It’s a day late but heres the Danny x Wes fic I wrote for @ghostgothgeek ‘s Ship Event!!
Rating: Teen and Up
Warnings: Language, Underage Drinking, Mild Suggestive Themes
Additional Tags: Post-Reveal, Aged Up Characters, Mutual Pining, Flirting, Getting Together
Summary: So, here’s the thing; Wes never wanted to have a fucking house party, okay?
This was all stupid Kyle’s stupid idea.
Kyle isn’t even in highschool anymore. He graduated last year. But he invited his whole college freshmen class, and just about everyone from the senior Casper class.
And it's just getting better and better.
Why?
Because about half an hour ago, Danny Fucking Fenton walked in.
--
Or a fic in which Wes sees Danny getting shitfaced and says, "Is anyone else gonna take care of him, or?" and then doesn't wait for an answer.
Words: 6,233
Ao3
“I take back all my poor words.
Talk is cheap, but my mind is rich
When I close my eyes
You grab my wrist,
And pull me in to your cold dead lips”
So, here’s the thing; Wes never wanted to have a fucking house party, okay?
This was all stupid Kyle’s stupid idea.
Kyle isn’t even in highschool anymore. He graduated last year. But he invited his whole college freshmen class, and just about everyone from the senior Casper class.
And it's just getting better and better.
Why?
Because about half an hour ago, Danny Fucking Fenton walked in.
He walked in like he owned the goddamn place and the reaction went through everyone like a Whoop—like some kind of synchronized celebration of a miracle.
What, just ‘cause everyone knows he’s Phantom now?
Give him a fuckin’ break.
Currently, Wes is standing adjacent to the fridge, nursing a god-awful drink Kyle shoved into his hands before disappearing back into the throng.
Lighten up, bro, he’d said.
Yeah.
Sure.
The music pounds through the house—a heart beat—a fucking jack-hammer.
People talk and yell and spill their drinks on just about every surface that can stain.
A cheer goes up from the dining room and he rolls his eyes.
He slams his drink and focuses on the outdated calendar on the side of the fridge to keep from shuddering. It makes his mouth water, burns the whole way down and Jesus, seriously, what the fuck did Kyle put in this?
He throws his cup at the overflowing trash can.
His cheeks feel warm, but not even a buzz touches the wound up feeling in his chest.
He passes through the dining room, stops to watch Danny and Dash shotgunning sixteen ounce Mike’s Harder cans. From the looks of the table, they've already gone a few rounds.
Danny finishes five whole seconds before Dash. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and crushes his can.
“Slowing down already, Baxter?” he says, a smug grin plastered across his face. His shoulders are slumped and he talks just a bit too loud.
Dash finishes his and tosses it over his shoulder, which—cool. Fucking nice, what, does he think they have a fucking maid?
“In your dreams, Fenton. We're just getting warmed up. No way I'm getting out-drank by a twig like you, half-ghost or not.”
“Guess we’ll see.” Danny shrugs. He talks like he’s one of those people, has always been one of those people.
Wes rolls his eyes and is just about to slip out of the room when—
“Ohhh shit! If it isn’t the one and only Wesley Weston!”
Fucking hell.
He turns and levels as unimpressed of a look as he can manage at Danny.
“Imagine that. It’s almost like I fucking live here.”
Danny swipes up a plastic cup and then proceeds to walk through the table towards him. People act like they’re finding out all over again.
“Oh come on, Wes. You’re not still mad are you?” He comes up to him and slouches against the archway’s frame.
Wes scrapes his tongue along his teeth. “Mad? What could I possibly be mad about?”
Danny looks at him like a puzzle.
When he talks his voice is quiet, hard to hear over the music. “I dunno, the fact that you knew all along but no one ever listened? They thought you were crazy and you weren’t but no one's even said sorry?” His lips quirk up at the corner and Wes can smell the artificial black cherry dancing on the top of the alcohol in his breath.
He wrinkles his nose and it has nothing to do with the smell.
“I was being facetious, prick.”
Danny smiles bigger, and his eyes glitter, something doe-eyed.
“Right. So you are still mad?”
He pushes air through his teeth.
