutz when he was on meds, bumping into people in the halls at school and dropping his pencil and hardly realizing what he was saying sometimes. He didn't like the way his fingers felt heavy and tingling as they wrapped around the heat of Logan's hardening prick and pulled the waistband of his pyjamas down, down, down past the root of it. Logan didn't seem inclined to help.
Duncan breathed heavily for a moment, taking in the warm musky smell of someone else's cock and feeling his heart jam helplessly against Logan's waist as his fingers gingerly pulled Logan's cock into full hardness. Logan's cock was long, and grew slightly broader at the head - just like Logan. He swallowed, and then again, because his mouth was watering, and Logan was breathing in stressed breaths in time with Duncan's tentative stroking.
Logan always seemed determined not to make any noise when Duncan was sucking him off, probably because he didn't want Duncan to think he liked another guy getting him off. But Duncan could tell by the way Logan's breaths and body both hitched that he thought it felt good, being quickly and hungrily slurped down, like Duncan sucked him. The first time Duncan had ever sucked cock, it was Logan's cock and he'd been so drunk that he went after it like he was starved. Logan had dared him to, and had also been so drunk that when he came he'd shouted so loudly and raggedly that his father had pounded on the poolhouse door a few minutes later, telling them to keep it down so the neighbors wouldn't think someone was being murdered.
But now, Logan only breathed sharp, hissing breaths, even as the bulging head of his cock rubbed aginst the ridge in the roof of Duncan's mouth and Duncan's lips dragged up and down the length of him, sucking and pulling wetly. Duncan didn't care if he made noise, though - he didn't care if his mouth slurped, shining with precome and spit, and he didn't care if he moaned a little from the pleasure of his mouth being full of another boy's cock. He didn't even care that Lilly had probably done this to Logan, too, and maybe even Caitlin Ford. Even if it was bitter or tinged with the sharpness of pool water or marred with the flavor of alcohol, he liked the way Logan's cock tasted.
When Logan, whose fingers had found the back of Duncan's neck and were twisting painfully into his hair, flinched and came, coating Duncan's tongue and chin with dripping hot strings of spunk, Duncan glanced at the clock and saw that it was only 2:57.
Grasping for a Kleenex and panting, jaw aching in an incredibly satisfying way, Duncan collapsed onto his back and wiped his chin down, rubbing everywhere that felt sticky with the soft little scrap. When he was done, he offered it to Logan, who shook his head and gasped, voice breaking, "She's not dead."
Then he turned over, belly sticky, and went to sleep with his fitful breaths quickly subsiding.
Duncan turned over, too, and closed his eyes, his mind as much a muddle as it ever was. With his body burning, overheated, and the taste of Logan bitter and alive in his mouth, he shoved a hand into his own pyjama pants and wrapped it surely around his cock. He could suddenly remember what Logan said to him once, after they'd pulled into a rest stop along the highway in Logan's yellow jeep. Duncan had leaned over to take care of Logan's painfully hard cock and Logan had gasped, You like doing that, don't you?
At three in the morning, Duncan came against his own wrist and fumbled around his dick with the sodden, sticky Kleenex, gasping against the pillow. The saltiness in his throat was growing so bitter that all he could taste was chlorine.
- Fin
Author: Aspen (humanhosepipe@gmail.com)
Pairing: Duncan/Logan
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,597
Summary: Let's twist again, just like we did last summer.
Spoilers/Warnings: For episodes 12 and up; I imagine this takes place in episode 13. Angsty with a side of blow job!
Notes: I had a dream that Duncan was gay and that's why he'd broken up with Veronica, so I stumbled out of bed and wrote this in a haze not dissimilar to Duncan's. I hope it doesn't seem implausible.
Finally, Duncan made up his mind. He rolled over and, sighing sleepily, pulled at the drawstring on Logan's pyjama pants. He'd gotten its careless knot undone by the time Logan clamped a hand on his shoulder and shoved him away, hard and cold.
