A/N: This is for the movie Floating, which almost no one has heard of. For the record, it is AMAZING and one of the best movies I've ever seen. Norman Reedus and Chad Lowe play the main characters AND you can find it on youtube in ONE PART. Just type in "Floating, movie" and there you go. So go watch it, and come back and read this fanfiction. Yes. :D Enjoy!
Also, this is just basically porn. Here you go.
They're at Doug's house, because Doug's family always seems to be out—shopping or walking around the lake or whatever it is financially well-off families do with their time. And because Van likes it there—likes how familiar everything is: how he can almost pretend he's a kid again.
Only, there's someone in his room who was never there before. And the knowledge of a particularly incriminating fap mag hanging between them. There's the knowledge of touches and glances that meant more than they were supposed to, and a whole list of subtext that's been brought to the surface.
Hanging out like this, one on one, it should be awkward and uncomfortable. But, really, it's just easy. It's easy to spend time with Doug. It's easy to laze the day away—to be so comfortable they don't even have to talk when they hang out: just being in the same room and enjoying each other's company is enough.
True to form, Van acts like nothing's changed—acts like he's not more than a little curious what's going through Doug's head.
"Y'got anything to eat around here?" Van asks, stretching like a cat on Doug's bed. And lord knows that should be awkward. He should not be sprawling across the covers like he does. He should not feel comfortable being around Doug in a thin tank top. But that's just how Van always dresses—when he's even wearing a shirt at all.
And if Doug wants to look, let him. Van doesn't mind.
Hell, he kind of likes the attention.
"Sure. Downstairs. Help yourself." He thumbs through the book in his hands, trying to find the place he left off. Van would be lying if he said he wasn't at least a little irked that Doug has been so damn interested in that book. Then again, it's not as if they've had much else better to do. It's been a lazy kind of day. Too hot to stay outside long, even in the water.
"Thanks." Van gets up and makes his way downstairs in search of food.
He comes back a few moments later, a banana in hand, and plops down on the edge of the bed so that he's sitting across from Doug. He'd say it wasn't calculated. Except he'd probably be lying.
Doug glances up at him before going back to his book.
"What're you reading?" Van asks, only half-interested. It's more that he wants to get Doug talking to him. He pulls back the banana peel.
"The Importance of Being Earnest—it's for English." Doug doesn't even glance at him.
Van laughs at that, shaking his head. "C'mon, man. It's summer. You don't have class again for months."
Doug shrugs, chuckling a little. "I like to get the reading done early. Besides, it's actually really good."
"Yeah, it must be," Van jokes, "Haven't gotten two words out of you since we got back." Okay so, oops—that wasn't meant to sound quite so serious. Oh well.
Doug snorts. "What, you jealous?" He does spare Van a glance, then, looking at him with a grin that stretches from ear to ear.
Van makes a disgruntled sound, but says nothing. He leans back on one arm and looks Doug up and down. Doug hardly notices; he buries his nose in his book.
And, yeah, it probably shouldn't bother him as much as it does. Just like it shouldn't bother him that Doug's knees are miles apart and the jeans he's got on leave almost nothing to the imagination. Just like it shouldn't bother him that Doug chews on fucking everything when he thinks and the way he's mouthing at his fingers should be illegal.
It totally shouldn't bother him.
And Jesus Christ, it does.
Van shifts his gaze to the banana in his hand and back to Doug. A smirk pulls at his lips when the light bulb goes off. His thoughts flit back to the magazine he found tucked under Doug's mattress—he wonders, absently, if the thing is still there—and he knows just how to get Doug's attention.
He starts out fairly inconspicuous, lapping at the edges, mouthing at the top: tasting, but not biting. He keeps his eyes on Doug as his mouth works. His lips trail up and down the fruit.
He might as well be performing to a brick wall. The guy is completely oblivious.
So he kicks it up a notch. He draws his tongue—slow, sensual, and feeling ten kinds of ridiculous and twelve kinds of determined—along the curve of the fruit, taking his time. And fuck if he doesn't feel like a complete idiot.
Doug happens to look up at the crest of his motion—just for a second. He does a double-take, completely convinced that he did not just see what he thinks he saw. When he looks again, Van's eyes are closed and his tongue laves at the tip.
It's taking all of the control Van has not to grin like an idiot; he's just so damned pleased with himself.
