Chapter 15

Once he hears back from Sasha, Danny does the shit-I-have-to-clean-my-room scramble: shoving all his clothes into random drawers, getting rid of empty water bottles, making sure there's nothing weird in the bathroom. He can't do anything about Noah's side of the room, which looks like an athletic apparel store exploded somewhere over the kid's bed, but he turns on a lamp for some mood lighting and then closes the curtains, just in case.

He's done some variation of this routine for every girl he's dated or hooked up with, but this is the first time he's doing it for a guy. His first time doing anything with a guy, actually, other than kissing Sasha in Nanning. He's a little nervous and a lot excited. It's been almost a year since he realized he was bi, and ever since then he's wanted to know what it's like, but he can't exactly go on Grindr when USA Gymnastics has his face over all their promos.

He knows some gay people, obviously, and LA U has a pretty big LGBTQ scene, so it's not like he doesn't have other options, but… in a lot of ways, that'd be even riskier than dating apps. Word would get around, and someone on the Knights would find out, and then it'd only be a matter of time before rumors started spreading across the gymternet.

He's not ashamed of who he is, but he's not ready to be the first openly bi elite gymnast, either. That's why he's been putting off telling his parents, even though he's certain they'd love him no matter what—he doesn't want to disappoint them if he can't be the role model they've always encouraged him to be. He knows how much it would mean to younger gymnasts in the closet if someone like him came out, and he wishes he could be that person, wishes he could be brave for those kids… but it's not that simple, because it's not just them.

It's his teammates, who might be cool with him being bi, or might not even want him in the locker room. It's Coach Garrett, who's like a second father to him but always changes the subject when politics come up in the gym, so Danny has no idea where he stands. And it's everyone else: USAG, the press, the fans… if he came out, would they still cheer for him as loudly as they had today? Or would the arena go quiet every time he stepped onto the podium?

The more he thinks about it—the comments on his social media, the interviews he'd have to do, USAG swooping in with their PR team like they're cleaning up a mess he's made—the more overwhelmed he feels. He doesn't want to be Danny Hartman, "that gay gymnast." He just wants to be Danny.

The knock at the door is so soft, he almost misses it. Pulling himself from his thoughts, he hurries to let Sasha into the room, stepping back as he slips in from the hallway. "Hey," he whispers, closing the door behind them.

Sasha looks around cautiously, as if he's expecting someone to jump out of the bathroom. "How much time?"

"Don't worry, we've got a couple hours," Danny assures him. "Maybe a little more. Noah's gonna text me when they leave the restaurant."

Alarm flashes across Sasha's face. "You told him?"

"What? Oh, no, no, I didn't," Danny answers quickly, realizing his mistake. "Sorry. I just asked him to text me. There's this frozen yogurt place he wanted to check out, so I told him I'd come down to the lobby and we could go." He was pretty proud of himself for that one—Noah hadn't even blinked.

"Oh." Some of the tension seems to dissipate from Sasha's shoulders, and his eyes stop darting around the room. "Sorry," he adds, looking embarrassed.

"No, it's okay. Um, do you want to come in?" They've been standing in the narrow corridor between the closet and the bathroom, and for a moment Danny wonders if that's as far as they'll get, since Sasha still seems nervous. But after a slight hesitation, Sasha nods, and he follows Danny into the main part of the room, which has two double beds, a dresser, and a television.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Danny says when Sasha glances at the disaster zone. "Noah has more clothes than, like, anyone I've ever met."

Sasha doesn't comment, and Danny notices his gaze drifting to the other bed, which is freshly made and clothing-free.

"So…" Danny grins, suspecting that they're on the same page again. "We can talk, or…"

It's an offer that's also an out, in case Sasha needs it; and besides, at some point they really should have a conversation about this whole thing, because Danny is still very unclear on what it is that they're actually doing. But right now, he kind of just wants to make out with Sasha. And fix the fact that he's wearing way too many clothes.

Sasha looks at him, considering, and Danny holds his breath. In that heartbeat of silence, he can hear the murmur of traffic outside his window, a door slamming shut somewhere down the hall.