“Not like it matters,” he says, looking away from Danny, drifting over the room. “Where’s your chaperones? Weird to see you anywhere alone.”
Danny just stares at him for a few seconds before understanding sparks.
“Ah. Sam’s got a family thing. Tuck took a closing shift.” He waves a hand and his head lolls against the wall with a thunk. He lifts the cup to his lips and takes a swig.
Everything about him looks heavy. It’s weird for Danny.
“Have you tried the jungle juice your brother made?” he says. “It sucks. You’ve gotta try it.”
Wes lifts a brow and crosses his arms over his chest.
“How many’ve you had?”
Danny looks down into his cup, swirls its contents. It’s silent for several seconds too long.
“I’m not really sure, honestly. Didn’t know I was supposed to keep count.”
Wes slides a hand down his face.
Jesus Christ.
“Listen, maybe you should slow down—”
“Yo! Fenton! Stop flirting with Wes and fucking get over here, we’re not done.” Dash calls across the room and—
Flirting?!
They weren’t fucking flirting.
What the fuck.
Wes’s face heats up far beyond the liquor in his veins.
Danny looks up and flashes Dash a thumbs up. And then Danny is even closer—grabbing his arm. The chill of his hand goes right through to his stomach.
“Hey,” he breathes, “come watch me outdrink Dash.”
“Why would I wanna do that?” He ignores the way his breath flutters in his lungs, the way he feels light all the way to his toes.
Danny smiles like what he’s about to say is a secret—like it’s just for him, and all of a sudden Wes wants to be as far from Danny as humanly possible.
“Isn’t watching Dash lose at something for once reason enough?”
Wes forces himself to keep breathing and he swallows.
“Fine,” is all he can force out and then Danny is dragging him towards the table. He ignores all the people looking at them.
The fragmented group of A-listers cheer again and Dash slams a bottle of Fireball onto the table, making people's drinks jump and slosh.
“Let’s kick it up a notch, shall we?” he says, grin just shy of evil.
“Where’d you get that?” Wes asks.
Dash cocks a brow. “Paulina found it? Duh.”
God, Kyle really wasn’t joking about getting people fucked up.
Wes is not going to clean up anyone’s puke this time. This shit is all on Kyle.
“Dude, is it even cold?” Danny asks.
“No, it wasn’t in the freezer long enough,” Paulina says. She’s drinking from a champagne flute for some fucking reason. He didn’t even know they had those.
“Gimme that,” Danny says, swiping it from Dash. “No way in hell I’m drinking warm whiskey.”
His eyes glow blue, and when he breathes out its a thin vapor. Frost creeps over the glass and Wes can’t help but shiver.
“Dude, fucking wicked. I’m still not over this,” Dash breathes, clapping his hands together.
How could Wes forget that Dash is Phantom’s number one fanboy after all?
But Danny isn’t looking at Dash—he’s looking at him.
Only it’s different this time. Because before it was always a taunt, blatantly rubbing it in Wes’ face when he used his powers and no one else noticed.
But the way Danny is looking at him now… like he’s waiting for something, thinking about something.
Danny hands back the Fireball and his eyes slip away from Wes and he feels like a fish wrenched from water.
What the hell was that?
“Fuck yeah, Fenton.” Dash unscrews the whiskey, flicks the cap off the mouth with a finger, sending it flying. He pours directly into their cups, the liquid glugging through the frosted neck of the bottle.
“Two shots of vodka,” someone says and everyone laughs.
“No chasers?” Danny asks, eyeing his cup.
Dash puts down the Fireball. “What’s the matter, you scared of the burn?”
“Not a chance,” he says, and holds out his cup to Dash. They cheers each other and then they’re throwing it back.
It sinks in his stomach like a rock. There’s no way this ends well.
.
It’s on the sixth round of Fireball that Dash starts to look green. He sets down his cup and leans on the table. He stares at the clear storage container of jungle juice and Kwan comes up beside him, pats his arm.
“Dude, maybe you should call it.”
“I’m fine, ‘s fine…” His words slur together. He tries to stand up straight and Kwan and Paulina both have to keep him up right.
Danny laughs. “Not lookin’ great, Baxter,” he says, his own words falling sluggishly from his mouth. Danny goes to lift his cup to his lips again and Wes puts his hand over it.
