Chapter Text
Dan stared blearily at his desk, his head swimming and his throat constricting before letting out a series of harsh coughs then carefully as he could, stowed his bong back under his bed.
Time to do...something...
A moment crawled by as he passed his sweaty palm over the thin cotton sheet before he remembered, giggling to himself. Digital camera, right.
He pulled the covers off and lurched to his feet, already feeling uncoordinated and stupid as he scanned the room before muttering 'There you are...' to the suitcase stashed next to his desk, pulling out dirt-blackened socks and underwear before finding the camera and a tangle of charger cords at the bottom.
He remembered dimly Deb saying something about posting the pictures he’d taken of his road-trip in the rare moment he was out of his room, silently making Top Ramen on the stove at 1 in the morning. He'd grunted something in acknowledgement but otherwise said nothing. She seemed worried from what he could see but he dodged any questions by saying he was sick to explain his otherwise listlessness and omnipresent puffy eyes since he got home.
It was hard to know where his heartbreak ended and actual sickness began, driving through the South on nothing but pot, melted candy and fast food and sleeping in his car to save money. He’d worried that it might be serious enough that Deb and Avi might take him to the doctor but he hoped just being home and having regular food might alleviate that worry and give the illusion that everything was fine. For the moment, he just wanted everyone to leave him alone for a while. He couldn’t take the idea of Deb and Avi worrying over him, of being disappointed in him.
The first few days back home he spent lying facedown in bed and playing Radiohead’s "The Bends" over and over, staring at nothing in particular, only leaving to go into the kitchen and raid the fridge or to the bathroom and then locking himself back in his room.
He'd made up his mind driving back home he couldn't tell anybody about Arin. What could he even say about it? Deb might understand, Avi maybe less so. He wasn't sure what emotion he was feeling, the closest a wistful happiness tinged with sadness. He didn't regret what he did with Arin but he was less sure if that changed anything about him, whether that made him gay or not. Most of all, he couldn't trust telling anybody about it, positive they wouldn't understand. It wasn't a mistake or a weird one-off experiment, it had meant something to him.
Dan huffed and sank onto his computer chair, pulling the clothes draped off the back as he turned the computer on and hooked up the camera to the USB port.
He sighed and tapped his fingers on the desk, waiting for the pictures to import. He didn't realize he took that many. The computer chimed once it was done and he started to scroll through the pictures.
They were in chronological order so the first ones were of the Everglades: the fan boat, the bayou, the alligator farm, the picture his friend took of him squatting down on the alligator’s back with his hands holding its jaws closed, smiling with half-hidden panic.
Then the pictures moved on and...
Dan's breath caught.
It was so strange. Without realizing it at the time, all the pictures he'd had from West Palm Beach were subtly or unsubtly pictures with Arin in them. Some were incidental: pictures of Arin from the back walking somewhere or Arin in profile as they were looking at something: pictures that Arin just happened to be in. The others were less so: pictures of Arin laughing or smiling, making goofy faces or doing over-the-top anime poses, Arin making an exaggerated silent scream at an anoli lizard crawling on his pant leg, eating ice cream at Dairy Queen. There was one of them sitting outside the Dairy Queen that Dan had taken of both him and Arin that he paused to sadly smile at. They were squished together, shoulder to shoulder, with Dan holding the camera in front of him to get them both in the shot. It must have been taken in the late afternoon because there was a glare on the right side of the picture as Arin was squinting, his head moved to the side away from the light and leaning his forehead against Dan’s shoulder to shield himself from the bright sun but smiling.
God, he must have been the biggest idiot in the world not to see it now, how open and carefree Arin was in those pictures, looking at the camera (at him) with such a fondness, it made his heart hurt.
Then he remembered with something akin to dread the circumstance of the next couple of photos.
After they had sex, they only had another day and a half before his car was fixed and he had to leave. The morning after their night together, they had breakfast at IHOP and Dan tried not to giggle into his pancakes at Arin rocking back and forth and squirming in his seat like a fussy toddler after being “deflowered". (Arin’s words, not his.) He had felt sorry for Arin but he didn't seem to be in any real pain, just a little sore.
He also remembered why he had the camera. They went back his hotel room and he was sitting on the edge of the bed listening with something like to horror as Arin took one of the loudest shits he had ever heard. At first he’d worried that he’d gotten diarrhea from the food but it turned out Arin just had weak intestines and he was always like that. After he’d showered, they had just laid in bed as he tried to soothe Arin’s soreness as best he could with loving touches and kisses, which turned into a tender, post-breakfast grope session.
The first picture was a blurry extreme close-up of Arin's arm as he realized what Dan was doing and was playfully shoving him, trying to squirm away. The next two or three were also blurry pictures of Arin moving out of frame.
But the next ones were focused pictures of Arin smiling shyly into the camera, brushing his hair back behind his ear, wrinkling his nose and trying not laugh, smirking, his mouth hanging open, his tongue lolling against his lips like a dog in heat.