"Talk later," Sasha says.

His eyes flare green for go, and that's the only signal Danny needs. In one step, he erases the gap between them and finally, fucking finally, gets his hands in Sasha's hair as he pulls him in for a kiss. Sasha's response is tentative at first, his arms hovering uncertainly at his sides; but before long he's kissing Danny back in earnest, running his hands up Danny's shoulder blades like he's touching a new piece of equipment for the first time.

"Fuck," Danny gasps when he comes up for air. "I've been waiting"—he kisses Sasha again—"like all fucking day for this—" He finds himself getting distracted by the taste of Sasha's lips. "Dude, what kind of toothpaste are you using? It's really good."

Sasha nearly chokes on their kiss. "Are you serious?"

It's honestly not the weirdest thing Danny's blurted out when hooking up with someone, so he just shrugs and grins at Sasha, who rolls his eyes but secretly loves it—at least, that's how Danny chooses to interpret the exasperated noise he makes.

He never does get an answer to the toothpaste question, but that's okay, because he's just noticed an empty wall behind Sasha that looks full of possibility. Keeping an eye on it, he goes back to kissing Sasha, enjoying the sharp intake of breath he hears when he switches from Sasha's lips to the soft underside of his jaw.

Still exploring this new territory, because he can totally multitask, he walks them towards the wall. Sasha looks a little confused, but also not like he cares that much, since he's busy making these little breathy sounds that are driving Danny crazy. All in all, it's a distracting activity—which is why they reach their destination before he's expecting it, Sasha's back hitting the wall just as Danny's discovering some very interesting spots on his neck.

Both of them yelp as they're jolted, Sasha's chin hitting Danny's head, Danny almost biting Sasha's throat before he pulls back just in time.

"Shit, sorry, are you okay?"

Sasha regains his balance and nods, rubbing his chin. "Yes. Okay."

"Sorry," Danny apologizes again. Feeling pretty stupid, he admits, "I think I thought that was gonna be, like, sexy and it wasn't."

The corners of Sasha's mouth twitch with laughter. "Was a little."

"Yeah?" Danny smiles and leans in again, his embarrassment already forgotten—because whatever, he has Sasha right where he wants him now anyway, pinned against the wall and sighing into their kiss. He takes his time, tasting Sasha, teasing him, his tongue lapping gently at Sasha's lips to see how he responds.

At first, Sasha keeps his mouth closed, but when Danny tries again, he tentatively opens up, allowing their tongues to meet. He seems unsure of himself, letting Danny take the lead, and the thought crosses Danny's mind that maybe he's never done this before, even with a girl.

"Is this okay?" he asks, pulling back to check.

Sasha's eyes are a little glazed over, but slowly they focus on Danny, and he nods.

"Yeah?"

"Yes." This time, Sasha's the one who leans forward, as if to add, Stop talking and just kiss me again, you idiot. Which Danny's more than happy to do, so he does, and there's a very enjoyable interlude where neither of them is saying much of anything at all.

Eventually, though, Danny decides to continue exploring. He kisses his way to the curve of Sasha's jaw, nuzzling a path to his earlobe—he's been dying to do this with a guy ever since he saw those waiters at that gay bar, and Sasha seems willing to humor him, if the way he gasps and pulls Danny closer is any indicator.

As their waists brush together, Danny grins. Oh yeah. Sasha's definitely willing.

He remembers how Allie would sometimes grind on him when they were making out, which was super fucking hot, especially when they were in their underwear, and he feels like Sasha might enjoy that, too. He's not exactly sure if it'll work the same as it did with Allie, but maybe he'll just go for it and see what happens.

What happens is—holy shit.

Yeah. Okay. This is very different. This is… wow, he can't even think right now.

Sasha's breathing turns ragged, and he whispers something in Russian, which sounds sexy as all hell until it occurs to Danny that he might be saying "stop."

