Chapter 28
They barely make it to the second floor—Danny can’t stop kissing Sasha on the stairs, and Buddy keeps wedging himself between their legs, almost knocking them over every time they try to move. When they finally reach the upstairs hallway, Danny tugs Sasha towards his room, then changes his mind.
“Wait, let’s do yours. Buddy’s gonna be, like, all over my bed.”
This sounds very sensible to Sasha, and then his brain shuts off for a while, because Danny’s kissing him again and yanking off his clothes.
Sasha wants to return the favor, but Danny’s a lot better at multitasking than he is, and eventually he decides it’ll be easier if he just lies back on the bed and watches Danny strip.
Danny laughs, and then he makes a show of it, slowly teasing off his shirt, thumbing the waistband of his shorts and before he slides them down his hips, his underwear following a few seconds later.
Sasha’s cock is already leaking in his hand, heat pooling in his stomach; he can’t believe how attractive Danny is, how lucky he is to enjoy the view.
“Holy shit.” Danny’s observing him, too, his gaze lingering unabashedly between Sasha’s legs. “I like don’t even know what I want to do to you first.”
Sasha can think of a few things, starting with Danny’s fingers and a bottle of lube, but Danny doesn’t seem to be in a rush. Instead, he gets on the bed and straddles Sasha, grinding against him as he dips his head down for a long and languid kiss.
“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he groans, moving from Sasha’s lips to his throat, Sasha squirming from how good it feels. “I could do this all fucking day.”
“Maybe—other things, too?” Sasha manages.
Danny smirks. “What, like this?” He wraps his hand around them, and Sasha sees white, his breath coming in short and sharp. “You like that?”
Sasha whimpers as Danny flexes his hips.
Yes, he likes that—likes Danny’s weight on him, likes how Danny always knows where to go, dividing his attention between Sasha’s neck and cock until he thinks he might burst from the strain.
If this is how good it is now, he can’t imagine what it’ll be like when Danny’s actually inside of him.
As if reading his mind, Danny murmurs, “I feel like this would be even better with lube.”
Sasha can’t say “Yes” fast enough, and Danny grins, pressing one last kiss against Sasha’s flushed skin before he pulls away.
“Hang on, I’ll be right back.”
Alone on the bed, Sasha takes several deep breaths.
He’s almost painfully hard, but it’s not just that—it’s the nerves in his stomach, simmering like water in the samovar as he waits for Danny to return.
Because it’s one thing to finger himself, knowing his own limits, but it’s a lot different to have someone else in control, prepping him for something he’s never experienced before.
He isn’t scared, though. Not with Danny, who’s always checking to make sure he’s okay, who’s never pushed when he wasn’t ready. Even if it’s uncomfortable at first, well… he’s a gymnast. He’s pretty sure he’s had a lot worse.
“Got it!” Danny reappears at the door. “And I got a towel, too, in case it gets messy.”
He winks at Sasha, whose entire body suddenly feels like it’s reached its boiling point, arousal and excitement threatening to spill him over the edge. They’re going to do this. They’re actually, finally going to have sex.
Holy shit, as Danny would say.
Time speeds up, jumping forward in flashes: Danny on top of him again, his warm weight pressing Sasha into the mattress; the soft snick of a bottle cap, sending a shiver down his spine; and the Jesus-Christ-how-is-this-even-happening sight of Danny slicking himself up, his eyes holding Sasha’s through several long, unhurried strokes.
Sasha’s so mesmerized, it takes him several seconds to notice that Danny hasn’t put on a condom.
Fuck. The last thing he wants to do is slam on the brakes, but they should be using protection.
At least, he’d always assumed they would, although…
maybe they don’t have to? He’s a virgin, and Danny—well, Danny’s not, but Allie was what, three or four years ago?
Danny would have noticed by now if he had an STD, right?
Trying to convince himself that it’s fine, he’s startled by something dripping on his cock.
“Sorry, it’s still cold,” Danny says when he jumps. “Don’t worry, I’ll warm it up for you.”
His eyes sparkle, but Sasha doesn’t get it. Why is Danny putting lube on him?
Before he can ask, he’s pulled back into a kiss, Danny stretching out on top of him until all the space between their bodies disappears.
It’s skin searing against skin, Danny’s fingers circling around them like a ring of fire, and for a moment Sasha forgets how to think, forgets anything else but this.
“Oh my God… fuck, Sasha, this feels so… fuck…”
Danny’s swearing into his neck, becoming less coherent with every thrust. Sasha doesn’t know why this turns him on so much—he’s stopped questioning a lot of things when it comes to Danny—but the tighter his toes curl and the harder his cock gets, the more he starts to worry about finishing before the main event.
Danny must have noticed his distraction, because he slows down, eyes scanning Sasha’s. “Hey, you good?”
Sasha nods, even though he’s still piecing together a translation for This is nice and all, but let’s skip to the part where you’re fucking me; he can’t exactly focus on subject-verb agreement when Danny has him by the dick.
