beautifulandnew | (no subject)

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Part of me thought there might have been a possibility that 'takeout and crafts' had taken on a new meaning. Perhaps it was code now, a less hip version of 'Netflix and chill'. Much, much less hip, considering the source.

Once inside Danny's apartment, however, it quickly became pretty clear that there was no hidden meaning. There was takeout and there was crafting paraphernalia.

It's been a week and I'm no less confused now than I was then. Maybe even a bit more so right now, sitting here, neither of us having actually acknowledged what had happened. Is he expecting me to play along? Eat and drink and cut construction paper and never speak of it? Is that what he plans to do? Or has he blocked it out? Did he have more to drink that night than I realized? Because there's a whole movement and hashtag now that I would potentially have to answer to.

Maybe agreeing to come was a bad idea. I'm not sure I'm prepared to pretend to deal with takeout and crafts if all it really is is takeout and crafts. I'm not sure I'm prepared to deal with the alternative either.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Because there's no point in trying to resist temptation after what we've done, I run my hands up the full length of his abs and chest, fingers splayed. Moving back down again, I go slower, fingers tracing the chiseled lines and dips of his physique. If I spend an extended amount of time on The V when I get there, who can blame me?

Exhaling a breath, I finally slide off of him, laying down on my side with my head propped up on one hand. I use the other to stroke the inside of Danny's forearm, fingertips just barely ghosting across his skin.

"Now what?" I ask. Not the clean up, the scavenger hunt for discarded clothing or how to get out of the building without running into Peter if he did happen to hear something. Longterm, I mean. Are things going to be weird now? Different? Once the haze of lust clears do things go back to normal? Or as normal as can be expected for Danny.

Danny raises his head, curious as to what's holding so much of Hedwig's attention down there. Especially as he's still sitting on the most obvious answer.

Unable to tell, he drops back down and shuts his eyes when Hedwig alights. The question isn't exactly a surprise one but Danny had been hoping it wouldn't come up so soon.

"Now we pray," he murmurs. "Dear God, I know, I know, no sex before marriage, but You're never gonna win that argument with me. I'm sorry, I'm just, I tried marriage, Man, and we both know how that turned out. Anyway, thank You for giving us these moments on earth to enjoy such intense and erotic-- this is Hedwig, by the way. Yeah, that Hedwig. He's still a heathen, so you probably won't recognise him." He sighs. "Okay, listen, thanks for not smiting me. Thanks for joining us in a very satisfying sexual union. I feel very fulfilled right now. I think we both feel very--"

Danny's eyes pop open at Hedwig.

"You, y'know," he whistles jauntily, brows wiggling, "at the end, right? For real? No faking?"

My hand stops for a moment when he actually starts praying. Splayed out naked, still wearing a used condom, after lying with...definitely not a woman. How is it possible to be racked with so much Catholic guilt, but zero shame? What was the point? It seems unnecessarily exhausting.

Smiling, my fingers begin moving once again. "You didn't pay. I have no obligation to stroke your ego by faking." Or stroke anything else for that matter. I did what I wanted to, because I wanted. And all reactions were genuine. "Can you ask him why he put the prostate where he did, just to have his friends go and make sodomy a sin."

"Sh--Hedwig!" That's just what Danny needs, the good Lord hearing about Hedwig's wanton side business. "He didn't mean pay," he reassures the ceiling, "don't listen to him, okay. I'll check back in later, amen."

If Hedwig's going to start talking about sodomy, then Danny definitely doesn't want the spiritual phone line to remain open between him and the heavens.

He pinches his eyes, then drops the hand to his chest, his other twitching minutely as Hedwig tickles his skin.

"What's the prostate got to do with it?"

Do all Catholics suffer from Stockholm syndrome? Does he always pray after sex? If so, how many woman has that stopped from coming back for seconds? His good looks can only get him so far.

"Spoken like someone who's never climaxed by having their stimulated." The only thing he's had up there is the metaphorical rod that typically keeps him so rigid and surly. "It doesn't matter. You know praying isn't an answer to my question. Don't act dumb."

"I didn't need to hear that," Danny winces, pushing himself up and skirting off the bed. He grabs a tissue from a nightstand, wiping leftover gel off his hands and dealing with the rest. He groans when he bends down to pick up his tee shirt and pulls a clean pair of shorts from a drawer.