"Sorry, is this—"

"Yes," Sasha groans, and then he actually grabs two fistfuls of Danny's shirt to pull him back, which is… yeah, fuck, all bets are off.

He loses himself in Sasha. Kissing him, touching him, muffled gasps and moans as their cocks rub together through far too much fabric, Sasha whimpering when Danny reclaims the spot under his ear. Danny's incredibly hard, and he's thinking all sorts of thoughts, like how he can get both of them out of their clothes, and should they stay here or move to the bed, because the wall is great, but actually his back is starting to hurt from arching against Sasha—

Oh. Yeah. No. He's been doing a lot of gymnastics this week, and his spine is not a happy camper right now.

"Hey," he says, and he almost succeeds in catching his breath until Sasha glances at him, eyes so bright and green it hurts.

"Yes?"

It takes Danny several seconds to remember what he was thinking. "Do you want to go on the bed?"

There's a pause, Sasha looking uncertain again.

"We don't have to," Danny adds swiftly. His spine can deal. "We can just stay here."

Sasha shakes his head. "I have not," he begins, and then stops, frowning as he tries to figure out either what to say or how to say it in English. "I have never—"

He glances down, his cheeks flushing, and Danny thinks he understands. "Me neither," he assures Sasha. "I mean, I've been with girls before, but, like, never with a guy, so I don't really know what I'm doing—"

"You have been with girls," Sasha repeats, looking back up at him. His face is turning several shades of pink, but he's forcing the words out, determined to make his point. "I do not. I kissed one girl, but nothing… nothing else."

Danny can see how much it's costing him to admit this. He knows that insecurity all too well; still remembers being a sophomore in high school and hooking up with a junior, too embarrassed to tell her how inexperienced he was, going further than he'd wanted to and feeling stupid and confused afterwards. It sucked, and he's really glad Sasha's saying something now, even though he'd already suspected it.

"It's okay," he replies, drawing his hips back but still keeping his eyes locked on Sasha—he wants him to know he means it. "We can stop if you want. Or just keep doing this—"

"No," Sasha says, surprising him. "Bed is fine. But…" He blushes again, his skin now the color of a sunburn. "I don't want to have sex."

Whoa.Danny wasn't expecting that at all—but what else was Sasha supposed to think, with Danny grinding against him and asking if he wanted to go to bed? Fuck. He hadn't even thought about how that must have sounded.

"Oh, yeah, no, me neither! Sorry, I didn't mean that we should do, um, that."

In fact, to be honest, anal has always seemed like a very complicated, advanced-level thing that other people do if they're bored with regular sex, and Danny's never felt that way, has always been satisfied with the basics—hell, his favorite position is missionary. And maybe he should be rethinking this now that he knows he's bi, because what does regular sex even mean anymore, but he's so not ready to figure that out today. Or anytime soon.

"Okay. Good." Sasha's frown loosens, the wrinkles in his forehead smoothing away, and Danny leans in for a kiss that tastes like spearmint and relief.

"So… Can we go on the bed now?" he asks after a moment, looking hopefully at Sasha. "Cause my back is kind of bothering me. Like for real."

*

Getting on a bed should be a straightforward process, but once Sasha kicks off his shoes and climbs on top of the mattress, he realizes there are actually a lot of variables when someone else is part of the equation. He doesn't know if he's supposed to be in the center, or on the edge, and if he should lie down or stay sitting up; and in the end he winds up somewhere in between, leaning back on his hands with no idea what to do with his legs, hoping Danny will hurry up and join him so he can stop feeling so awkward.

Danny, however, has other ideas. He pauses at the foot of the bed, a mischievous look in his eyes; then, in agonizing slow-motion, he crosses his arms and pulls off his shirt, dropping it behind him on the floor. And Sasha's seen it all before—in an ice bath in Antwerp, in dozens if not a hundred workout videos at this point—but the sight still transfixes him, steals his breath straight from his lungs.

And there's Danny, smiling at him like it's nothing.

