swimming is fine! /lame-ass reference
Nov. 8th, 2009 09:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tachycardiactitle: as for the photograph
author:cridecoeur
pairing: jamie/nathaniel
word count: 843
rating: pg
Jamie’s laying on the pond dock, wood warm beneath his body, his arms hanging over the edge and his hands trailing through water, watching his own wavering reflection when Nathaniel finds him. He doesn’t even bother to ask what’s wrong this time, which, considering how Jamie took a swing at him, the last time they saw each other, would only be fair. Instead he just sits down beside him cross-legged, tossing a stone from one hand to the other. He seems unfairly put-together when Jamie’s feeling strung-out and hot and sick to his stomach - a feeling that’s becoming routine around Nathaniel, and Jamie doesn’t like it.
Jamie rolls over onto his back, scooting so that his head’s resting against the dock, warmer against prickly, short hair, and closes his eyes. He sees diffuse orange light through his eyelids, sun high in the sky, and baking his headache away. He probably looks as hellish as he feels - he wouldn’t know, he’s been carefully avoiding looking at himself in mirrors, as if he’d see it in his own face and make the whole thing real and final. As long as he doesn’t look at it, he doesn’t have to acknowledge it - he can pretend it flat doesn’t exist, which is working pretty well for him so far.
The quiet gets to him eventually - it always does; Nathaniel can out-wait him, any day - he opens one eye to look at Nathaniel, sideways and upside-down, and says, “Hey,” his voice sounding rough even to his own ears.
“Hey,” Nathaniel says. He tosses the rock up in the air and catches it with the same hand, then brings his arm back and tosses it into the pond. Jamie rolls to one side and props himself up on his elbows, turning his head to watch the rock sink into green-algae water. The rock makes it three-quarters of the way across the pond, water rippling gently away. Not bad.
“So,” Nathaniel says - Jamie can see the side-ways look Nathaniel’s giving him, from the corner of his own eye; he doesn’t quite feel like looking at Nathaniel full-on either: another thing that’d make it too-real, “You gonna tell me what’s wrong or am I gonna have to knock it out of you?”
Jamie considers his options carefully before saying, “Keith’s just giving me shit, again.”
Nathaniel snorts, giving Jamie and a disbelieving look, and says, “Keith’s always giving you shit. Doesn’t ever make you this much of a bitch. Try again.”
Jamie scowls at the water in lieu of scowling at Nathaniel, and says, “Well, maybe I don’t want to talk about it,” because he really, really doesn’t, with Nathaniel least of all. He’s not even happy acknowledging it to himself.
“Maybe you don’t,” Nathaniel says, “and maybe I don’t care,” giving Jamie a look that clearly says start talking.
Jamie finally turns his scowl on Nathaniel and, shit, that’s a mistake. Nathaniel’s nut-brown in the sun, his hair a dark tangle around his face, eyes sharp and intent, his sleeves pushed up to bare his forearms, sinew obvious beneath the skin, patches of skin bare beneath his worn jeans, and he’s worked up a sweat doing something - maybe he’d run after Jamie; who knew? - so his forehead’s shining with it and his hair’s sticking to his temples. He looks good, and Jamie wants nothing more than to wind his fingers in his hair and lick the salt-taste from his mouth.
Shit.
“Yeah, well, maybe I’m not going to tell you, anyways,” Jamie says in his you know I’m a hell of a lot more stubborn than you voice and turns back to face the water - anything, anything, but Nathaniel.
“Alright, then,” Nathaniel says, rolling to his feet, and Jamie thinks, for a moment that he’s just going to leave him there - he isn’t about to watch him walk away, so of course he doesn’t see it coming when Nathaniel grabs him the back of his shirt and pulls him to his feet.
Jamie gets as far as saying, “What the hell,” before Nathaniel has him upright and off-balance and - shit - tumbling off the dock and into cold and muddy water. The cold water’s such a shock he nearly inhales a lung-full of it, and he takes a few, desperate kicks, his clothes heavy and dragging him down, before he manages to get his bearings and re-orient himself to the surface, then a few more kicks before he breaks the surface, spluttering and sucking down air - air that he really wishes were warmer because the water was fucking icy.