“Nope. You two are done.”
“Come on, Wes. Don’t be a buzzkill. I’m good!” Danny says. “Dash is the one that lost!” He flings his hand towards Dash and knocks the Fireball over, spilling it all over the table.
The group all crows at once, a choir of “oh shit” “nice one” and “duuuude noooo”’s. A few people rush to grab their phones from harm's way.
Danny blinks at the table. “Oops,” he says.
A smile splits his face and he starts chuckling. It builds from him, a laugh, something outside of him—beyond him.
He laughs until he’s doubled over, holding onto Wes to keep himself stable.
“Yeah, that’s it. You’ve had more than enough.” He grabs Danny’s cup from him before he can spill that too and drinks it himself. The cinnamon burns through his sinuses and he shudders. Ugh.
Danny straightens and sways just a bit, stumbling into him—their faces inches apart.
“Hey, that was mine,” he says, voice twisted in a pout. “Not cool.” His breath is cold, thick with the smell of whiskey.
Wes feels frozen, feels like he can’t breathe.
His heart pounds in his chest and he prays Danny isn’t so close he can feel it.
Around them the choir starts again, a chorus of suggestive “ooo”’s. He can feel their eyes on him and it makes his skin crawl.
Fucking dammit, this is all Fenton’s fault.
He pushes Danny away from him. Not fast or rough, just to arms length. He coughs.
“Star, you should go to the kitchen and get them both some water,” he says.
She gives him an annoyed look.
“I don’t see you doing anything else,” he snaps.
“I’m drunk too, you know,” she says, but gets up and leaves towards the kitchen.
Paulina and Kwan coax Dash into a chair, and he puts his head down on the table, groaning. A few others are sopping up the Fireball with paper towels.
Danny sags in his grip, goofy smile still plastered all over his face.
“I’ve never been drunk before, this is awesome,” he says.
Wes rolls his eyes, and maneuvers Danny into a chair. His head lolls back and he stares at the ceiling for a second before perking back up and trying to go for someone else's cup.
“Dude, I’m serious.” Wes moves the cup out of his reach. “Quit while you’re ahead.”
Danny groans, sinking down in his chair like he’s boneless.
“Come on, Wes,” he says. “You think I don’t know my own limits?”
“You just said this is your first time being drunk.”
Danny blows a raspberry.
Star walks back into the room and hands Wes a glass of water and then slides one across the table at Dash.
“Here. Wanna drink? Drink this.”
“Ugh, fine,” he says.
He’s a few swigs into it when he stops.
“God, it’s hot in here. Is anyone else hot?” And before anyone can answer his eyes glow that bright blue and a chill works through the air, plummets the temperature.
“Danny—” Goosebumps rise over Wes’ skin and his breath fogs from his mouth.
At varying levels of exasperation, the people around cry out.
“Dude, cut that out,” he says, smacking Danny’s arm.
“Ow, why are you hitting me?”
“Because you’re being a pain in the ass.”
Danny looks at him, blinks heavy eyelids. He smiles.
“What.”
“Nothing, you just… You’re cute when you’re all annoyed sometimes.”
The ground feels like it opens up underneath him.
His thoughts screech to a stop. It smells like burnt rubber, like cinnamon and black cherry.
It’s just the alcohol. No fucking way Danny of all people would say that to him.
“You really are drunk,” he says, but his voice sounds off kilter.
Across the house the last song fades out and Usher’s Yeah comes on. People scream and cheer.
“Holy shit, I love this song,” Danny says and stands up. He sways and catches himself on the edge of the table, starts laughing again. “Whew, that was close. The spinning is normal, right?”
Fucking Christ, how did he end up on babysitting duty again? He rubs his temples.
Is he really about to do this?
“You should lay down.” He heaves a sigh. “Come on.”
“Jeez, Wes, that's pretty forward,” Danny says, wiggling his eyebrows.
Heat flashes through him.
“Would you just shut up,” he hisses. “And stop making it cold. Jesus.”
Danny snorts and when he moves from the table he wobbles. Wes grabs him before he topples and slings Danny’s arm over his shoulder to keep him up.
