Chapter 40 #4
“Holy shit,” Danny says in the ringing silence that follows. He can feel Sasha trembling underneath him, barely still supporting himself on his elbows. “Sash—that was—” He doesn’t even know how to describe what that was. Intense? Confusing? Hot. “You okay?”
Sasha nods, letting his head slump onto the comforter. The motion sends him sliding forward a few inches, almost right off of Danny’s dick; and Danny hesitates, wondering if he should mention the fact that he hasn’t come yet.
But he doesn’t want Sasha to feel pressured to keep going, especially if he’s sore; and after that many davais, he probably is.
Not to mention it being his first time and all.
Plus, Danny had a girlfriend once who used to get so sensitive whenever she orgasmed, she always needed to stop as soon as she was done (“Not your fault, my vagina hates me,” she’d explained).
What if that’s a thing with anal, too? Do asses work like that?
He has no idea, and he doesn’t want to risk it; so he pulls out, carefully, because he’d rather deal with blue balls than hurt Sasha.
Besides, it kind of feels like the moment’s passed, and now it’d just be weird if he started again.
Maybe he can sneak away to the bathroom and jerk off into the sink…
But as he starts to remove the condom, his fingers graze his very trigger-happy dick, and he accidentally hisses before he can stop himself. The noise makes Sasha turn around, his green eyes narrowing, then widening when he realizes Danny’s predicament.
“You did not…”
“Uh… um,” Danny stammers, hand still on his dick like he’s been caught in the cookie jar. Shit. He wishes he’d been able to keep quiet, because Sasha’s cheeks are reddening with embarrassment.
“Was I—was this bad? Did I do something wrong?”
“No, no!” Danny rushes to reassure him. “It’s just, uh…” He starts explaining, or tries to; he’s not sure how much sense he’s actually making, but somewhere around the time he drops the phrase “my vagina hates me,” Sasha starts looking less mortified, more exasperated.
“Danny,” he interrupts, and when Danny finally closes his mouth, he gestures at the condom. “Take off. And wash your hands.”
“Uh—okay.” Danny has a feeling Sasha’s going to boss him around some more, so he hurries to the guest bathroom, Buddy jumping up to escort him all five feet down the hall.
But after he’s cleaned up and given Buddy a few good-boy scritches, he finds himself lingering in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection and trying to process everything that just happened.
He’s pretty sure he liked it.
Well, most of it.
Okay, some of the stuff at the beginning, he hadn’t liked as much, if he’s being honest. But watching Sasha lose control, hearing him chant Danny’s name like a prayer?
Yeah, he’d loved that. Ten out of ten. Spank bank, new deposit.
So he decides not to dwell on those feelings from before, because Sasha’s waiting for him, and right now, he really needs to do something about his dick.
When he returns to the guest room, Sasha points at the pillows propped up on the bed. “Sit.”
Danny does what he’s told, and Sasha gets between his legs, nudging them open in a way that makes Danny’s pulse race. “Next time,” he says, looking Danny in the eye, “you finish.”
“Yeah, okay,” Danny agrees breathlessly.
Having settled that, Sasha takes Danny’s hand, shoves it in his hair, and starts sucking Danny’s cock.
“Oh—fuck,” Danny says, because he’s not going to last long like this, Sasha hot all over him, letting Danny ruin his curls.
And sure enough, just a minute or two later, he’s tapping Sasha on the shoulder, gasping out a warning until Sasha comes up and kisses him, hard, still holding Danny in his fist.
It’s not even the hand job that does it for him in the end. It’s the feeling of being so close to Sasha, the relief of seeing his face again, that floods through Danny’s entire system and sends him short-circuiting into oblivion, blinking the sparks out of his eyes.
“Wow,” he says afterwards, once he’s successfully put his brain back together and bullied Sasha into a cuddling session. “Sash. That was…”
“Mm.” Sasha bites his lip, like he tried to stop a grin and failed. “Yes.”
Danny props himself up on his elbow, looking at this lighter version of Sasha, who’d barely even argued when Danny insisted on cuddling—just rolled over and kissed him, smiling against Danny’s lips.
Now he’s soft and pliant under Danny’s arm, the way Danny sometimes gets after a massage, blissed-out and boneless.