It occurs to Sasha that he should also be getting rid of his shirt, so he does, although he's nowhere near as elegant as Danny about it—he's too quick, too eager, his hands trembling as he yanks at the fabric. Although not quick enough, apparently, because he's barely tugged it over his head before Danny's on top of him, grabbing the shirt out of his hands and throwing it to the floor.

It's like being knocked over by a very enthusiastic golden retriever, but Sasha doesn't care, because he just spent four hours in an arena with ten thousand people screaming Danny's name and now Danny's whispering, "Sasha, fuck," in between kisses that shoot straight from his neck to his cock. He's so hard it's painful, wants Danny to rub against him again but isn't sure how to ask; and even if he were, he's rapidly losing all his English, because right now the only word he needs to know is "yes."

He says it when Danny straddles him, swinging a leg over his hips and asking, "Is this okay?" He says it when Danny stops kissing him and starts touching him, his hands trailing down Sasha's chest and stomach, leaving plenty of time for him to say "no" or "stop" instead. And he practically moans it when Danny palms him through his shorts, eyes meeting Sasha's in a silent request for permission.

"Do you want these on or off?" Danny asks, meaning the shorts.

Since "on" and "off" are two very similar-sounding prepositions, Sasha decides to avoid any potential miscommunication by lifting his hips and pushing the shorts down as far as he can manage. Danny grins, message received, and helps pull them the rest of the way off, tossing them over the side of the bed.

There's already a wet spot on Sasha's trunks, which is fucking embarrassing—just like the sound he makes when Danny runs his hand along the outline of his cock, tracing that exact spot with his thumb.

"I take it this is okay," Danny says, amused, and Sasha doesn't know if he wants to smack or kiss the smirk off his face. But then Danny moves his thumb again, and revenge is no longer an option—Sasha's too busy thanking his lucky stars for tonight's shower, because otherwise he would have humiliated himself by coming right then and there.

Just when he doesn't think he can take it anymore, he feels Danny's fingers hooking over the elastic band of his trunks. "Do you mind if I…?"

He nods, no longer capable of speech, and swallows when the cool air hits his cock, Danny discarding his trunks somewhere he can't see. He's undressed in locker rooms nearly his whole life, but this is different—this is feeling self-conscious in a way he never has before, his entire body laid bare for someone else's inspection. And when that someone is Danny, who looks like he belongs on a Calvin Klein poster…

"Hey." Danny comes back for a kiss, covering Sasha's torso with his own. It's both warmer and less exposed, and Sasha finds himself relaxing again, the goosebumps on his arms retreating. "Is this good?"

He says it casually, but he's searching Sasha's eyes for an answer, and it's clear he noticed something was off. Sasha's surprised—whatever he'd imagined about tonight, it wasn't for Danny to be so perceptive, or so tactful. He's not making a big deal of Sasha's inexperience, he's not treating him with kid gloves; yet he keeps checking to make sure everything's okay, as matter-of-factly as if they're adjusting the equipment at a competition.

It's thoughtful in a way that Sasha hadn't expected, and he can't help feeling like he's underestimated Danny.

"Yes," he replies, wishing he knew the right words to somehow both apologize and express his gratitude without sounding like a lunatic. The closest he can get is, "Good for you, too?"

Judging by the smile that spreads across Danny's face, he may have said exactly what he wanted to after all. "Definitely," Danny answers, and he's still smiling when he dips his head to kiss Sasha again. "Thanks for asking."

Then he sits back, pinning Sasha's thighs to the bed and running his hands ever so slowly downward. "Where were we?" he asks, a teasing glint in his eye.

Sasha glares at him, because he fucking knows exactly where they were, and Danny laughs.

"Okay, okay," he says, finally taking Sasha in his fist. Just as Sasha draws in a sharp breath, however, he blinks and stops. "Oh, whoa—I forgot. You guys aren't cut, right?"

Sasha has no idea what that word means, or why Danny's looking so curiously at his dick, but he really wishes Danny could talk and move his hand at the same time.

"You know…" Danny uses his other hand to make a snipping gesture between his legs, and all of a sudden Sasha realizes what the issue is.