Dan's eyes darted guiltily towards the bedroom door. The first couple of pictures he could explain away if anybody else saw them ("Oh they're just pictures of my friend I met in Florida. He's really cool."), but how could he explain having pictures of a guy lounging naked on a dirty hotel bed and licking his lips like a porn star?
Dan leaned over, cupping one hand over his mouth as he continued to click through the images, his cock beginning to stir with interest.
I should just close this. Find the most appropriate pictures, put them on MySpace and forget about the whole thing but he found he couldn't. As sad as it was, these were the only tangible record he had of his time in Florida, of Arin, and the sluggish arousal sitting in his lower stomach was blending uncomfortably with those bittersweet, gushy feelings Arin brought out in him; feelings he’d cried himself sick over.
The pictures moved down, as he had taken them one-handed as he was leaning over Arin's body, his other hand invading the frame as it felt along Arin's naked body. In his mind, he could hear Arin clear as a bell: the breathy pants, the way his voice broke a little as he said his name, the tender growls, the gasped out curses.
He was getting close to the "money shot" and he knew once he got to it, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from jerking off to it, as sad and pathetic as it was. Jacking off to Arin (he still couldn't come up with an appropriate word to describe Arin like “boyfriend” and soon gave up again) in his parents' house at his old computer, his throat burning, his hands twitching madly.
But there it was, sitting on his SD card: Arin spread-eagled on the bed, one hand loosely curled around the base of his shaft, the other hand laying over his inner thigh with his legs drawn up, presenting himself to Dan.
Dan exhaled hard, his hand quickly diving into his boxers. I'm so disgusting. I'm so fucking disgusting. He gave his restless cock a squeeze before sloppily spitting into his hand and closing his fist tightly around it, trying to mimic the way Arin's inner muscles pinched so tightly and so perfectly around his shaft, like they were made for each other.
He gulped and hunched over, leaning his forearm on the desk as he tugged on his cock, trying desperately to be quiet as the wet, slippery sounds filled the otherwise quiet room. He had to be fast. He couldn't trust the world to be merciful enough to grant him privacy to finish this filthy embarrassing task uninterrupted. Avi had been good before about knocking on his door and not bursting into his room unannounced but he couldn't take that chance now. His only son stoned out of his mind and frantically jacking off to a picture of a naked guy. He'd never live it down, not in a million years.
Just having these pictures lit his guilty conscience on fire. I have to delete these, I SHOULD delete these...later. Once he started, he realized how backed up he had been, too apathetic to do much of anything over the past few days as far as pleasure himself but started, he realized he couldn’t stop, not until he had his release. Even with spit, he could see with the way he going at it, he was going to chafe when this was all over and done with but he couldn’t bring himself to care or slow down.
He furrowed his brow, leaning over his desk, panting through his open mouth, his vision going spotty, not even looking that closely at the picture of Arin anymore. He’d already memorized enough details of it just in case a knock came at the door and he’d have to minimize the window, picturing himself spreading Arin wide open and burying himself over and over again in that tight heat as the Arin in his mind writhed and wailed, looking up at him through the mahogany strings of hair hanging messy over his flushed face with eyes full of desire.
In his state, he realized he wasn’t getting a good angle with his hand constantly bumping clumsily against the inside of his boxers and with an impatient growl, he wrenched them down with his free hand down to the middle of his thighs, only faltering in his movements for a second before he continued pumping furiously.
“Shit…” he panted aloud, grabbing a fistful of hair and tugging on it desperately, squeezing his eyes shut and hissing as the tingles in his scalp coursed like electricity through his body, heat pooling and collecting in his lower stomach. He was close and his mind spin to keep focused on Arin, any details that would carry him over the edge: the way Arin’s brown eyes darkened and dilated, the uneven line of his teeth catching against his shaft, his red bee-stung lips, Arin worshipping his dick with his greedy tongue, Arin’s warm hands moving and exploring over his body, clutching at him like even then, he did want to let Dan go.
Dan gulped. No, focus. He was so close, he could taste it. “Arin...baby…” he breathed, maybe hoping that saying his name, as quietly as he could muster, could conjure up a vivid enough picture of Arin to carry him over the brink.
The day where everything fell in disorder, pushing Arin onto his stomach, pinning him down...he imagined his hands gripping those wide, almost child-birthing hips and pushing deep inside and being met with a symphony of inarticulate, needy noises from the younger man underneath him as he clutched as the sheets with a white-knuckled grip, really milking him and taking him in deep.
With a strangled cry, his body seized as he shot an unbelievably hard load on an area just underneath his desk, spilling onto the carpet and dripping unhindered down the side of one leg. He took his clean hand off his hair and gripped the side of the particle-board desk, swimming in a sea of warm, satisfied feelings he felt he didn’t deserve as the tide of his orgasm rolled back, his cock pulsing but spent in his hand.