Danny reaches up with his free hand, running his fingers through Sasha’s hair. “Has anyone ever told you how hot you are?” he blurts out.
“Uh.” Sasha laughs, a little awkwardly. “You?”
Plus some strangers on Instagram, if they’re counting. His comments are nowhere near as bad as Danny’s and Kirill’s, but he’s been getting a lot more of them since his second-place finish at the European Championships, even had to change his privacy settings after one girl messaged him her number.
“No, seriously.” Danny’s studying Sasha’s face like there’s going to be a test on it later.
“You’re, like… beautiful. Sorry, I know that’s kind of weird to say about a guy.
But like… your hair is just, like, holy shit…
and your eyes are like, so green… and like, I don’t know, I just want to look at you, like, all the time. ”
The more Danny talks, the hotter Sasha’s cheeks burn.
He doesn’t understand how Danny can just say things like this, out loud, without looking the least bit self-conscious—and then it makes him feel guilty, because maybe he should be saying those things, too, like that Danny’s so attractive it doesn’t even seem real, and that he can’t stop sneaking glances at him, whether it’s across the gym or the kitchen table.
But whenever he thinks about admitting any of this, he gets a panicky feeling in his chest, like he forgot his pants and his shorts at a competition and now has to perform in front of everyone in a poor-fitting leotard.
Besides, he’d only be repeating what Danny already said, and Danny might not believe he meant it.
Danny’s still touching his hair, still staring at him with those piercing blue eyes, and Sasha’s starting to wish he could look away without being rude; there’s something about it that’s too intense, too much like a spotlight shining down on him.
And now Danny’s clearing his throat, tucking a loose curl behind Sasha’s ear, and Sasha can’t, he can’t keep doing this, he just wants to be on his hands and knees so he doesn’t have to make any more fucking eye contact.
“Sash, I lo—”
“Danny—”
They both break off, Danny stiffening on top of Sasha like someone just pressed a pause button on him. “You go,” he says quickly.
“Uh…” Sasha swallows, because now he actually has to ask for what he wants, and he still doesn’t have the right words. “Can we… uh…” Fuck it. “Do you have condom?”
There. That should be pretty goddamn clear.
He looks up at Danny, his heart racing, every cell in his body saying yes—a chorus so loud, he almost doesn’t register Danny’s silence.
But then the seconds start slipping by, and the eager reaction he’d expected never happens; in fact, Danny seems more uncomfortable than anything, his mouth hovering open like he’s trying to figure out how to say no.
“Oh,” Danny finally manages, which is somehow worse. “Uh…”
Shame—hot, burning shame—scorches through Sasha as he realizes he completely misread the situation. “You don’t want…”
“No! No, I do.” Danny’s gaze drops to Sasha’s shoulder.
“It’s just… um… I don’t know if it’s a good idea, cause, um, I don’t think my mom’s gonna be at the hairdresser that long?
And, like, I don’t wanna, like, rush or anything?
Just cause it’s, like… you know… like, our first time…
doing it… and, like, I don’t wanna worry about her coming home… ”
Sasha bites down on the inside of his cheek in frustration.
He has no idea how long women’s haircuts take, but shouldn’t they have an hour?
Well, make that fifty minutes, since Diane left a little while ago.
And he doesn’t really know how much time they’ll need for prep, either.
Also, he has to admit, if he’d known earlier that there was a chance they might have sex, he probably would have paid a lot more attention while he was cleaning himself in the shower.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
His thoughts must have been written all over his face, because Danny winces and apologizes again. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to get caught.”
There’s nothing Sasha can do, except try to swallow his disappointment; it feels like he’s forcing dry buckwheat down his throat.
“So… um…” Danny shifts on top of him. “Would it be cool if we just, like, go back to what we were doing before?”
It’s not even close to “cool,” but Sasha doesn’t have a lot of other options right now as far as his concrete-hard dick is concerned.
Besides, if he tells Danny he’s not in the mood anymore, then Danny’s just going to keep apologizing, and he’s really not in the mood for that—he’s already embarrassed enough without Danny feeling sorry for him.
“You sure?” Danny asks when he nods, and the relief in his voice is palpable when Sasha nods again. “Okay, sweet—thanks—sorry—and, uh, do you think you could, uh…” He gestures between them, lifting himself up a little to make room.
Realizing what he wants, Sasha fights back a sigh and helps him out, reaching down to hold their dicks so Danny can move more freely.
They’re both sweaty and sticky, which was wildly hot a minute ago and now mildly off-putting—just like the noises starting up again, all the usual moans of fuck and holy shit right in Sasha’s ear that he wishes he were hearing over his shoulder instead.
He gets off—he always does with Danny—but for the first time, his release feels like a letdown.
And the worst part is, Diane doesn’t get home until an hour and a half later.
They definitely could have had sex.