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Drew’s never considered himself a super romantic type.
Sure, he’s been in various romantic relationships, but the whole concept of romance has never tickled him more than any other person. It’s one of the many ways in which he’s average. Just Drew.
That’s why, when he has Danny straddling his lap, all heat and sweat and warm breath, his brain begins to malfunction a little. Whatever. Sue him. Settling a lawsuit would be much easier than draining his social battery over a few feelings.
Perhaps that shouldn’t be his main concern right now. First of all: Danny’s hair has been occupying his hand for an unusual amount of time. He’s been testing things with it. What started out as helping his friend has turned into this. Drew isn’t sure where his sudden fixation popped up from, but he accepts it gracefully nonetheless. The strands are soft to the touch and satisfying to grip, loose or tight. That word combination in relation to Danny makes his stomach twist.
Back to the point. Drew finds it’s easier to guide Danny as they kiss, to tug a little just to feel the vibration of his moan. His cheeks are so hot it’s practically radiating off him. It’s too intimate. Drew can’t decide whether he’s fuckdrunk, horrendously whipped or both. The possibilities alone make him dizzy.
His free hand slides down Danny’s shirt, and he slips his fingers under the hem without breaking away. Danny makes another soft sound against his mouth, desperately breathy as his body presses down on Drew’s.
Drew can feel him. He can feel the heat between Danny’s legs, his hips twitching ever so slightly without intention. The butterflies are back in Drew’s stomach, and he’s just about convinced that he’s coming down with something.
He fears that his dopamine might peak and subsequently crash if he’s not careful enough.
“Drew,” Danny whispers. It’s hardly a breath over Drew’s cheek. His voice is soft and a little whiny when he continues, “I need— fuck, dude, I don’t know.”
He’s careful with each gesture, hesitant with each word. Giggly and warm. Almost like he’s not sure what to do or say or think. Playing it off. Now that Drew’s thinking about it, that’s probably right on the nose.
“We can try something,” he mumbles against Danny’s lips, feeling him smile. As carefully as he can, Drew pulls Danny’s head back by his hair. Looks into those wide doe eyes. “Or we can stay like this.”
There’s no bite to it. His eyelids are heavy as he watches Danny think, feeling a burst of excitement, arousal and anxiety hit him all at once.
There’s a slow drag of heat over his thigh. The feeling of Danny’s arms slipping around his shoulders. Friction. Hot and heavy breaths passing under his earlobe. Drew feels it all tenfold.
“Can I?” Danny asks him. His hips jut a little and he gasps, leaning forward. “Just— to try, y’know?”
Drew’s stomach flips and his hands slide down, both of his thumbs smoothing over Danny’s hipbones. It isn’t necessarily a possessive touch, just a grounding one. A non-verbal yes, please don’t stop, don’t you fucking dare.
Perhaps Drew’s a little in over his head. Or fuckdrunk. Or horrendously whipped. He still can’t decide. His subconscious mind will make itself up soon, surely.
“Here,” he says, a placeholder for any proper answer. He begins to guide Danny, one hand applying slight pressure to his back as he starts moving. His head is tucked into the crook of Drew’s neck, and Drew can’t tell if he’s exhausted or just that mindlessly horny.
He wouldn’t be surprised to find out it’s both. Lots of feelings have coincided today, and Danny is his counterpart, one way or another. The specifics of that vary.
The thought reels Drew back about five minutes — he’s still stuck on the whole romance thing and it’s distracting him. This feels romantic, but not in any of those stupid stereotypical ways. Danny reaches for Drew’s hand, interlocking their fingers tightly, and Drew’s soul almost leaves his body. This can’t be normal. It goes further beyond a stereotype than he once thought.
Look, he isn’t in love with Danny. That doesn’t just happen. It can’t.
But there’s something so different about this, something that has him squeezing Danny’s hand and kissing him like it’s his last chance. Chasing after it. It feels like he’s just as desperate if not more, and he wonders how Danny would react if he put the right words together.
After sitting through so many stupid films and drafting script after script, you’d think Drew would be somewhat capable of thinking on his feet. Besides, stand up has never been difficult — at least not in the same way this is.
It’s like there’s a lot to say but no words to convey it. Drew considers thinking with his dick instead; it might be easier than continuing the philosophical rant in his own mind.
Danny’s mouth is bruised. His teeth slide over Drew’s bottom lip, biting him playfully with a little moan, and Drew’s not sure how much further the emotional elastic can stretch.
God. The metaphors are getting out of hand. That’s how he knows something’s up.
There’s not as much care in the way he pulls Danny closer to him. Danny grunts in surprise but doesn’t protest, leaning forward and grinding down on Drew harder. He lacks that same hesitation from before, and Drew bites his tongue at his sudden forwardness.
Okay, Danny’s never necessarily shy. He’s pretty forthcoming, it’s a byproduct of the whole content creation thing. That may be why intimacy with him has felt so different — though Drew’s also open to believing that it’s all in his head as some poetic self-sabotage. He’s his own worst enemy.
Danny’s rhythm builds gradually. He’s quiet for the most part, and while Drew can tell he’d speak if he could, it’s a relief he hasn’t. There’s no way they could hold a conversation right now.
It’s a little funny, really. On the few occasions Drew’s imagined this, he’s always pictured something a lot more playful and less relationship-y. There’s probably a more creative way to think about it, but this feels too real to be taking notes for a sketch. It’s not comedic enough.
Feeling Danny’s clothed cock sliding against him is possibly the most dystopian thing about it all. Drew hasn’t been lost in anything this much in a while, so the sensations combined with Danny’s presence are a bit overwhelming.
