The house was lonely at the end of a long road. The trees surrounding it cast shadows in the darkness, but the sky was clear and Paul looked amazing wearing moonlight. He still wore Danny’s white shirt. It hung open, showing off Paul’s broad, muscular chest, and flapped in the breeze that was a benefit of autumn in Tampa. Paul tilted his head toward him, his crystalline gaze vibrant in the darkness. He took a shuddering breath, staring at Danny through lowered lashes that were surprisingly long, contributing to almost-pretty features marred only by his large size.
“Are you mad at me?” Paul asked, his voice laced with fear that had been absent in the car.
Danny shook his head, heaving a sigh. “No.”
Paul licked his lips, hesitance showing on his face. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” Danny said, trying to put himself in Paul’s shoes, with his secrets laid bare, his darkest desires spilled out on the table as stark and vibrant as the blood stains blossoming crimson against the white silk of Danny’s shirt. “I like it, Paul Guy,” he admitted. If Paul could lay his soul bare, Danny could too. “I like it a lot.”
Paul frowned, the murkiness to his thinking process obvious. “Like what?”
“Cock,” Danny clarified. “I enjoy fucking men. Particularly pretty college boys with innocent smiles and blue eyes that sparkle in the moonlight.”
“I’m not pretty,” Paul said defensively.
Danny snorted in amusement as a blanket of relief fell over him, making him feel more relaxed than he had been in a very long time. He hadn’t realized until right then how much that secret had weighed on him. “You’re pretty to me,” he said with a lustful sigh, letting his eyes run over Paul longingly once more. “God, you’re like candy, you’re so fucking sweet. I just wanna eat you.”
“That’s not sexy,” Paul said, giving him a disgruntled look. “Do you really fuck guys?”
“Yes.”
Paul’s weight shifted from one foot to the other. He bit his lip for one long moment before he asked, “Are you, um, a pitcher or a…catcher?”
Danny couldn’t help it; he smiled broadly, so much so his cheeks hurt from the effort. “I pitch—exclusively. Scared?”
“Yes,” Paul said quickly, but his voice was breathy-sounding with a catch of excitement that was totally out of place. One would think he’d just admitted to a secret love of chocolate instead of a very real fear of getting fucked by his best friend. “Terrified.”
“Are you hard?” Danny asked curiously. “Does being scared get you off?”
Paul nodded, lifting his eyes to Danny hesitantly. “Very much.”
“Come on.” Danny tilted his head toward the house. He didn’t feel like standing outside anymore. He wanted Paul inside his house, naked, sweaty, begging him for what he had to offer, but all he said was, “You can crash here tonight.”
Either Paul didn’t notice Danny’s offer was dangerous, casual in his attempt to lure Paul into his lair to seduce him, or he just didn’t care as he sighed in a soft, breathy voice, “Okay.”
*
Danny was aware of how incomplete his house was, how barren of life. The stark walls. The floor that was nonexistent through much of the house. Paul hung out there more than at his dorm, and before now it had never bothered him to have Paul seeing the ugly part of his soul that refused to fix this house just because it’d be doing what he was told.
He knew Paul didn’t care, probably liked it dirty and gritty, lacking any sort of softness and romance, but it bothered Danny. He wanted the beauty, the soft bed, the flickers of candlelight against beautiful, tan skin instead of the harsh florescent light of his bathroom. If it wasn’t quite so bright, the blood wouldn’t be so vibrantly red against the broken tiles in his shower, marrying with the steaming water and blending to pink as it swirled down the drain.
With such ugliness surrounding him, it was little wonder Danny gravitated to Paul like a moth to a flame. He wrapped his arm around him from behind, pulling his broad, muscular body tightly against his, uncaring about the wounds on his back caused by a vicious woman who didn’t understand the beauty she was destroying by cutting into Paul like she did.
Danny buried his face into the curve of his neck, lapping at the salty taste of adrenaline that was bleeding from Paul’s pores. He felt drunk from just that taste, dizzy with desire as the steam billowed up around them, blurring the edges of reality to the point Danny didn’t care about the ugliness or the blood or anything but Paul. He became addicted to the feel of Paul’s slick skin under his fingers as he trailed his hands over the lines of his abdominal muscles. Danny bit him hard, marking him on purpose, staking a primal claim of ownership he never wanted to give up.