Danny leans into him, almost unbalances them.
“You got a problem with the cold, Wes?” he says, this time his cold breath is against the side of his neck. It sends chills down his spine.
“I don’t have to help you, you know,” he says, voice thick. “You can get alcohol poisoning for all I care.”
“You’re a bad liar, Wes.”
Wes yanks Danny along beside him and out of the dining room.
“Shut up, Danny. You’re drunk.”
He hauls Danny past the living room and the knot of people dancing and singing. A few call out to them, ask them to come have fun. He steers them away before Danny can pull away and join them.
“But I wanna have fun, Wes,” he whines.
“Dude, you can’t even stand without my help right now, you really wanna try dancing?”
“Dance with me, then.”
Wes stops. He looks over at Danny and…
He—
He blinks, shakes his head.
“No, not—not right now,” he mumbles.
“There’s a whole reason I came alone, you know,” Danny says.
“What, so you could get fucked up and no one would stop you?”
“Yeah! I mean… well, that’s part of it.”
Wes guides them towards the stairs, ignoring the looks.
“Your house is bigger than it looks from the outside,” Danny says.
“Thanks?”
“Mmhm.”
God. This is so not what he thought tonight was going to be like.
“Where are we going?” Danny asks.
“Somewhere you can lay down and sober up.”
“Tha’s not vague.”
Wes starts pulling Danny up the staircase. The second floor is dark, and he gropes around to hit the light.
The first few steps are fine, which is to say the next steps aren’t fine.
What he’s saying is that Danny says, “oh shit.”
And then he’s falling—pulling Wes down with him.
More accurately, Danny trips and pulls Wes down on top of him.
They end up in a heap and Danny groans like someone does when they fall on the fucking stairs.
“Ow.” He reaches for the back of his head. Then he’s laughing, like it's the funniest goddamn thing in the world, what just happened. His face screws up, the face of someone who doesn’t know he’s in pain, just pretending.
“Seriously?” Wes snaps. His shin smarts—must have hit it on the stairs.
“Sorry, sorry.” He laughs each syllable. “You good?”
“No, I’m not—” And he looks down and he realizes how close they are. Realizes the way Danny’s hair falls into his face, the light catching the slope of his jaw.
Danny quiets at the same time and it’s like they get stuck there. Like nothing else exists other than this staircase and this moment and the way Danny feels cool and solid like a summer night underneath him.
“Hey,” Danny says—sounds almost breathless. “Come here often?”
Wes rolls his eyes and just like that the moment is over.
“Ugh.” He pushes himself up, detangles himself from Danny.
Danny reaches for him, that stupid smile back on his face.
“Oh come on, Wes,” he says.
“Quit messing around, dude.”
Danny pushes himself up, runs a hand through his hair and Wes tracks the motion with his eyes against his best wishes.
“You’re so mean. I could have a concussion and this is how you treat me?”
Wes stands up and straightens his clothes. “You’re fine.”
Danny gives him a look and then something sparks in his eyes. “I’m going to text Sam and Tucker and tell them how mean you are to me.”
Psh. He says that like they don’t already hate him.
“Would you just get up?”
“These stairs are actually kinda comfy,” he says, head rolling back, sinking back down and closing his eyes. “I think I’ll just stay here.”
Wes kicks his leg.
“You can lay down in the room. Get up.”
Danny heaves a sigh, throws an arm over his eyes.
“Fiiinnneee.” He pulls himself up by the handrail, stops in a sitting position. “Jesus,” he says, voice just above a whisper. His breathing gets weird. It makes Wes pause.
“You okay?”
“...Spinning,” Danny breathes. He’s quiet for a bit, and Wes just lets him sit there. Danny holds his head in his hands for a while.
Worry creeps into the back of his mind. Maybe Danny wasn’t kidding about the concussion thing. Maybe he should get someone—
Then Danny is standing up and Wes steadys his other arm.
“I got you,” he says. “Feeling okay?”
Danny sends him a weak smile. “Yeah. Laying down does sound good though," he mumbles.
They make it up the rest of the stairs, and Danny leans against the wall as Wes opens the door to his room.
It’s dark and quiet inside and he flips on the light.