He considers what Danny might be thinking; if his brain is this scrambled too, or if it’s confined by his need to get off. Drew wants to talk and remain silent all at once. Danny’s soft panting and biting and pulling is driving him insane. It’s both too much and not enough.
With little effort, Drew pulls Danny’s shirt over his head. His skin is flushed and a little sweaty, complementing the tint from the tips of his ears to his cheeks. Drew’s eyes follow his happy trail, well aware of what lies underneath the waistband. He feels it twitch and wonders if it’s because Danny caught him looking.
It’s now that Drew realises just how much he’s neglected himself. Danny’s knee makes contact with his crotch and it almost burns.
“Danny,” he breathes, trying to distract himself from the feeling. Danny hums into his neck, and Drew’s fingers tense. He encourages Danny to move more, anchoring him as he rocks back and forth. “Have you thought about this before?”
Have you thought about us before? Drew shuts his subconscious down before the follow up can pass his lips. He’s just curious, not in love. Nope.
Danny nods and his hips buck. His breath ghosts over Drew’s ear, and Drew’s convinced he can feel it running down his spine. There are stray strands of Danny’s hair brushing his cheek, a perfectly disheveled reminder of what led them here in the first place.
Fuck, all this over a little hair pulling? Now that’s dystopian.
Drew’s lost track of himself again. The heat is building in his gut, tying a knot that’s inevitably going to snap, but his focus lands on Danny no matter how he goes about it.
He slots their lips together again, welcoming Danny’s touch and taste. He’s almost used to it now. This time it’s more confident, Danny's pace quickening as he grinds on Drew’s thigh and kisses him breathless.
Drew stops thinking so much. He pulls away with a groan as Danny starts moving faster, forcing eye contact between them. Danny’s mouth is hanging open a little, and he nibbles at his bottom lip like it’s instinctual. Something he’s not even aware of.
“So?” Drew prompts him. He aims for smug and lands on desperate, panting a little bit like a dog. “How is it?”
“What is this, a try before you buy?” Danny grumbles. “I’m fucking your leg.”
Huh. Maybe Danny’s the dog. Drew feels his heartbeat in his throat. He was right before: there is not enough blood in his brain for a conversation right now. It’s all gone south.
“Congratulations on figuring that out, Danny,” he deadpans. “Do you want a prize?”
He means it sarcastically, of course, because it’s a joke. A stupid joke. Only after two beats of silence does he realise that it doesn’t quite sound like one.
Danny sighs. His voice is low and rumbly when he says, “Whatever you’ll give me, Drew.”
He’s slowed down, as though patiently waiting for an answer. The way he mouths at Drew’s neck makes it hard to think one up.
“Yeah?” Drew whispers. His hands fall to Danny’s waistband, fingers teasing underneath. He finds no resistance. “Do you think this is fair enough?”
Danny is a solid weight in his hand, and Drew gives a few experimental strokes to gauge his reaction. Nibbling on his lip again. Panting. Focusing on Drew’s hand rather than his eyes. That same overwhelmed vibe that Drew felt himself giving off earlier.
That’s mostly it. The way he shyly begins to fuck into Drew’s curled fist is a mere bonus.
Drew leans forward and kisses Danny again, feeling his rhythm become more erratic as he nears release. He faintly moans Drew’s name like it’s all he knows.
Drew finds the perfect friction between his cock and Danny’s ass. The multiple layers of fabric dull the feeling, providing just enough stimulation to get him close. He jerks Danny off a bit faster, holding him and dragging bites down his neck.
The combination is intense enough, and with a whine, Danny spills over Drew’s hand. Drew doesn’t stop moving, wringing it out of him until he jolts at the overstimulation. His eyes are a little watery, and the sight makes Drew twitch.
“Fuck,” Danny laughs. He must’ve felt it. “That’s so hot.”
“Dirty,” Drew quips. “Where are your manners?”
Danny grinds down on him, clearly aware of what he’s doing. “Says the one who started pulling my hair.”
Drew can’t really argue with that one. “It felt nice,” he chides. “You wanna try?”
In other words, please pull my hair. Drew makes eye contact and hopes Danny understands. It’s worked before, it can’t be any different now.
Without question, Danny’s hand slides over his scalp. His fingers tense experimentally, and the sting makes Drew moan.
“Oh,” Danny breathes. He gnaws at his lip again, and Drew can’t help but lick over his own. It’s too fucking tempting. Compromising. The same words continue to circle his brain.
He doesn’t even have to give in; Danny makes the decision for him, grinding his hips down faster. He makes another sound and Drew feels it. It’s nothing short of perfect, and he counts his blessings.
The hand in his hair brings him forward for a kiss, and with a weak sigh, Drew falls into his orgasm. It crashes in waves, hot and scalding, intense enough to burn him. As Danny continues, the heat and discomfort soon becomes unbearable.
“Too much,” Drew warns, ultimately drained. “Fuck, Danny.”
Danny laughs and slides off of him, standing between his knees. The domesticity of it has Drew all distracted again. He calms down as his afterglow fades, accepting a lazy kiss from Danny before firmly putting his foot down and taking dibs on the first shower.
Dibs on the first, as if they don’t each have their own shower. Even with that thought fresh in his mind, Drew uses Danny’s. It just feels right. Maybe one day it’ll have a more logical explanation, but Drew is content with his current take on things.
They later recoup on the couch, just as they would any other night, and Drew’s chest swells with warmth. He reconsiders: perhaps he is a super romantic type.
Just for Danny.