"Oh. No," he says, glancing down at himself and then back at Danny. "You?"

"Yeah. Yours looks the same as mine, though, which is weird, I thought—I mean, not weird in a bad way," Danny hastens to add. "I just thought it'd look different. It feels different, but, like, also not in a bad way, obviously."

Sasha's trying to remember if he's ever actually seen a circumcised dick up close. Maybe in a locker room somewhere, or in the bathrooms at school when he was younger? He can only hope the mechanics are still the same, because giving a hand job was just about the one thing he thought he could manage without making a fool of himself.

"Americans do this, yes?" he asks. "Why?"

Danny looks stumped by the question. "Uh… I don't know, I think it's kind of a religious thing? Like if you're Jewish? But, like, I'm not Jewish, so… I don't know. I mean, pretty much everyone does it here."

Sasha has to assume there's more to it than that, because otherwise it sounds like Americans are chopping off parts of their dicks for no reason, which is insane even for them.

"Well, not everyone," Danny corrects himself a few seconds later. "Like Isaiah's uncut, and Yulien, and also this new kid Wes—he said his parents saw, like, a bad circumcision and they totally freaked out—"

"Danny," Sasha cuts him off, gritting his teeth as he tries to think of a translation for I don't care about your teammates' dicks.

"Oh. Right. Sorry." Danny gives him a sheepish smile before finally returning his attention to the matter at hand. "Okay, so, like, is it the same? Should I just do what I do? Or, like… cause you guys aren't as sensitive, right? I feel like I've heard that before. Or is it the other way around?"

Sasha listens helplessly as Danny rambles on, feeling increasingly amazed that he's ever able to accomplish anything at all. It doesn't seem like he's stalling, or even nervous—he just literally cannot stop talking.

"Okay, wait, actually"—Danny sits back again, letting go of Sasha—"why don't you show me what you do."

"What?" There's no way Sasha heard that correctly.

"Show me what you do by yourself." A slow grin steals across Danny's lips—less sheepish, more wolfish. "When you're in the shower. Like you were when I texted you."

All the blood rushes to Sasha's face, burning under his skin as he stares at Danny. This can't be happening.

"Any chance you were thinking of me?" Danny asks, his eyes sparkling like he already knows the answer, and Sasha is fucking mortified.

"I hate you," he mutters, dropping his head back on the pillow so he doesn't have to look at Danny anymore.

He still hears him, though, laughing his ass off. "You totally were! I love it." The mattress dips when he leans over, forcing himself into Sasha's field of vision again as he bends down for a smirking kiss. "But hey, no shame. I think about you, too."

Sasha doesn't know if it's possible to be both appalled and aroused at the same time, but that's more or less the sound he makes in his throat. Do Americans have any boundaries?

"So…" Danny raises his eyebrows, and Sasha can feel himself blushing as he looks up at him.

He's not going to do this.

Is he?

"I can't," he mumbles, his cheeks reddening. "You are…"

Danny grins and shifts back, giving Sasha enough room to reach down. He somehow manages not to die of embarrassment when he wraps his hand around his cock, but he can't quite meet Danny's eyes as he gives himself a few tugs.

"Okay," Danny says, his breathing sounding heavier than usual. "Um, do you do anything with the tip? The top," he adds when Sasha's brow furrows.

At this point, Sasha is actively hoping that the mattress will open up and swallow him whole; but it doesn't, and instead he finds himself pulling his foreskin over the head of his cock and then pushing it back down, letting out a shaky breath as a familiar wave of pleasure rolls through him.

"Holy shit. Are you serious?" Danny stares at Sasha, his expression a mixture of awe and envy. "Dude, I fucking wish I could do that. That looks amazing." He watches for a few more seconds, swallows, and looks at Sasha. "Mind if I—?"

Finally.Sasha lets go, trembling when Danny's warm hand replaces his own. The first stroke is slow and experimental, both of their eyes widening; but Danny quickly gets his bearings, matching the pace Sasha set and then—"Please tell me if I'm doing this wrong"—making a cautious attempt at the foreskin maneuver.

