Series: Points In Common
Fandom: Wilby Wonderful
Characters: Duck MacDonald, Dan Jarvis
Category: romance, sexual discovery, past trauma
Summary: Dan has large hands. Duck's always known that. Large hands with hair on the long fingers, warm even though his face is so pale, mostly smooth but just calloused enough to drag across Duck's skin and make him shiver. Duck comes to a realization.
A/N: Would make more sense if you've read Points In Common, esp. Part 5. For those of you who have read the story in the past and left encouraging comments, thank you and sorry for the long gap! This is a universe that I love to revisit.
Duck has an idea. Or, not really. More like a notion. An image in his head. Just a bare, floating thought that makes him pause in whatever he's doing for a split-second before he can go on again.
For the past five days, Duck hasn't been able to get it out of his head.
He doesn't usually think about things like this. He's not used to it. He keeps getting ambushed -- pulling on a sweater, starting up his car, in the shower, in the middle of dinner...
Dan has large hands. Duck's always known that. Large hands with hair on the long fingers, warm even though his face is so pale, mostly smooth but just calloused enough to drag across Duck's skin and make him shiver.
On Monday, watching Dan fold laundry, Duck can't help but tackle his husband to the floor. They haven't done that since the early days after they first got together -- and afterward they both remember why. Not that Duck regrets it, and he hears no complaints from his husband either.
On Tuesday, Dan bumps into him from behind while Duck's unlocking the door. He says sorry and automatically puts a hand on Duck's arm to steady them both. They wind up doing it in the living room.
On Wednesday, Dan brushes lint off Duck's sleeve.
On Thursday, it's the way Dan's squeezing out the last of the dish detergent.
On Friday, Dan doesn't even have to do anything. It's all in Duck's head, a rotating slideshow of images, half real memories, half just made up. "What's with you lately?" Dan says afterward, laughing as he lies rumpled in the middle of the bed with his clothes still mostly on. "Not that I'm complaining," he adds.
Duck doesn't give him an answer, just shrugs it away and lets him think whatever.
But he feels bad about that, somehow, because he realizes that there's no real reason not to tell Dan. It's just habit not to. Forty years of standing vigil over his family's honor and then over his independence (his secrets) have instilled the instinct to deflect and deny.
He's learned since getting together with Dan, though. Asking for things is as important as giving them.
So on Saturday night, while Dan's in the shower, Duck undresses and pulls the covers down and sits on the edge of the cleared space to wait.
He knows he's made the right decision when he notices that he's not even a little bit nervous like he'd thought in the way back of his mind he might be. He's just painfully, embarrassingly... ready.
Dan comes out in his dingy maroon bathrobe and heads for the dresser. Duck smiles at the tall man's obliviousness, wondering what he's thinking about this time.
"Do you remember where Sandra said she got that cheese?" Dan asks, opening the top drawer where his sweatpants are. "I was thinking we could--" He turns to glance at Duck then and his eyes widen in a way that is fantastic for Duck's ego. "Oh," he says, interrupting himself. And walks away from the dresser with the drawer still half-open.
Duck holds up one hand to forestall the pounce he can see Dan contemplating. "I, uh, I want to try something." He is a little nervous now, not sure how Dan will take it.
Dan's dying of curiosity, Duck can tell. But he just comes over and sits down and says, "Okay." One large hand lands on Duck's thigh and creeps upward. He smiles when Duck takes it away. Duck loves how confident Dan is now. When they'd first started dating for real, he had only dared hope the shy cowboy could be this playful with him. "What do you have in mind?"
For answer, Duck strokes Dan's hand, feeling each of the individual creases and imagining them against the sensitive skin of his forearm. "Put your hand around my wrist," he says.
There's a space of a few seconds where Dan stares at him with surprise, and Duck is worried that he's going to make Duck talk about something that Duck would have to go back fifteen or twenty years to really explain. But then, slowly, Dan complies. His fingers whisper over the back of Duck's hand like a caress, then sweep down and circle slowly around. His thumb misses meeting his middle finger by a mere centimeter. Duck thinks if Dan tried, he could close the gap.
Experimentally, Duck tugs at the hold. Dan immediately snatches his hand back, looking abashed. "Sorry."
"No," Duck says, taking Dan's hand and patiently replacing it. "Don't let go."
A troubled expression crosses Dan's face even as his fingers curl obediently, warm around Duck's wrist. "Are you sure?"
Duck looks him in the eye while replying, "Yeah, I'm sure."
Dan's never asked. Duck doesn't know how much he's guessed. Probably, Dan's got quite a bit of it wrong, but Duck's never felt right talking about it. After all, Dan has never said one word against his ex-wife. It was so long ago anyway, like someone else's life. He's realized that it doesn't touch them anymore. If anything, he should be surprised that he's never thought to try this before now.
"Harder," he says, his voice already gruff. The slideshow in his head is fading away, replaced by the very real and present sight of Dan's long fingers folded neatly around Duck's arm in the dim light of their two reading lamps.
"Y-Yeah? Tell me when," Dan says, still a little anxious, but starting to sound scratchy himself. He squeezes infinitesimally slow, but steady, like a vise being wound tighter and tighter.
Duck's eyes are glued to his wrist, where his flesh is molding around Dan's grip in weird humps and shadowed dents. The skin right around Dan's fingers is white, and he feels his hand starting to tingle. "That's good," he mutters shortly.