"What do you want me to say?" He asks when he returns to the bed, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress by Hedwig. His shorts are on but the shirt is still clasped in his hands. It's clear from his quiet tone that he's asking genuinely.

"You can't fuck me and be a prude, Danny. That doesn't work." Maybe he's used to feeling like he's gotten one over on God this way, but I've never been shy about calling him on his bullshit.

"I don't want you to recite a specific answer... I just know that I don't want another week like the one I just had." I didn't know how to talk to him, so for the most part, I didn't. I couldn't send him inappropriate jokes from the internet that made him reply back in caps lock, I couldn't invite him out to a bar or club he would have declined anyway. And it's most likely my fault if I really stop and think about it. I left before either of us could get to 'now what?'. "Next time you invite me over to paint birdhouses or something, is that all you mean?"

Since the moment we met, I've made it more than abundantly clear that I was attracted to him. While it may not have seemed like it, least of all to him, I knew there were boundaries and I never acted on it. Now, things are blurred. After this, I don't know if I'm allowed to act, or if this was just something he needed to get out of his system.

Danny looks at the wall as he listens. He'd hated the past week too; Hedwig has somehow become a fixture in his life like few people have ever managed to do. Not seeing or really speaking to him just made Danny realise how much he means to him. And that's a part of the problem.

"You're very important to me, Hedwig," he says. "I care about you a lot." He has from the very start, which is odd for Danny. "You remember that bust up we had in Darrow and you didn't speak to me for weeks?" He continues, looking over at him. At the end of the day, what Danny may or may not want is not the most important factor to consider.

"I think if we allowed things to change between us, chances would be very high that we'd end up there again."

Sitting up, I grab for a pillow a set it across my lap, suddenly hyperaware and uncomfortable with having this conversation naked. Especially when he's already gotten half dressed.

"And things not changing between us guarantees that you won't ever say something offensive or overstep your place? That's why we fought before." He's not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but there's no denying that he's changed. He's more open-minded and accepting. If having sex with me isn't proof enough of that, I don't know what is.

"You fuck up and you learn from it or you don't... Either way, things won't end up there again, whether or not this continues."

It doesn't guarantee that, Danny thinks, but it does safeguard their friendship. If they draw a line here, they can't grow too attached and hearts can't get involved. Danny's single and hates not just his ex-wife but a few of his ex-girlfriends too. Surely that's enough proof that starting something with a friend is too risky.

He lifts a hand only to drop it back to his lap, at a loss.

"How can you be so sure?"

"If things would have been reversed and you had been the one stuck in Darrow after I had vanished, you'd be sure, too." Instead, he got to go back home, to his friends and family. That probably made it easier to forget. But he was really all I had. There was the band, but they were paid to put up with me.

"When you left I spent months regretting the time I wasted being pissed off at you. Not that you didn't deserve it." It's so disgustingly cliche that I almost hate admitting it, but tomorrow is never guaranteed. It's not like Danny had died, but there had never been a way of knowing when, if ever, I would see him again. And instead of making the most of whatever time we did have, I squandered it.

"I fucked up. I'd like to think I learned from it."

And that's the other part of the problem. Danny knows--no, he can feel that Hedwig wants him, and honestly, it feels amazing. Who doesn't want to be wanted? It's powerful. And stirring. But Danny is still racked with nerves and uncertainty and he refuses to make promises to someone he cares about that he doesn't know if he can keep.

But it's so powerful.

When Danny returned, he found out that Mindy remembered nothing. It hurt, a lot. He'd been too afraid to seek out others in case they didn't remember either. His FBF not recognising him would have absolutely broken his heart. And besides, maybe Mindy was right and it had all been some sort of mental breakdown.

And then suddenly Hedwig was back in his life and he remembered everything. Danny's not too manly to admit that he cried that day and there wasn't a dying fisherman in sight.

He inches a hand across the mattress until he can stretch out a fingertip and just reach Hedwig's foot. He rests it there.

"I missed you too."

"But." It's not a question. It's a statement of the fact that I know it's there, even if Danny doesn't say it. I don't really need or necessarily want to hear what would follow. There's no reason for it. He's already given more than enough responses to it over the course of the night. We started with him laying out all the reasons why not, and we're back for seconds. Whatever happened between the two is a blur.