“You were so hot,” Danny says, and Sasha flushes the color of a first-degree burn, one that Danny treats with lots of kisses. “I’ve, like, never heard you get that loud before.”
Sasha groans something in Russian, his skin now second-degree scarlet, and buries his face in Danny’s pillow.
“No, no, hey!” Danny crowds him in, peppering his shoulders with apology kisses; he’s not going to let Sasha feel embarrassed about being sexy. “I loved it. Seriously. It was, like, my favorite thing. Please keep doing it.”
Sasha darts a turtle-like glance at him before blushing again and retreating under his curls.
“Sasha,” Danny wheedles, kiss by kiss, until Sasha reaches out and shoves him.
So Danny lets him change the subject and shoves him back—a fake fight that’s more pull than push, both of them laughing as they grapple each other, neither willing to let go for more than a few seconds.
Eventually, Danny pins Sasha down with a leg over his hip, crying “Let me hug you!” until Sasha does.
It goes quiet then, Sasha huffing like he doesn’t love Danny’s hugs, one of his arms curled around Danny’s waist. As the air conditioner fills in the silence, Danny’s mind starts to wander, briefly contemplating Sasha’s curls (how does he get them like that?
Magic?), then taking a scenic detour through some of the sex they just had, before finally returning to the shower mystery he never solved.
“Okay, I gotta ask,” he says, because now that he’s thinking about it again, he has to know. “When you were in the shower before, were you, like… douching?”
“What?” Sasha shoots out of Danny’s arms, sitting up and twisting around to stare at him in horror. “I was—I was dirty?”
“No, no, no, you were good!” Danny tries to tug him back down, but Sasha doesn’t relax again until he swears on Kohei Uchimura’s life that the condom came out totally clean. Well, sticky, but clean. “I was just wondering, cause, like, I was reading all this stuff online—”
“I can’t believe you,” Sasha mutters, along with several other things in Russian that he doesn’t translate.
“Okay, but for real—did you, like, use an enema or what?”
“I…” Sasha ducks his head, looking suddenly very interested in the bedsheet. “I used my finger.”
“You—” What, Danny’s about to say, but then he gets the visual, and—oh. Oh. “Holy crap, I didn’t even know that was, like… an option. I thought you had to, like, squirt water up your butt or something. I was really stressed about it.”
Sasha stares at him, blinks, and bursts out laughing. “Danny,” he wheezes, the bed shaking underneath them as he tries to catch his breath. “You are so weird.”
Danny can’t help it—he starts laughing, too.
Like, shit, no wonder Sasha had been so chill about getting fingered, since he’d already done it to himself.
Danny feels kind of stupid for freaking out over nothing, but mostly he’s just relieved, and it’s easier now to confess, “I don’t know why, I was just, like… so worried I was gonna hurt you.”
Sasha goes quiet, his eyebrows scrunching together like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “Did this hurt for your girlfriends?”
“Uh…”
Danny hesitates. This isn’t the first time he’s gotten the vibe that Sasha’s been assuming he’s already done anal, but he hadn’t had a chance to correct him before, and he’s surprised by how reluctant he feels to admit the truth now—like maybe there’s something wrong with him for never trying it with a girl, when so many guys make such a big deal of it.
Or maybe he’d wanted Sasha to think at least one of them knew what they were doing?
But either way, he’s not going to lie about it.
“I never did that with any of them,” he says, and Sasha’s eyes widen.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“I didn’t know,” Sasha says after a moment, something in his voice that almost sounds like guilt. “Was it… okay for you?”
“Yeah.” Danny kisses him, smiling as he brushes one of Sasha’s curls out of the way. “It was.”
And he’s telling the truth. It might have felt weird at the beginning, but he’s glad he went through with it, especially now that he knows he wasn’t anywhere close to hurting Sasha. Next time, he thinks, it’ll be even better. For both of them.
“Well, you were very good,” Sasha says.
Something about how matter-of-fact he sounds makes Danny start giggling—which sets Sasha off, too, cranberry red as he insists he was being serious, it’s not funny, and why is Danny still laughing at him?
When they finally calm down, there’s about a split second of silence before Sasha’s stomach growls like an angry racoon, and then they’re cracking up all over again.