"They do not teach us this shit in sex ed," he mutters as Sasha gives a weak nod.

And Sasha decides to not even bother trying to understand what Danny's talking about, because all his energy is focused on lasting for more than a few seconds. Danny isn't making it easy, the way he's perfectly repeating what Sasha showed him, the pressure of his grip just right, his fingers everywhere Sasha needs them to be.

"Is this okay?" he asks, and Sasha nods again, speaking no longer an option. "Should I go faster?"

Sasha shakes his head—this is exactly what he wants, liquid fire between his legs, the heat of it spreading through his entire body. He closes his eyes and takes deep breaths, trying desperately to delay the inevitable.

"I love how quiet you are," Danny says, sounding amused. "It's like a challenge."

And apparently Danny also loves challenges, because the next thing Sasha knows, he's squirming under kisses that make him lightheaded, kisses that curl his toes as Danny all but devours him. It's not fucking fair how good he is at this, breaking from a kiss to suck gently at Sasha's lower lip, nibbling at Sasha's ear until he's arching off the mattress, all while his hand continues its slow and steady torture between Sasha's legs.

It's only a matter of time before it's too much, Sasha fighting until the last second and then surrendering with a gasp as he comes. Danny eases up on his grip, stroking him gently through the aftershocks until his head stops spinning.

"Okay?"

"Mmhm," Sasha manages.

Danny grins, then reaches over him to grab some tissues from the nightstand. As he does, he presses a quick kiss against Sasha's shoulder—which somehow feels a lot more intimate than the hand job, and Sasha doesn't know what to make of that, or the fact that he kind of liked it.

Luckily, Danny passes him a tissue just then, so he doesn't have to think about it too much.

"Honestly, just throw it on the floor," Danny says when Sasha looks around for the garbage can. "I'll deal with it later."

Sasha wrinkles his nose, but since the other option is getting out of bed and he'd rather not do that, he's not really in a place to criticize. Besides, once the tissues are gone, Danny starts kissing him again, lazily, like he could do this all day and not get bored.

He hasn't said anything about the bulge in his shorts, and he's not grinding against Sasha or otherwise drawing attention to it; but Sasha knows how much restraint that must be requiring, and he steels his nerves enough to ask, "Do you want…?"

"If you want to, yeah." Danny pulls back, looking Sasha in the eyes. "But you don't have to just because I did."

It's not a question of whether Sasha wants to, because he does. But he knows he's not going to be as good at this as Danny, not going to be able to take him apart as effortlessly, and he doesn't want Danny to get annoyed or bored or worse, soft.

"Can you show me," he begins, and then stops, trying to remember how Danny phrased it.

"Oh, yeah, sure." Danny rolls off of Sasha, shucking his shorts and underwear without a trace of self-consciousness. Although, considering he looks like a textbook example of the male anatomy, this probably shouldn't impress Sasha as much as it does. "I don't have any fancy tricks like you, though."

He smiles at Sasha (who really needs to stop blushing like a twelve-year-old) and stretches out on his side, propping himself up on his elbow. This position unfortunately prevents Sasha from seeing his back, as well as another area of interest; but then he takes himself in hand, and Sasha forgets he ever wanted a different view.

As if it's not enough that Danny's naked, and beautiful, and touching himself for Sasha, he's also completely nonchalant about it, even making eye contact as his hand glides up and down.

"So, yeah, I just kind of start out slow," he says, like he's explaining how to do giants on the high bar, "and then once I get into it I start going faster, and also the tip is, like, the best—mm." He cuts himself off with a shiver, dragging his thumb across the slit. "Like, probably don't start with that, cause it's a lot, but, yeah. Throw it in at the end and I'll be done in, like, two seconds."

"Okay," Sasha says, only half paying attention, because he's just realized he's already messed up and he hasn't even started yet. Without thinking, he had turned on his right side to face Danny, which means his right hand is now useless unless he wants to try one of the most awkward angles imaginable.