He takes Dan's other hand and lays it on his own cheek. He likes it there. He closes his eyes and turns his face, feeling the rasp of his bedtime stubble, breathing in the scent of Dan's sweaty palm. "Don't let go," he warns, before pulling his arm towards himself. When Dan fights to hold him and succeeds, he groans a soft note of appreciation.
Dan swears softly and shifts. Without opening his eyes, Duck finds his husband with his free hand and pulls him in. "Do me like this," he whispers into Dan's mouth. Just like he wants, Dan doesn't let him move his left arm, but when he tugs on Dan's shoulder with his right hand, he's able to tumble them down to the bed. Instinctively, Dan flattens his arm against the mattress, pinning him.
It feels like a punch in the gut.
"Come on," Duck grunts, suddenly urgent. Dying. He abandons his blindness and takes in the sight of Dan, red-faced and very much flustered. The front of his robe gaps open, the belt already loose from their movements, so Duck takes it as an invitation to open it all the way. The terrycloth sides tickle his stomach with each of Dan's breaths. "Been thinking about this. All week."
Dan's response is a gasp. "This is why...?"
"Yeah. Come on."
The hand Dan still has on Duck's cheek -- large and warm and strong -- hardens its grip, tilts Duck's chin sharply so that Dan can smash their lips together. It's less of a kiss and more of another point of pressure holding Duck down. Duck moans into Dan's mouth and grabs a fistful of Dan's hair with his free hand.
When he can speak again -- when Dan lets him speak again -- he pants, "Don't let go. Don't let go, damn it." His legs get tangled in Dan's robe as he wraps them around Dan's, holding him down so that he will keep holding Duck down.
"O-Oh, wow. You really..." Dan's eyes are wide and his mouth is a wet and astonished cavern that Duck wants to lick inside. He has to stretch a bit to do it, and then he feels the grip on his wrist loosen.
He tugs on Dan back by his hair. "Don't let go!" he growls again, exasperated.
The grip tightens obediently, and when Duck twists against it, Dan rears up and throws his weight into the hold. Simultaneously, he snatches Duck's other hand loose from his hair and pins it down right by Duck's ear. Duck feels the indent in the mattress from that cause his head to roll slightly to the side before he brings it back. Now he's the one staring.
Duck freezes for a fraction of a moment, suddenly afraid. Not afraid of Dan, but afraid that he will be -- and that he'll do something he swore he'd never do.
But the moment passes quickly, as soon as he recognizes the ridiculousness of it. Dan doesn't even notice it, because as soon as he's captured both Duck's wrists, he pushes Duck's legs apart with his own and settles into just the perfect position to make them both feel good.
"Fuck," Duck swears. "I can come from just this."
"Don't," Dan says, stilling himself with a grimace. He lets go of Duck's left wrist and reaches for the drawer of the end table on his side. Duck watches him and clenches and unclenches his fist. He shivers at the feeling of blood rushing back to his fingertips. And then Dan has him again, and he groans. "You told me you wanted something else," Dan reminds him. He kisses Duck, pressing Duck's wrists down hard when Duck arches up into him, forcing him to keep it gentle. "I'm a very obedient husband."
Duck's not the most imaginative of people, so he's not too surprised when his little slideshows are shown up in every possible way by the real thing.
"Shit," Duck utters, angling his left arm better into the light. They never got around to turning the lamps off, and after a brief nap, Duck woke to find gray smudges rising around his wrists, shading into purple on the left one.
"What? Oh, shit." Dan's tousle-haired and sleepy-eyed. Duck wants to lick the red creases across his face from the pillow. "We should get some ice on that."
"I'll be fine." Abandoning his perusal, Duck snaps his light off and puts his arms around Dan instead.
"No, really." Dan's pushing him away. "Does it hurt? I shouldn't have..."
"I'm fine. Just turn off the light and let's go to sleep."
"I can put some lotion on it, or--"
"Oh for god's sake, Dan." He rolls Dan around so he can spoon up behind and holds his husband down mainly by strength. "It's just some bruises."
Dan breathes loudly for a few seconds. "Is it?" he asks, his voice a little high with strain.
Duck kisses the back of Dan's neck, feeling such incredible fondness for this man. "Yeah," he says quietly. And even more fondness when Dan doesn't ask any further questions.
He feels Dan's body relax by degrees. "Okay," he says back, finally. This time, when he pulls away from Duck's arms, he lets him. Dan goes only as far as necessary to turn off his lamp, then settles back into Duck's arms.
It's minutes later before Duck groans.
Instantly, he feels Dan tense. He's probably about to ask -- again -- if Duck's all right, so Duck heads him off. "I'm fine. I just remembered, I'm running with Buddy tomorrow."
Dan chuckles. "He has to get up even earlier than you to meet you here. You can't complain."
"No, I'm going to have to explain to him."
"Yeah. Going to have to tell him how my lust-crazed monster of a husband wrestled me down. Spread me open and wouldn't let me get away. Forced his big, hot cock into me until--"
"Jesus, Duck, don't you dare. Are you crazy?" Dan struggles until he's turned around and looking in Duck's face. The whites of his eyes show in the moonlight.
Duck's laughing even as he rolls on top of his husband. God, Dan is so prim. He can't believe it sometimes.
He gets up just far enough onto his elbows to brush a soothing kiss over Dan's lips. "I'll just tell him we had a good time. Buddy has a good imagination."
"Relax." He threads his fingers through Dan's hair just to feel the strands twist and slide against him. "You gave me exactly what I wanted."
Dan smiles a bit and strokes a hand over his cheek. "I did, huh?"
"Every day, Dan. Every fucking day."
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