Licking his dry lips, he grabbed the mouse, moving the cursor and highlighting the whole collection of pictures of West Palm Beach, of Arin, ready to just dump the whole thing in the Recycle Bin...and paused.
He sneered at himself as he could feel his cum drying sticky to his lap and against his calf. He moved to the desktop and quickly right-clicked to open a new folder, transferring the pictures there. Deleting them was too impulsive to do, especially in his state of mind now. Maybe in a little while, he could decide for sure what to do with them, besides give himself the opportunity to use candid pictures of Arin as future spank bank material.
Not feeling creative at the moment to come up with a name that wouldn’t be suspicious, he labeled the new folder ‘florida’. Rising from his computer chair and wobbling like a newly born colt, he grabbed a dirty shirt and threw it over the cum stain under his desk, pulling up his boxers and slouching to the bathroom to shower.
---
Arin bit the end of his pencil and frowned as he looked at the smudged curve that was supposed to be Dan’s cheek before erasing it again, for the third or fourth time. He cursed under his breath. He should give up on this. He never thought to take any pictures of Dan when he here and now he was starting to forget his face, the picture in his mind getting hazy and more indistinct, drifting further and further away like Dan’s car as he watched it recede into the distance.
His heart gave a painful pang and he fidgeted on his bed. He couldn’t do this again, reliving the pain. He was becoming a real asshole, snapping at his friends online for no reason or ignoring group calls while he animated. God knows why he still he had any friends, just feeling both parts sullen and irritable.
That was the worst of it, not being able to tell anybody. He had to stuff everything deep down and pretend that the whole stretch of time was a strange, summer anomaly: Dan was here and now he wasn’t and nothing notable happened in between then. He definitely didn’t replay the night over at Dan’s hotel room over and over again and grind himself down on his blanket while clumsily slipping his fingers inside himself, muffling his pants against the cotton and squirming with frustration that he couldn’t completely recreate the feeling, the feeling of being filled. Whole. Complete.
At his lowest points of self-loathing, he had all but made up his mind that what he’d wanted was too gay and pathetic to obtain and he’d forever be stuck wondering what if. Now that it had happened, he didn’t realize he’d crave it so much. Not just having Dan inside him but the whole experience; being touched, being kissed, being wanted.
With huff of impatience, he ripped the page out of his sketchbook, balled it up and threw it across the room, almost ripping out his earbuds in the process as he flopped onto the bed in defeat, squeezing his eyes shut.
God, it hurts. Everything hurts.
It wasn’t even the same feeling he’d had when he broke up with Suzy. With less time together, everything about Dan felt compressed, smashed together into one big brick. Thinking about one specific memory that was on its own happy meant jarring against another memory that led in a chain to the very end, watching Dan’s dark blue car disappear from view and feeling his heart crumble like a dry sandcastle.
No, he hadn’t completely stuffed everything down inside. He drew and he tried to pour out his emotions in his old high school diary. The stupid angsty feelings seemed totally at home within those pages and it helped he was never in any danger of his family finding it.
But it didn’t help. It didn’t help that his hoodie still smelled like Dan. Mostly the smell was of pot but there was a strange blending of different other kinds of smells like Skittles and whatever brand of deodorant Dan used that was just unmistakably Dan’s scent as well as the damp spots that had been Dan’s tears. When it was late enough, he’d put it on and play his mix of J-Pop on his iPod and snuggle within the fleece, pretending Dan had his arms around him from behind, holding him, there to kiss his tears away and call him ‘big cat’.
He hated it, hated how Dan leaving had him feeling this way, mopey and pining and sappy. This must be how a rabid animal feels, he thought: they know something is wrong but it’s nothing they can wrap their minds around. They can shelter from the cold, eat when they’re hungry, sleep when they’re tired but when they’re rabid, they have no way of understanding why things don’t feel right. It’s nothing they can do, so they just foam at the mouth and snap at anything that gets in their way. He didn’t know whether or not to just sleep forever or go on a rampage and tear everything in his room to shreds.
He wriggled his body to the side, pausing the song on his iPod. The most he could do now is distract himself. Climbing sideways off his bed, he crawled over to his Super Nintendo and put in “Megaman X”. As the game loaded, he grabbed the controller and clambered back onto the bed, flopping down so that his head was propped up but the rest of his body was slumped and completely inert.
The optimist in him (a very small part) knew that he’d get over it eventually. It hurt like hell now but they’d still keep in touch. “It’s not going to be forever,” Dan had said. Then why did he have the feeling that that had been a lie to make him feel better? What was so important that Dan couldn’t stay a little longer? Had he not been important?
Arin frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to will the frustrated tears away. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't bring himself to be that pissed off at Dan. It was like getting mad at a dog: they look up at you with those confused hurt eyes completely uncomprehending of what it is they had done wrong. Mostly, he wanted to be mad at somebody but there wasn't anybody really to be the target of his anger. Instead, all the hurt boiled inside him like a sick cauldron.
Arin huffed. It's not going to be forever, he reminded himself. He hoped that would be true soon.