Shower
by Te
3/99

Disclaimers: None of them are mine, but I'm a 
greedy thing.

Spoilers: None, really.

Summary: A morning after.

Ratings Note: R for some language and implied m/m
interaction.

Author's Note: Rae asked, and she's far too cute for 
me to refuse her. This is my first SN piece, comments 
and critique are welcome to thete1@earthlink.net.

Acknowledgments: To Rae for audiencing, and to Ladonna
for quick and lovely beta. 

******

Dan was losing the game. 

The thought came and was immediately kicked into the corner 
and mocked. Not only was it a lie, it was a boringly worded 
one. Dan had *lost* the game. Dan had, in fact, humiliated 
himself and every other man who had ever been lucky enough 
to be named Daniel. 

Other Daniels had every right to come and strip him of all 
rights and privileges that came with the name, because he 
had disgraced himself.

Then again, he'd lost *to* himself, so maybe there was some 
respect in that. 

Another thought, down and ready to be kicked into a 
quivering mass of failure. He couldn't even beat *himself*, 
which wasn't at all true since that was, in fact, what he 
was doing now.

Beating off. 

To thoughts of Casey.

Again.

He let his head fall against the back wall of the shower with an 
unkind thump. His fist was loosely wrapped around his cock. Not 
loosely enough; he was getting harder with each breath. 

This thought screamed as the few -- and vicious -- 
remaining fragments of his self-respect touched a torch to 
it. His senses filled with the smell of frying fat.

No, they filled with the smell of bacon coming from his 
kitchen, being prepared by the surprisingly unhealthy 
Rebecca. His cock twitched at that, too.

Dan thanked God that he could at least be a whore.

And then he imagined Casey saving up every last bit of 
alpha male for a week for some late, late Friday. And Casey 
would tackle him to the floor, and Dan would laugh -- he 
would believe at first the man was just playing -- and then 
Casey would press him to the floor, would press so hard Dan 
wouldn't be able to breathe, and just *use* him.

Like only a friend can use his friend, shameless and easy.

On the heels of this came the mental image of another Dan 
flying through the air. The entire B squad of the 
Wolverines proceeded to tear the Dan apart when it landed. 

His cock thickened in his fist anyway, determined to get as 
much contact as it could. The fantasy might be dangerously, 
egregiously stupid and embarrassing, but niceties like that 
were absolutely meaningless. 

No amount of self-abuse could stop the self-abuse.

Rebecca started singing. Even from the kitchen, with the 
water on, her voice was clear and strong -- passionate, if 
not precisely beautiful. He listened a little more closely, 
forcibly stopping his slow, even strokes to ease the 
pounding in his ears.

It sounded suspiciously like a chick song. Not that there 
was anything wrong with chick songs in particular, but a 
woman who sang them while cooking breakfast for the man 
she'd spent the night screwing.... It all spoke of 
potentially dangerous internal conflict.

This thought walked away, whistling smugly. It might have 
been bullshit, but at least it was *safe* bullshit. 

Safe. That's what he needed to be. New York was exciting, 
but he didn't feel very comfortable. There was an itch 
under the skin, something that would grow into wanderlust 
in another sort of man. 

But then, another sort of man would probably never have had 
a friend -- a *partner* -- like Casey. 

Dan flashed on an image of shuttered warmth and groaned to 
himself. His hand had started stroking again, utterly 
independent of his will.

He knew he should save this for Rebecca, send her away with 
an inflated sense of his virility that would stay with her 
long past the time when he deserved it... but it felt too 
good.

Hit with the aggressive pulse of his shower, wet all over, 
and hard... He knew he looked good. And when he was *this* 
hard, there was no problem at all in thinking there'd come 
a day when Casey would know it, too. 

When he was this hard, all his beaten thoughts revived, 
grotesquely smug with themselves. 

When he was this hard, they made themselves stronger at his 
expense. In return, they made him harder. Made the motion 
of fist on cock hotter than it should have been able to be 
since the advent of pussy in his life. 

Made him come so hard he had to bite his lip to keep from 
crying out. 

Dan just breathed for a while, gratefully allowing the 
fuzzed-out pleasure to defeat the recriminations and self-
hatred, if only for a few moments. In these bare few 
moments, he *was* those dangerous thoughts. 

And he didn't mind. 

After a few moments, he rinsed off perfunctorily and 
stepped out of the shower. It was time for breakfast.

******
End.
******