The Choices We Make

~1000 words :: Closer :: Dan/Larry :: 12/25/05
Though Alice and Anna are out of the picture, Dan and Larry can’t seem to escape each other. (Note: Commentary for this fic can be found here.)

Dan’s fingers scrabble at the desk, leaving sweaty smudges on the glass. It’s always the desk, or the patient’s bed, and always at the office – if you don’t count the first time, and Dan never does. Larry is nothing if not predictable. Out of the corner of his eye Dan can see something fall to the floor. Papers, maybe, since there’s not a crash. The only sounds are Larry’s grunting and the little noises Dan wishes he didn’t make when Larry’s cock brushes over his prostate.

He’s going to hurt when he gets home. He’s going to ache all night. Larry might have been exaggerating when he said nine inches, but he’s not what anyone would call small. When Rachel rings tonight and asks Dan if he wants to come round, he’ll say no, rough day at work. He won’t say, “I’m completely knackered as I’ve spent the afternoon being buggered senseless by the man who ruined my life.”

At one point, he might have, but Dan’s gone quite off honesty now.

He has to pull himself off if he wants to come. He’s never been able to come just from being fucked and Larry never touches him when they’re fucking. Not his cock, anyway. Larry keeps his hands on Dan’s hips. Big hands, rough hands, hands that Anna hated, or said she hated; Dan’s not sure what the truth is anymore. Larry’s fingers dig in hard enough to bruise and Dan is running out of excuses Rachel will believe. There’s only so many times you can run into your desk, especially with both hips.

But Rachel wants to believe. She’s not like Dan, who’s always doubted. If he’d believed Alice, maybe she wouldn’t be gone. But he believed Larry. He chose Larry, in a way, though he never imagined it would end up like this, with them fucking in Larry’s office every chance they get.

The first time, they’d both been pissed. Completely wasted. This has never been something Dan’s done sober, not even at uni when he fucked as many blokes as girls. It’s not something he does sober now, though today he’s only had a couple beers.

He hadn’t planned it, that first time. In fact, he hadn’t planned on ever seeing Larry again, and had been more than a little pissed off to find the bastard drowning his sorrows in the same fucking pub as himself.

All Dan remembers after that is a row, and then outside, an aborted fight that ended with Dan shoved up against the wall. He remembers snogging, grinding, and at some point asking Larry back to his. He remembers the worst hangover of his life, and being convinced it would never happen again.

He’d gone that afternoon to Larry’s practice, and it was like the fucking hair of the dog. Another fuck to get you over the first, and anyone could see where that was bound to end up.

It ends up with Dan knowing how Larry sounds when he’s about to come, the way he pauses when it hits and then fucks Dan through it. Just like that. And Dan’s nearly there himself, hand moving furiously on his cock, thighs so tense they feel like they’re about to snap. It’s inevitable; it happens like this every time.

Afterwards, they’re both panting, Larry’s forehead resting on Dan’s back and Dan’s breath fogging up the glass desk. They stay like that until the awkwardness is nearly palpable and they have to move.

“I have patients to see,” Larry says, snapping off the condom.

Dan casts about for a tissue, but of course Larry never has tissues out. Dan thinks he does it on purpose. In the end, he manages to haul his trousers half-up with his free hand and hobble over to the little toilet to clean up in there.

“How’s Anna?” he asks, because nothing takes the sting out of humiliation like needling Larry.

“Dunno,” Larry says. “Haven’t heard from her lately.”

“She’s seeing someone.”

“Is she?”

Having produced tissues from out of nowhere, Larry is wiping handprints off his desktop when Dan finally rejoins him. There’s a certain morbid satisfaction in knowing Larry can’t needle him about Alice in return.

“Nice fellow,” Dan says, shrugging into his coat. He snorts. “Nothing like us.”

“You’ve met him?” That’s got Larry’s attention.

“Oh yeah,” Dan says, like he sees Anna all the time. Like he’d maybe had dinner with her and not just run into her at the shops. Anna had introduced Dan as “someone I worked with”, not “my ex-lover” or “the reason I left my second husband” or even “a friend”. Anna seemed to have gone off honesty, too. Dan doesn’t really blame her. Not for that, anyway.

“What’d he look like?” Larry asks after a few moments.

“Blond,” Dan says, picking up his briefcase. “Very, very blond.”

Larry is silent at that and Dan can see the comparison’s already begun, knows that if he doesn’t get out of here soon, he’ll be asked questions like “Does he look like he’s got a big cock?” He doesn’t like to think about whether Larry compares himself to Dan when they fuck, but he bets he knows the answer.

He hates knowing Larry this well, hates that they know each other this well. He hates Anna for everything she ever told him about Larry and everything she ever told Larry about him. If it weren’t for Anna, they’d never have even met. Larry would just be another guy Dan had fucked around with on the internet.

If not for Anna, Dan would still be with Alice, slowly suffocating to death. He’s not sure which is worse.

The buzzer sounds and, making his way around his desk to pick up the phone, Larry says, “That’ll be my five o’clock.”

And it’s Dan’s cue to leave. He doesn’t say “see you” or “bye” or even “fuck you, you miserable cunt”, all of which are on the tip of his tongue, jostling and crowding each other. He turns and leaves, doesn’t say any of it.

He never does.