Part VIII

26 1 0
                                    

Word Count: ~3700

Warnings: none~

;)

"Fuck" was the first thing Danny said when he woke up the next morning. Sam was still asleep but the bruise on his neck looked wide awake and angry, flared up and raw; Danny touched his fingers to it gently, feeling the heat, and Sam stirred a little beside him. He took his hand back but then Sam was blinking at him with a furrowed brow.

"What?" he asked, rolling onto his back to look up at Danny.

Danny grimaced, brushing Sam's hair back to look at his neck again. "This is a problem."

Sam sat up on his elbows. "What?" he asked again. He was often cranky in the morning before his coffee, but the way his boyfriend was looking at him was exacerbating that just-awake, groggy irritation.

"The aftermath," Danny told him, sighing. "How are you gonna hide it? It's fucking April. It's not like you can wear a turtleneck or a scarf or something."

Sam scoffed and rolled back over onto his side, bringing the blankets up to cover himself. "You're blowing this out of proportion, I'm sure."

"Sam. I'm not. It looks like I fucking choked you or something. Or worse."

Sam let out a huff. "If anyone asks, we'll just say we're into BDSM."

"Sam. No."

Sam rolled over once again and threw the blankets off himself and, in turn, Danny too. He swung his legs over the bed next and got to his feet, swiftly moving to the bathroom before Danny could scrutinize him any further. "Can't anything be fucking easy?" he asked before he shut the door.

He emptied his bladder first, the light still off, then stood in front of the sink in the dark, taking a brief glance at his shadowed reflection as he grabbed his toothbrush. In the dark, he could see the blotch of discoloration on his skin; when he flipped on the light, the difference was so stark, so aggressive and shocking that his breath caught in his throat while toothpaste foamed in his mouth. And Danny wasn't wrong about the other thing–after Halloween, Sam had kept his neck covered as best as possible with hoodies and high-necked sweaters. Now, with the warm spring sun and heavy humidity outside, there was no way.

"Alright, Daniel," he said when he stepped out of the bathroom, arms crossed over his chest. "I see your point."

Danny felt the frown on his own face, still sitting on the bed and staring at the mess he created. "So what are we gonna actually tell Josh and Jake if they ask?"

"That I'm really into getting hickies." Sam reached up and pressed his palm against the unnatural heat. "Really insane hickies. But they won't ask as long as you're around."

That proved to be absolutely not true. As soon as Josh saw Sam next to Danny in the lobby, he rushed up, peering at his neck: "Goddamn, Sam–what happened there?"

Again, Sam reached a hand up, though not to feel but to simply conceal. "It's a hickey, Josh. You know what those are, don't you?"

"It's my fault," Danny blurted, feeling so exposed and in the open–quite literally, with all of them paused just past the front desk.

"Who else would be at fault?" Jake asked, slipping beside his twin. He brought his arm over Josh's shoulders and began to steer him away. "Come on, Josh. Young love. You remember what that was like, don't you?"

"I need coffee," Sam grumbled, grabbing Danny's hand to follow his brothers out the front doors.

"We're going to a diner," Danny reminded him with a nervous, slightly squeaky voice, still trying to mentally recover from the brief yet disarming sequence of events that just happened.

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