"What are you doing."
"You can't sleep," said Duncan, propping himself up on one elbow. This was true. Logan was sitting there against the headboard in his wide, luxurious bed, his bedside lamp still on, an arm crossed over his bare chest, staring off into space. Duncan knew he was probably even twisting his bottom lip pensively with the fingers of his right hand. He'd seen Logan's dad doing that once, too, and it was a far cry from how rugged and heroic Mr. Echolls looked in the movies. After a moment, Logan focused his dark eyes onto Duncan and laughed. It was that vacant laugh that he always did at the most inappropriate times - like the absent-minded cousin of Logan's typical forceful laugh.
"How'd you know my tight pajamas were keeping me awake," drawled Logan, snorting softly and retying the drawstring into its artless bow with jerking hands. Duncan blinked a little, watching him do it.
"I just thought it'd help you sleep," he said lamely. For a minute, time seemed to crawl. His mind was a mess of memories and feelings that could never quite break the surface to become something real - it was often that way now that he was on anti-depressants. He remembered the foggy glass windows of Logan's poolhouse, the taste of chlorine on his tongue and in his throat, the uncomfortable heat of the previous summer and the terrifying feeling of having nothing else. It had been before Logan started dating Caitlin Ford and obsessing over her resemblance to a Barbie doll.
Time sped up again. Logan glanced at him. His eyes were flinty, his look almost a glare, but he seemed to soften after a moment of looking at Duncan.
"Gee, thanks, buddy. Best pal o' mine," he muttered, drawing his arms back up against his chest and looking off into his own thoughts again.
"Whatever." Duncan shrugged and rolled over again.
Closing his eyes made it dark, but really, he was still surrounded by gentle orange lamplight and the stony, stubborn thoughtfulness of Logan, sitting heavily next to him. It was hard to sleep; the one thought that Duncan couldn't help thinking over and over was that he just wanted to do it. To help. It was always weird to suggest it to Logan in any manner, though. Sometimes he was enthusiastic. He laughed his sharp laugh, like he found it really funny, clapped Duncan on the back, and said stuff like, Yeah, I could go for a suck right now. Knock yourself out, D.K. But sometimes he seemed reluctant - almost suspicious. The words Hey - you're not gay, are you, man? knocked around in Duncan's head every now and again. A lot of things fought for recognition in Duncan's head and so often, only things like that won out.
It had been a long time anyway, Duncan thought blankly, remembering Logan's skin tasting of chlorine and how much he hadn't cared about the chemical bitterness as he'd pulled his mouth clumsily over and over it. He remembered Logan's orange board shorts hanging off one knee and the summertime buzz in his ears and the trickle of sweat down his sideburn. Before Logan had become preoccupied with Caitlin, and Duncan tried to feel comfortable with Heather.
The memories instantly disappeared from Duncan's imagination when next to him, Logan shifted, and a second later the darkness of Duncan's eyelids became pure as Logan tapped the bedside lamp off. A familiar foot knocked against his under the duvet; Logan hunkered down between the sheets and flopped onto the pillow, after giving it a loud punch.
Now instead of a soft orange glow there was only the heavy sound of them breathing and the most plaguing thought of all. Logan's mom was dead.
That thought, that constant realization and remembrance, was going to be there for a long time, glimmering at him under the surface. Maybe not as long as Lilly's, Duncan thought. Lilly's dead still hurt, but it was dull and scarred. Logan's mom is dead was a fresh and awkward pain.
"Hey," said Logan. His voice vibrated ticklishly on the back of Duncan's neck.
"Yeah?" asked Duncan, opening his eyes. In Logan's dresser mirror he could see the dim blue numbers of the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was 2:49 in the morning.
"It's cool if you want to," Logan said, his voice was gravelly. It took Duncan a moment to process what Logan was saying; he rolled onto his back and tried to look at Logan's face in the darkness, but he could only see the sharp, dark silhoutte of Logan's skinny shoulder, his skin lit vaguely blue from the glow of the alarm clock. Suddenly Duncan could taste the chlorine again.