Doug swallows. He tries to look away—he really does. He turns his eyes back on the page but everything is gibberish, now: might as well be written in some ancient language. He can't help but drag his gaze back up to the scene in front of him.
And fuck, it's in his mouth. It's disappearing inch by inch and it takes all the control Doug has not to audibly moan. A shiver runs down his back straight to his groin.
He makes a tiny sound—a sort of whimper in the back of his throat—and it catches Van's attention. His eyes open, so that he's looking up at Doug through his lashes and fuck if it isn't the most predatory looking thing he's ever seen.
His breath hitches and he shifts in his seat, moving the book in an attempt to hide the half-hard bulge in his jeans.
Van pulls the banana back out when it gets too close to his gag reflex (yeah, okay, sure he's trying to do this right but he's never actually done this before. He's not a fucking prodigy, that shit is hard. No pun intended. — Okay, so, maybe pun a little bit intended).
He makes up for it, though, with what he does with his tongue—paying each curve of the banana individual attention. He keeps his eyes on Doug, quirking up an eyebrow in a kind of challenge.
Doug's mouth feels dry—painfully dry. He looks down at his book again in desperation but only manages to stare dumbly down at the page a few moments before being drawn back to Van.
Van stands up, kissing and licking his way up the fruit. He walks forward to stand right in front of Doug, in his space, so that the angle of their gaze steepens and Van seems to tower above him.
He looks down at Doug and sucks the tip of the banana into his mouth. Doug draws in a breath so fast it almost hurts.
And then Van is straddling him, pulling the book from his hand and dropping it carelessly on the floor beside them.
Doug tries to collect his thoughts, because this can't actually be happening, right? This has to be some kind of ridiculous wet dream. He's fallen asleep on the dock in the sun and at any moment Van is going to come kick him awake and hand him a joint and he'll try and be nonchalant about the boner and everything will go back to normal.
Only when he closes his eyes and opens them again, Van is still there: a heavy weight on his thighs, his face inches away and that fucking banana in his mouth. Van's cheeks hollow around it, and if he had the room to, he would probably smile—Doug can see the grin in his eyes.
Van pulls the banana from his mouth with a wet pop and stares, expectantly, down at Doug.
Doug opens his mouth as if to say something but his mind goes blank. He flounders for a second, opening and closing his mouth and completely unable to tear his eyes away from Van's.
After a moment Van rolls his eyes and chuckles. "You're not very good at this." He sets the banana down on Doug's desk and grabs Doug by the back of the neck, pulling him forward for a kiss.
Neither of them moves for a moment.
Doug realizes just how much he wants this. And how much he'd convinced himself that it was something he could never have. He realizes that Van's really here, kissing him, straddling him and he can hardly think straight.
Van—Van realizes how much he wants it. And how the things that should have freaked him out didn't even phase him. He realizes that this isn't some joke or game or whatever—this is really, actually where he wants to be.
And then Van's fingers are tangled in Doug's hair and Doug's hands are sliding up Van's shirt and they can hardly breathe for the force with which they press their mouths together.
At first, it's just lips: a less than gentle push and pull of pressure. Van nosing in closer and Doug arching up farther and nothing but heat and chapped lips and heavy breathing. Then Van pulls back just enough to bite at Doug's lip and his mouth falls open with a groan and Van lurches forward. He slips his tongue between Doug's teeth and searches his mouth like it belongs to him.
Doug fights a losing battle for dominance. He presses into the kiss and deepens it only to have Van pushing back against him, taking the lead like he always does, like he's always had to.
So Doug grinds his hips up against him, stealing the breath from his lungs. Van pulls back, just an inch, gasping for air against the sudden shock of sensation. His eyes widen and he looks at Doug like he can't believe where he is.
Doug takes advantage of his shock to surge forward and claim his mouth. And Van lets him. Doug pushes at his chest and Van half-climbs, half-falls off his lap and they stumble in the direction of the bed. Their legs get tangled up. Van feels the hard line of Doug's erection press against his thigh.
A short laugh escapes his lips and he grins down at Doug. His hands have hold of Doug's hips, but they're drifting downward fast. "Guess you liked that, huh?"
"Fuck, Van," he groans, burying his face in his neck. "Stop talking."
Van laughs again, but listens, busying his mouth—instead—with the sensitive skin along Doug's jaw. The backs of his knees bump against the bed but Doug just keeps going, pushing forward until they're falling back onto the mattress in a mess of limbs and lips and breathless kisses.