He helps Danny in, and he flops face first onto his bed. He groans and rolls over.
“I’m thinking those last few shots of Fireball were a bad idea…”
Wes snorts and closes the door softly behind him.
“Oh, just the last few, huh?”
“I was havin’ fun, smartass,” Danny grumbles.
Wes leans back against his dresser and crosses his arms. “I said you should have stopped but noooo, no one listens to Wes.”
It gets quiet and he can feel the heaviness in the air. He clears his throat. “If you throw up in my bed, I’m kicking you out the window.”
“I’m not going to throw up.”
“Famous last words, Fenton.”
“Shaddup,” Danny says, and it gets quiet.
Wes can feel the bass from the music through the floor, the muffled sound of singing, laughing, talking. He’s used to ducking out at parties early. He’s used to laying in bed and listening to the songs through the walls until the voices slowly fade and the house is empty again. He listens to Kyle stumble up to bed and knock into the walls and yell “I’m okay” when he does.
He’s not used to having… company.
Danny sits up like a puppet on too few strings. He makes a frustrated noise.
“It’s still hot,” he sighs.
“It’s the alcohol, dude.”
Danny runs his hands over his face, and then reaches back and starts pulling his hoodie off. It drags his shirt up with it and Wes can’t help but look. He looks at the multitude of scars staining Danny’s skin and the way his muscles move over his ribs and—he pulls his gaze away and studies the floor instead.
“This is your bedroom, huh?”
“Yep.”
“Doesn’t look how I thought it would.”
Wes wrinkles his nose. “How'd you think it would look?”
Danny takes his time looking around the room, hoodie pooled in his lap, before he looks at Wes and gives a boneless shrug.
“I dunno. More,” he holds his hands up, splays his fingers, “raah!”
“I… don’t know what that means.”
“You know! Like… newspaper-clipping red-web on all the walls,” Danny says, smile creeping back.
Wes squints at Danny. He pushes off his dresser.
“That’s still all you think of me?” He picks a pillow from his bed and throws it at Danny’s face. Danny lets out a yelp.
“Besides, I took all that shit down when the truth came out anyway,” he says, trying and failing to keep the inkling of a smile from his voice.
Danny looks at him blankly for a second before he starts to smile again.
“Wait, was that… Did you just make a joke?”
Wes snorts.
“You did! Holy shit, Wes has a sense of humor, this is bigger news than my shit. I gotta tell everyone.”
Danny looks soft, sitting like this in the middle of his bed, eyes warm in a way Wes didn’t realize they could be.
Something in him loosens.
“Good luck getting people to believe you…” he says.
“Oh, how the turn tables,” Danny says, and for a bit all they do is smile at each other.
Danny looks away first, he glances up at the light and squints.
“You got a light that isn’t so fuckin’ bright?”
“I thought the light sensitivity was supposed to happen the morning after drinking.”
“You’re full of jokes tonight.”
Wes rolls his eyes and flips on the bedside lamp and then shuts off the overhead light.
Danny hums and flops back down. “Better,” he says.
It’s silent for a few beats and Danny lifts his head to look at him. He smacks the comforter a few times with a flat hand.
Wes blanches; he’s all too aware of himself, of Danny and the dim light and the closed door.
“Dude, chill,” Danny says, like he can read his mind—wait, he can’t actually do that, right? Ghosts can’t do that?
“Sit down or something. You just standing there watching me is creepy,” Danny says.
Wes swallows his own heartbeat, shakes his head. “Seriously, between the two of us, I’m not the creepy one.”
“Says the stalker.”
“I didn’t stalk you.”
Danny gives him a look, with raised eyebrows and everything.
Wes sits on the side of the bed, scoots back so he’s leaned against the headboard.
“I was… investigating.”
Danny laughs. “Sure, dude. Whatever you say,” and his voice is like smoke—hickory and rough but winding through the air like silk.
They fall into an amiable silence, cotton soft, but cold. Danny has an arm over his eyes again, and his breathing is so slow it’s hard to pick out from the music downstairs.
He rakes a hand through his hair and takes out his phone. He unlocks it and scrolls mindlessly for a while.
He can’t focus.