"Want me to?" he asked, unsure.
"Yeah, sure," said Logan easily. "It's been a while."
Like it had been a while since they'd gone surfing, or a while since they'd played GoldenEye.
When Duncan reached for the drawstring of Logan's pajamas this time, he found it untied again and Logan half-hard under the soft flannel. Duncan palmed at the shape of him briefly though the pyjama pants, then rolled himself, rustling noisily on the sheets, onto his stomach, chest half-pressed against Logan's side. His fingers felt clumsy in their eagerness as they tugged at the elastic of the waistband of Logan's pyjamas - he was always such a klutz when he was on meds, bumping into people in the halls at school and dropping his pencil and hardly realizing what he was saying sometimes. He didn't like the way his fingers felt heavy and tingling as they wrapped around the heat of Logan's hardening prick and pulled the waistband of his pyjamas down, down, down past the root of it. Logan didn't seem inclined to help.
Duncan breathed heavily for a moment, taking in the warm musky smell of someone else's cock and feeling his heart jam helplessly against Logan's waist as his fingers gingerly pulled Logan's cock into full hardness. Logan's cock was long, and grew slightly broader at the head - just like Logan. He swallowed, and then again, because his mouth was watering, and Logan was breathing in stressed breaths in time with Duncan's tentative stroking.
Logan always seemed determined not to make any noise when Duncan was sucking him off, probably because he didn't want Duncan to think he liked another guy getting him off. But Duncan could tell by the way Logan's breaths and body both hitched that he thought it felt good, being quickly and hungrily slurped down, like Duncan sucked him. The first time Duncan had ever sucked cock, it was Logan's cock and he'd been so drunk that he went after it like he was starved. Logan had dared him to, and had also been so drunk that when he came he'd shouted so loudly and raggedly that his father had pounded on the poolhouse door a few minutes later, telling them to keep it down so the neighbors wouldn't think someone was being murdered.
But now, Logan only breathed sharp, hissing breaths, even as the bulging head of his cock rubbed aginst the ridge in the roof of Duncan's mouth and Duncan's lips dragged up and down the length of him, sucking and pulling wetly. Duncan didn't care if he made noise, though - he didn't care if his mouth slurped, shining with precome and spit, and he didn't care if he moaned a little from the pleasure of his mouth being full of another boy's cock. He didn't even care that Lilly had probably done this to Logan, too, and maybe even Caitlin Ford. Even if it was bitter or tinged with the sharpness of pool water or marred with the flavor of alcohol, he liked the way Logan's cock tasted.
When Logan, whose fingers had found the back of Duncan's neck and were twisting painfully into his hair, flinched and came, coating Duncan's tongue and chin with dripping hot strings of spunk, Duncan glanced at the clock and saw that it was only 2:57.
Grasping for a Kleenex and panting, jaw aching in an incredibly satisfying way, Duncan collapsed onto his back and wiped his chin down, rubbing everywhere that felt sticky with the soft little scrap. When he was done, he offered it to Logan, who shook his head and gasped, voice breaking, "She's not dead."
Then he turned over, belly sticky, and went to sleep with his fitful breaths quickly subsiding.
Duncan turned over, too, and closed his eyes, his mind as much a muddle as it ever was. With his body burning, overheated, and the taste of Logan bitter and alive in his mouth, he shoved a hand into his own pyjama pants and wrapped it surely around his cock. He could suddenly remember what Logan said to him once, after they'd pulled into a rest stop along the highway in Logan's yellow jeep. Duncan had leaned over to take care of Logan's painfully hard cock and Logan had gasped, You like doing that, don't you?
At three in the morning, Duncan came against his own wrist and fumbled around his dick with the sodden, sticky Kleenex, gasping against the pillow. The saltiness in his throat was growing so bitter that all he could taste was chlorine.
- Fin