Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/782146.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Danny_Mahealani/Jackson_Whittemore
  Character:
      Danny_Mahealani, Jackson_Whittemore
  Additional Tags:
      Massage, First_Time
  Series:
      Part 2 of my_mating_games_ficlets_and_drabbles
  Collections:
      Mating_Games:_The_Teen_Wolf_Pornation_Extras
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-05-02 Words: 1039
****** Just so we’re clear, I’m not sucking your dick. ******
by marguerite_26
Summary
     Danny lifts to his elbows, trying to unseat Jackson. “Get off.”
     “Come on,” Jackson says, fighting to remain on Danny’s rear. “Trust
     me. I’m trying to help. I saw this in a… in an instructional video.”
     “Porn. You mean you saw it in porn, right? Dude, are you hitting on
     me? You are not my type.” Danny doesn’t do this with straight guys,
     definitely doesn’t do this with his one and only best friend.
Notes
     This was written for the mating_games bonus challenge "Sports Night".
     Thanks to Fr333bird for the quick spag check. Any remaining mistakes
     are mine, feel free to point them out so I can fix them.
See the end of the work for more notes
“What are you doing?” Danny’s face down on his living room floor, aching
everywhere from this afternoon’s practice. “You said you were getting the
remote. I seriously can’t move, man. If you want TV, you’re gonna have to
handle it yourself.”
“I have a better idea.” Jackson plops down on Danny’s ass, his legs straddling
Danny’s waist.
Danny groans at the sudden weight. “Stop fucking around, Jackson. Every muscle
in my body hurts right now. I don’t know how you’re not in pain.”
Jackson chuckles like there’s some inside joke he’s not getting.
Danny chooses to ignore it -- always the safer bet. He lets his face fall to
the carpet and hopes his mom has vacuumed recently. The carpet’s prickly
against his bare chest but not uncomfortably so. His eyes fall shut. Jackson
shifts a bit lower and his weight becomes easier to ignore. Danny’s just
starting to drift off when something cold and hard touches his left shoulder
and he nearly jumps out of his skin.
“Fuck off, Jackson.” He lifts to his elbows, trying to unseat Jackson. “Get
off.”
“Come on,” Jackson says, fighting to remain on Danny’s rear. “Trust me. I’m
trying to help. I saw this in a… in an instructional video.”
“Porn. You mean you saw it in porn, right? Dude, are you hitting on me? You are
not my type.” Danny doesn’t do this with straight guys, definitely doesn’t do
this with his one and only best friend.
“Just shut up and trust me.” Jackson leans forward, pressing his palms to
Danny’s shoulder blades until he collapses back onto the carpet. “It’s for your
muscles, not your dick.”
It’s Jackson’s ‘I expect you to ignore that I’m lying’ tone of voice, and
Danny’s a good friend so he doesn’t call him on it. Jackson’s an asshole. He
means well, sometimes. At least with Danny he usually tries not to ruin their
friendship. And Danny’s too fucking sore and tired to put up much of a fight so
he exhales, stares at the cheerio under the coffee table and tries to relax.
“Just so we’re clear, I’m not sucking your dick.”
Jackson doesn’t reply and Danny hopes that means they’re agreed on that point.
Regardless that cold thing is pressing into his shoulder again and Danny
winces.
“Is this supposed to feel good?”
“Shut up and give it a sec. It’ll warm up.”
It does eventually warm up as Jackson rolls it slowly around Danny’s left
shoulder. The pressure is perfect, Jackson letting up when Danny tenses and
going a bit deeper when he moans. Jackson’s surprisingly patient, doing one
shoulder until Danny’s loose and pain-free before rolling to the other side.
“Is that a lacrosse ball?”
“Took you long enough.”
Danny gives Jackson a soft snort, too relaxed to bother with banter.
Jackson continues rolling the ball over Danny’s right shoulder until it matches
the left in its jello-like looseness. Danny expects him to stop there, but he
doesn’t. He works out the knots in Danny’s thighs, his forearms, the back of
his neck with the kind of devotion that Jackson usually only places on selfish
pursuits. He wonders if there’s a point to all this, but he finds he doesn’t
care.
He’ll take whatever Jackson gives him until it’s too much; that’s how they
work.
So when Jackson starts tugging down Danny’s shorts, mumbling about working his
glutes, Danny lifts his hips and lies back down, buck naked. He’s relaxed to
the point of being half-asleep, but he’s tingling everywhere.
Jackson places the ball at the soft dip of Danny’s back and Danny realizes this
is going to get awkward fast. His cock -- which has been mildly interested
throughout all this, and slightly more so the moment it was bared and pressed
against the soft give of the carpet -- is now taking great interest in what
Jackson is doing. His lower back has always been one of those places, a direct
line to his cock.
And Jackson’s working the ball like he did everywhere else, just the right
amount of pressure, rolling it slowly, inching lower and lower. Jackson’s no
idiot. He knows Danny all too well to not be aware of exactly what he’s doing.
Even if he’s not looking to see Danny’s toes curl, or if he’s ignoring the way
Danny’s butt cheeks clench with each perfect press to his muscles, he knows.
“Jackson.”
“Just--” Jackson says. “Just let me.”
He sounds weirdly sincere, vulnerable. And Danny makes the terrible decision to
let him.
Jackson goes right back to it, this time with a palm covering one of Danny’s
ass cheeks, while the ball rolls methodically around the other. The tension in
the living room has skyrocketed, so has the heat of Jackson’s hand on him.
Danny can’t really move. Jackson’s sitting on his upper thighs, and Danny’s
cock is pinned and growing painfully hard at an awkward angle. He shifts to get
more comfortable and moans at the friction. Humping the carpet is the worst
idea, rug burns are not an option so he can’t help the instinct to lift his ass
and put his weight on his knees. Jackson adjusts, scrambling backward, never
taking his hands away.
Then Jackson’s spreading Danny’s ass cheeks and rolling the ball down his
cleft. Danny’s breath hitches, but he can’t find the words to say no, or fuck,
yes, though both responses on the tip of his tongue. The ball stops right
against his asshole -- big, blunt and smooth. Jackson pushes it, and it’s going
nowhere, obviously, but the pressure is amazing and the ball is skin-warm and
slick with sweat.
Danny’s already on edge and when Jackson gives the ball a sharp twist, Danny
loses it. He bites back his scream, coming silently onto the carpet in strips
of white that Danny prays won’t stain.
He collapses to the side of the mess, trying to catch his breath, while Jackson
inspects the ball in his hand with a smirk on his face.
Jackson gets up, adjusting his pants, but making no move to get any relief for
the boner tenting his jeans. “I’m everyone’s type.”
Honestly, Danny can’t even hate him for it. “Yeah, but I’m still not sucking
your dick.”
End Notes
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