Work Text:
August 2017
Will isn’t sure exactly when he started wanting to kiss Derek Nurse.
Because the thing is, wanting to kiss him is very different from actually thinking about wanting to kiss him. He doesn’t really know when either started, mostly because he never got so far as to give himself permission to consider the difference until earlier this year.
But it has to have started somewhere, sometime. Will just has no idea when.
It could have been the moment he saw him, on the taddy tour, in his Andover shirt and his cardigan and his stupid green hat. He remembers thinking how everyone must love a guy like him, how things must come so easy with his money and his nice clothes and charisma, and he remembers deciding there’s no way he could ever be friends with a guy like him. Teammates, sure. Acquaintances, maybe. Friends? Hard fucking pass.
It could have been their freshman fall semester, during any of the endless arguments they had over nothing and everything, spitting vitriol at each other across the bus seats or hotel rooms or team spaces they were forced to share. If his heart started pounding, cheeks flushed or ears burned, he told himself then, it was only because he was so angry.
It could have been the moment he decided maybe he didn’t completely hate Nurse, the night that same semester he caught him mid-panic attack over finals and the need to achieve and Will’s first reaction wasn’t to tell him to fuck off immediately. They sat together against the radiator at the Haus, shared a Gatorade, and breathed in time.
It could have been at a party, any number of kegsters in the sweaty Haus, watching Nursey dance with girls and guys alike and registering his own disgust at how easy it was for them to get him— no, for him to get them. For him to be himself. It could have been any of the moments he looked at Nursey and resented him, for looking so much like he had it all, for the fact that everything seemed to come so easily to him.
It could have been during a celly, hugging him blindly without thinking, or while lugging him up the stairs on Nursey Patrol with Nursey’s drunk, wandering hands all over him and not pushing him away. It could have been when they split his bunk in their cramped, shared room a few too many times.
It could have been a stolen glance at a tattoo, at a stray curl protruding from a beanie or a cap. It could have been the warm autumn afternoon junior year when he realized how nice Nursey’s eyes look in the sunlight. It could have been any of the times Derek made him laugh.
All he knows is that by the time he said I love you for the first time, on the tail-end of a phone call, staring at the sunrise over the Gulf of Maine on a hazy summer morning three months ago, words that slipped out without even thinking about it, like he’d said them a hundred times before— by then, he had been thinking about it.
He’d been thinking so much about it.
And then he did it.
He did it for the first time, in Derek’s room in New York, fresh in from a drive down for a week’s visit they planned on a whim. It was the culmination of two months of phone calls and texting and yearning across hundreds of miles of east coast, a trip scheduled for no other reason than the overwhelming want to see each other. Their first kiss was nothing like he ever imagined his first kiss with Derek would be; it was soft and romantic and unexpectedly tender in a way that left Will wanting more.
He kissed him again before bed that night, and again in the morning. He kissed him on the New York street and in Derek’s favorite little hipster coffee shop. He kissed him on the ferry they took out in the harbor, and many, many times in the solace of Derek’s room in the brownstone with the giant window that opened to the city.
He kissed him goodbye when he left to go home to Maine. A month later, last weekend for pre-season move-in, he kissed him hello.
It felt good to do that.
Now, today, he lies with Derek in their room, both tucked into the small space of the bottom bunk, flush and skin to skin against each other’s chests. It’s warm under the covers, and they’re tangled in each other’s bodies; Derek has his hands around Will’s waist and Will has a comfortable handful of his dark, curly hair. Derek is propped half on top of him, his leg stretched somewhere across him under the covers.
They kiss lazily, because they have all the time in the world today with nowhere to be. Derek’s mouth is warm on his own, and it’s a little wet, too, but Will is too far gone to mind. Derek has soft lips and gentle hands (except when they’re, very agreeably, not gentle), and each kiss sends a little fire into Will’s stomach. He’s never wanted anything more.
It’s Sunday, standard moving day for the non-athlete, non-freshman population of Samwell University. Tomorrow means the start of classes, of real team events that aren’t just pre-season, of responsibilities.
But today, all there is is honey-colored morning light dancing through the window, a warm bed, and Derek in his arms.
They’ve been dating for two months, officially, but he still finds it hard to wrap his head around the fact that this is his life now.
Will rubs his thumb at Derek’s stubbly jaw, rooting his fingers firmly in the curls behind his head. Against his mouth, Derek lets off an agreeable hum, then tugs him impossibly closer by the waist. His kiss is the kind of thing Will feels like he could get drunk off of. They’re warm limbs tangled, wandering mouths and hands.
Derek pulls gently back and tucks his face into Will’s neck, a welcome sensation that still makes his stomach flutter as Derek presses kisses into its crook. One, two, three by his collarbone, then a trail up to his jaw and the faint remainder of his meager summer facial hair. I like it , Derek had said, both hands on his face, one night in his room in New York. It’s hot.
Now, Derek smiles against his cheek, then hums, “Freckles.”
Will laughs. He pulls him back up to his mouth. Derek slides his tongue into the kiss and it’s a very, very welcome feeling.
He’s just— fuck — he’s such a good kisser, so effortless and tender and romantic all at once, and he has been from the start, and Will shouldn’t be surprised that it drives him crazy, but God, it fucking does. And he’s never loved a feeling more in his life.
Between kisses, without really pulling off his lips at all, Derek murmurs, “Love you, babe.”
Will kisses him again— but all at once he’s hit with a rush of unbelief, that this is my life now sentiment that keeps coming back to him time and time again. For three years, he pined (and lusted) after Derek, and for three years he did everything he could to convince himself he could never and would never have him.
And now here he is, the day before the first day of senior year, in bed in his arms.
Will pulls off his mouth and shifts back, just a little, to meet his eyes. The morning light hits Derek just right through the window; his brown skin is warm, and his eyes are the green, murky sea framed by long eyelashes, and his arm is covered in ink, and he’s. He’s everything.
“I love you too,” Will says, slowly.
Something changes in Derek’s expression, but it’s subtle and soft. “You okay?” he asks, in a voice not much louder than a whisper. “You need to stop?”
“ No , no,” Will says, “sorry. I just…”
He pauses. Runs his thumb across the band of Derek’s tattoo. Licks his lips. Derek kisses his cheek.
When his words come, they’re, “I never thought I could have this.”
Derek smiles.
“Oh, Will,” he mumbles, then pulls him in. Will lets himself be handled; he’s safe with him, always safe with him. “Me neither.”
The next kiss is soft. When they pause to breathe, Derek adds, “But you can.”
“I know,” Will hums.
“You can have this all the time.” Derek tips back a little, smiles at him across the pillow. “Ch’know?”
Will laughs at him— a soft, welcome thing that he feels in his chest. “Yeah. I— yeah.”
“Here.” Derek pulls one hand off his waist to bring it up to their faces, his pinky extended. Will knows what this means. He catches Derek’s pinky with his own, and they link and squeeze, and Derek kisses the other side of his own hand.
“You and me, Dexy.”
Will hums his contentment. “You and me.”
Derek drops their hands after a final tug of his finger, then pulls him back in again. “Can I kiss you again?”
“Ayuh.” Will nods. He’s already halfway there. “Of course.”
Later this morning, there will be a knock at the door and a visit from Chowder and a subsequent crash of their snuggle time for favor of frog time. There will be Tango busting through the front door with Dunkin Donuts and an unofficial team gathering in the kitchen. There will be anticipation and groaning over classes starting tomorrow. There will be chirping and laughing, sounds of the Haus coming to life after a long summer.
But for now, all there is is Derek and Will.