Now Doug is straddling Van and he puffs out heavy breaths, bracing himself with a hand on either side of Van's head. They're still for a moment, just staring: waiting for the other to move. And then a grin spreads across Van's face and he bucks up into Doug and Doug moans.
Then Van's hands are everywhere. They slip under Doug's shirt and pull it up over his head before roving his chest, his sides, the curves of his ribs. They trace lines from his collar to his hips, dip down into the small of his back and then up over his shoulderblades—sometimes dragging, sometimes barely touching, sometimes scratching their way across his skin.
All the while, Doug plants sloppy kisses on Van's mouth, along his jaw and neck. His hands drift down Van's chest to linger at the waistline of his pants. Van bucks up against him.
"Please," he says, breathless and throaty and raw. His hands fist in the sheets and he throws his head back. His breathing falters.
Now, it's Doug's turn to smirk. Doug's turn to move with purpose and slowness. He ducks his head to mouth at Van's collarbone, working downward to plant kisses on his chest. He hikes up the swimmer's shirt so his stomach is exposed and pays it particular attention, kissing and nipping at the flesh and fuck if he hasn't found an erogenous zone—Van arches into his touch and all but keens. His hands tangle in Doug's hair and his breathing becomes erratic.
Doug holds himself up with hands on Van's thighs, massaging the skin there—fingers slipping downwards and inward. Closer and closer.
Then he drops to press a kiss on Van's erection through his jeans and Van shudders.
"Fuck," he gasps, as Doug starts to mouth him through the fabric—his hands, all the while, rubbing small circles in the sensitive flesh of Van's inner thigh.
He sees Van just melt and he can't help but chuckle.
"What?" Van asks—breathy and really trying to be offended but just too far gone.
"I just," Doug sits up enough to look at him, a smile spreading unabashed across his face, "I guess I just always thought you'd be more—aggressive. You're a fucking puddle, man." He looks altogether too proud of himself.
"Oh yeah?" Van asks, and suddenly the predator's back—looking at him through too dark eyes. He sits up, so they're nearly nose to nose, and smiles. But it's a different kind of smile than the one Doug gave him; it's something more daring, more dangerous.
His hands are on Doug's shoulders and suddenly he's being shoved backwards into the bed. Van tugs his own shirt over his head in one swift movement before dropping down onto Doug. He kisses him—hard, and brief: so quickly that Doug chases his lips when he pulls away, searching for more.
Van moves his mouth, instead, to the long expanse of Doug's neck and bites down—not gentle, either, but enough to bring Doug's back arching up off the bed. Enough to pull the air from his lungs.
He doesn't slow down. If anything, Doug's reactions spur him on faster. His mouth stays on Doug's neck—licking at the bite he just gave, sucking bruises into the skin. His hands glide down Doug's stomach, undo his pants, and plunge under the waistline in a matter of seconds. Then he's got Doug's cock in his hands.
And, sure, he may be new to the whole gay thing, but he sure as hell knows his way around a handjob.
He uses his other hand—in combination with the unintentional buck of Doug's hips, to tug Doug's pants farther down his thighs.
Doug accidentally—at least, Van's pretty sure he doesn't mean to, because if he does mean to then he's one calculating little fuck—lifts one of his legs so that his thigh rubs against Van's erection and a near electric jolt of pleasure rushes up his spine.
"Shit," Van moans, "Do that again."
And the little shit must have done it on purpose because he sure as hell knows exactly what Van means. And then he's pumping Doug's cock in a rhythm not quite synced with the way he grinds against his leg and he's starting to feel a little overwhelmed.
And his fucking pants are still on, which is starting to become a problem.
"Fuck!" He barks, pulling back to fumble with the button on his jeans. Doug nearly laughs to see Van having so much trouble with it, but instead sits up, batting Van's hands away to do it himself.
He looks up at Van, through his eyelashes, looking altogether too similar to a view he'd seen just a few minutes before—with Van and that goddamn, ridiculous, beautiful banana that got them into this mess—and smiles.
"You're hopeless," he says, pulling the zipper down on Van's jeans.
"Yeah, yeah," Van scoffs, still a little flustered despite himself, "Because you're so smooth."
"I'm not the one who gave a blowjob to a fucking banana." He teases, breathless himself.
"You're right—I got a better idea." Van pushes his pants off his hips and suddenly Doug looks much more predatory than prey.
"Yeah, me too."