Danny turns his body towards Hedwig, shifting a bent knee onto the mattress. He leaves his hand where it is.

"Okay, listen. I've only ever thought of myself in one way before, and change is, is, it's, I'm in a pond, okay, I've always been in a pond but you're in the ocean and I'm..." He shrugs sheepishly. "I don't know if I'm cut out for the ocean."

"Then stay in your pond, Danny. How can someone have this many reservations about something but still manage to get their tongue that far down my throat?"

At this point, I feel like I'm suffering from whiplash. I'm a heathen in God's eyes but also we're too good of friends to risk ruining things and he's worried about his heterosexual pond cred. How does he keep all of his issues contained in such a small body?

"I'm not asking you for anything. I'm telling you to tell me what you want next. If you want to chalk this up to something you needed to get out of your system for whatever reason and move on with painting bird houses, then do it."

"I don't know what to say," Danny replies softly, and right now that's as honest as he can be when asked what is it that he wants.

"I know I don't want, to not be able to do this," he says, rubbing Hedwig's foot. "And I don't want to not be able to do this," he strokes his hand along Hedwig's forearm before it moves up to his shoulder via his chest. "Or this," he continues, leaning forward on his knee to wrap both arms around him in a hug, one that lacks any kind of hesitation.

And we're back here again, hugging until it feels better. It worked so well the first time.

I hug him back, because it's apparently what he needs. I think I hugged my own mother a whole three times in my life and two of those were more accidents really.

"Do you plan on telling me when you figure it out?"

Danny drops a kiss onto Hedwig's shoulder in lieu of a verbal response and keeps rubbing his back. He hadn't been sure whether touching him like this now would be welcome or rejected but he's relieved it's the former.

"Instead of worrying about what next," he says, pulling back but keeping his face close to Hedwig's, "can't we focus on what now?" Danny presses a kiss to Hedwig's lips, mouth closed. The heated intensity of before has been replaced with a deep sense of caring. "Is this OK? Are you gonna stay this time?"

"Reversing the words and saying them in a lower, gravely tone doesn't change the meaning. That's what I asked and your answer was praying." That was even more useless than the hugging.

"I don't... know if staying is the best idea," I admit. Do I want to? Maybe. I'm not sure I can tell right now. It probably won't hit me until I'm on the other side of the door. Either way, whether I want to or not has nothing to do with it being a good idea.

"This is exactly what I was afraid of, things becoming awkward between us. I don't want that," Danny sighs, sitting back and tossing his t-shirt on the bed. "I should've finished praying," he grumbles, like it would have made a difference.

"What would that have solved?!" If anything had been awkward, it was the praying. Seriously, who does that? While naked. "Stop whining. It's not awkward. You're looking for issues that don't exist."

"So then stay," Danny argues, shoulders lifting and arms spreading like he's literally laying out the solution in front of Hedwig. "If it's not awkward, then I, I think you should stay." He lets out a rush of air, struggling to find the right words. "I want you to stay."

"You don't know what you want until I make a decision on something. Then what you want is conveniently the opposite of that." It's selfish and manipulative, even if he isn't consciously aware of what he's doing. If he is aware, it's even worse.

"No more praying."

"Sorry, I'm sorry," Danny is quick to reply, giving Hedwig's upper arms a squeeze and then holding his face for just a second. It doesn't seem to matter what he says, it's the wrong thing. "I'm overthinking everything. Stay but only if you want to. No praying, promise."

He gets up, hands on his waist, wondering if he should keep talking. He thinks better of it and turns to finish picking up their discarded clothes.

"Stop apologizing. It means less every time you do it. And stop overthinking." I would tell him to stop cleaning, but if he stopped for it in the heat of the moment then there's probably nothing that will keep him from it now that the moment has come and gone.

Climbing off the bed, I locate my shorts before tossing the pillow aside. Sliding back into them, I flop back down on the bed in order to do them up. For a quiet moment I just stare at the ceiling, considering what to say next. I don't want to make things worse or 'awkward', since that's clearly something he has strong feelings about. Our threshold for that sort of thing clearly doesn't match up.

"I do want to stay," I eventually remind him. I told him earlier that I didn't leave because I wanted to the last time I was here. I felt like I needed to, mostly for my own sake, and that feeling isn't gone.