Fuck.He's trying not to panic, because this is so stupid, it's not like he can't do the same thing with his left hand—except it won't be as good, and it already wasn't going to be as good, and knowing Danny will be really nice about it makes it even worse.

Paralyzed with indecision—and also angry with himself, because this isn't fucking rocket science, so why can't he figure it out?—he hesitates for several seconds too long, until Danny clears his throat.

"Hey. Sasha. Seriously, you don't have to do this. It's fine. I can literally just do it myself later, it's no big deal."

"No," Sasha says quickly, his cheeks flaming when he sees how concerned Danny looks. "It is… bad angle. For…"

He wants to die as he makes some sort of stupid gesture with his hand, but Danny's expression clears immediately.

"Oh, shit, you're a rightie? Yeah, that's not gonna work. Hang on."

He crawls over Sasha—which is ridiculous, but also solves the problem immediately, and Sasha feels like an idiot for not thinking of it himself—and then starts giggling when he lands on the other side of the mattress.

"What?" Sasha asks, wincing as he turns around.

"I was just remembering—sorry if this is TMI—but one time I was, like, fingering this girl, and the angle was so bad I got this massive hand cramp, but I didn't want to tell her, so I just kept doing it, and at practice later… oh my God, it was all pommels and I was dying. My coach was like, ‘Why is your grip so off today,' and I was like, ‘Oh, I don't know, I must have slept weird on my hand or something…'"

Sasha bursts out laughing, unable to stop himself. It's the sheer absurdity of Danny's predicament, but it's also his own relief, sharp and sweet in his chest—because the obstacle that seemed insurmountable only a few seconds ago is already forgotten, swept away by one of Danny's tangents. A part of him even wonders if Danny's doing this on purpose, sharing an embarrassing story just to put Sasha at ease, and the more he thinks about it, the more that seems exactly like something Danny would do.

Sasha wants to kiss him, but he doesn't, because that would be admitting how pathetically grateful he feels. Instead, once they've both regained their composure, he does the next best thing and reaches between Danny's legs.

Danny draws in a shaky breath, his stomach muscles jumping as Sasha runs his fingers up and down, getting used to the strangeness of having someone else's cock in his hand. Danny was right: at first glance, they look similar enough that Sasha might not have realized he was cut, but the feeling is something else entirely, and he's glad Danny already told him what to do so he doesn't have to guess.

He starts slow, adjusting his grip with a blush when Danny murmurs, "You can hold it tighter, if you want." At first, he darts quick glances up at Danny to make sure he's on the right track, but this becomes less and less necessary as Danny maintains a steady stream of commentary, from "yeah" to "that's good" to "fuck," interspersed with low moans and hums of appreciation.

"You can go faster now," he says after a minute, "if that's okay," and when Sasha does, he gets an "Mm, fuck, that's perfect," Danny's eyes hazy and half-lidded with pleasure.

Remembering how Danny had swept his thumb across the head of his cock, and what it had done to his breathing, Sasha gives it a tentative try on his next stroke—and Danny's eyes flare open as he gasps, "Holy fucking shit."

"Sorry," Sasha apologizes, cringing. He must have timed it wrong, too early like Danny had warned him—

"No. Dude. Please. Keep doing that."

"I—okay," Sasha says, still stuck on the way Danny looks when he begs, already knowing he'll be thinking about it the next time he's in the shower.

If he'd thought Danny was talkative before, that's nothing compared to how he unravels in Sasha's hand, a litany of yeses and swearwords that gets louder and louder until Sasha finally has to kiss him to shut him up. And this works, mostly, except Danny still manages several fucks and one "Sasha, I'm gonna—" before a final stroke sends him over the edge, shuddering and spilling into Sasha's fist.

"That was really good," he mumbles afterwards, his eyelids fluttering shut. Sasha starts to reach over him for the tissues, but Danny quickly wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him back down. "Don't leave."

"Tissues," Sasha explains, and Danny's grip loosens by a fraction.

"Okay, but don't leave."

So Sasha doesn't.