Nathaniel’s smirking down at him from the dock, arms crossed and feet spread, looking totally smug - Jamie takes it back: he doesn’t want to kiss the asshole, he wants to break his nose.
author:
cridecoeurpairing: jamie/nathaniel
word count: 843
rating: pg
Jamie’s laying on the pond dock, wood warm beneath his body, his arms hanging over the edge and his hands trailing through water, watching his own wavering reflection when Nathaniel finds him. He doesn’t even bother to ask what’s wrong this time, which, considering how Jamie took a swing at him, the last time they saw each other, would only be fair. Instead he just sits down beside him cross-legged, tossing a stone from one hand to the other. He seems unfairly put-together when Jamie’s feeling strung-out and hot and sick to his stomach - a feeling that’s becoming routine around Nathaniel, and Jamie doesn’t like it.
Jamie rolls over onto his back, scooting so that his head’s resting against the dock, warmer against prickly, short hair, and closes his eyes. He sees diffuse orange light through his eyelids, sun high in the sky, and baking his headache away. He probably looks as hellish as he feels - he wouldn’t know, he’s been carefully avoiding looking at himself in mirrors, as if he’d see it in his own face and make the whole thing real and final. As long as he doesn’t look at it, he doesn’t have to acknowledge it - he can pretend it flat doesn’t exist, which is working pretty well for him so far.
The quiet gets to him eventually - it always does; Nathaniel can out-wait him, any day - he opens one eye to look at Nathaniel, sideways and upside-down, and says, “Hey,” his voice sounding rough even to his own ears.
“Hey,” Nathaniel says. He tosses the rock up in the air and catches it with the same hand, then brings his arm back and tosses it into the pond. Jamie rolls to one side and props himself up on his elbows, turning his head to watch the rock sink into green-algae water. The rock makes it three-quarters of the way across the pond, water rippling gently away. Not bad.
“So,” Nathaniel says - Jamie can see the side-ways look Nathaniel’s giving him, from the corner of his own eye; he doesn’t quite feel like looking at Nathaniel full-on either: another thing that’d make it too-real, “You gonna tell me what’s wrong or am I gonna have to knock it out of you?”
Jamie considers his options carefully before saying, “Keith’s just giving me shit, again.”
Nathaniel snorts, giving Jamie and a disbelieving look, and says, “Keith’s always giving you shit. Doesn’t ever make you this much of a bitch. Try again.”
Jamie scowls at the water in lieu of scowling at Nathaniel, and says, “Well, maybe I don’t want to talk about it,” because he really, really doesn’t, with Nathaniel least of all. He’s not even happy acknowledging it to himself.
“Maybe you don’t,” Nathaniel says, “and maybe I don’t care,” giving Jamie a look that clearly says start talking.
Jamie finally turns his scowl on Nathaniel and, shit, that’s a mistake. Nathaniel’s nut-brown in the sun, his hair a dark tangle around his face, eyes sharp and intent, his sleeves pushed up to bare his forearms, sinew obvious beneath the skin, patches of skin bare beneath his worn jeans, and he’s worked up a sweat doing something - maybe he’d run after Jamie; who knew? - so his forehead’s shining with it and his hair’s sticking to his temples. He looks good, and Jamie wants nothing more than to wind his fingers in his hair and lick the salt-taste from his mouth.
Shit.
“Yeah, well, maybe I’m not going to tell you, anyways,” Jamie says in his you know I’m a hell of a lot more stubborn than you voice and turns back to face the water - anything, anything, but Nathaniel.
“Alright, then,” Nathaniel says, rolling to his feet, and Jamie thinks, for a moment that he’s just going to leave him there - he isn’t about to watch him walk away, so of course he doesn’t see it coming when Nathaniel grabs him the back of his shirt and pulls him to his feet.
Jamie gets as far as saying, “What the hell,” before Nathaniel has him upright and off-balance and - shit - tumbling off the dock and into cold and muddy water. The cold water’s such a shock he nearly inhales a lung-full of it, and he takes a few, desperate kicks, his clothes heavy and dragging him down, before he manages to get his bearings and re-orient himself to the surface, then a few more kicks before he breaks the surface, spluttering and sucking down air - air that he really wishes were warmer because the water was fucking icy.
Nathaniel’s smirking down at him from the dock, arms crossed and feet spread, looking totally smug - Jamie takes it back: he doesn’t want to kiss the asshole, he wants to break his nose.