Not with Danny so close like this. Not when everything is different now. His mind drifts off and he tries to keep track of every breath, wonders if he’s fallen asleep—
“Hey, Wes.”
He jumps. Just a little bit.
“Y-yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
He puts his phone down.
“...For what?”
“For making everyone think you were crazy.”
Wes twists his hand in his comforter. Why the hell is Danny apologizing to him? After everything he’s done to him… tried to do to him. It gets stuck in his throat.
“It’s… You don’t have to—” he wishes he’d had a few more drinks.
“Nah. I do. Looking back, I didn’t handle you knowing very well.”
He chews on his lip. He’s never felt so out of place.
“Danny…”
Danny moves his arm and looks up at him and his courage almost shrivels.
“I’m the one who should apologize. Not you. I—” He balls his hands into fists. “What I did, trying to basically out you, that wasn’t… that wasn’t okay.”
“You didn’t know the whole situation.”
“Did I need to? It was still fucked up and. I’m sorry. I was so wrapped up in wanting to be right that I didn’t care what it could have done to you.”
It feels like glass coming up from his throat.
He’s lost sleep, engraved in the ceiling all the ways he fucked up, all the times he's glad now that no one listened to him. His eyes feel hot and there’s no way in hell he’s going to fucking get emotional in front of Danny.
“It all worked out in the end,” Danny says. He says it easy, gentle. “You were still technically right, though, so… There’s that.”
Wes huffs. “Yeah. I guess.” He fights through all the mess. “I don’t know how this didn’t happen sooner though. You were terrible at hiding it.”
Danny props himself up on his elbows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude, I'm a great liar.”
Wes leans his head back on the headboard. “Sure, but you’re reckless as hell. How many times did you stick your arm through your locker in front of God and everyone?”
Danny smiles wide and bright.
“Honestly, after a while, it was just fun to see how far I could go before anyone noticed.”
Wes can’t help but chuckle. “Pretty far, obviously.”
“No kidding.”
Wes runs his palms over his jeans.
“You’re good though, right?” Wes looks anywhere but Danny. “At home and all that.”
“Oh. Yeah. It was, uhm, a lot for my parents. But we’re getting there.”
“Good… That’s good.” The words feel sharp and blocky, and he doesn’t know what else to say. What else can he say?
His buzz pulls away from him, pulls him down, makes his lids heavy.
“How do you think Dash is doing?” Danny says.
“Pf. If he isn’t hugging a trashcan right now, I’ll be shocked.”
Danny laughs.
Wes leans over onto some of his pillows.
“How are you this okay after drinking all that?”
Danny shrugs. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m feeling it. My guess is something to do with the healing factor ghost shit.”
“Right, makes sense.”
He feels tired and heavy and the darkness at the corners of the room get fuzzier.
“Paulina brought her own champagne glass,” Danny tells him. And he laughs because, who does that?
He rolls onto his back and they stare at the ceiling.
“Are you kidding? Paulina does that, it’s Paulina,” Danny says.
They stare at the ceiling like it’s not a ceiling, like it might become more than just ceiling. Wes imagines it disappearing completely.
Danny likes stars, doesn’t he?
When Danny talks again it’s like he’s far away. An arms length, an atmosphere’s length… he doesn’t know.
Danny says, “sucks that I’m missing the Super Smash Tournament.”
Wes tries to keep his eyes from slipping shut. The bed pulls him like quicksand, the smell of sleep. “Trust me, dude, Kyle always wins anyway.”
Danny says something, something about who he mains or doesn’t main. It becomes all the same, the sluggish rise and fall.
At some point between light and dark Wes decides that he likes the sound of Danny’s voice. He somehow likes that the room is colder than it usually is.
And maybe somewhere between all that he decides some other stuff too.
—
Wes wakes up before Danny. The sun streams in through a gap in his curtains, pooling on the wall and floor.
He doesn’t have a headache, but his neck hurts like hell.
Danny is lying on his side faced away from him and, fuck, thank God. He thinks about last night, about Danny in his arms and he—
He sits up and rubs his hands over his warm cheeks.
Water. He should get some water.
He slips out of his room and goes downstairs to the kitchen. The house is quiet.
Well.
Mostly.
He can hear the sink running and the clink of glass. When he comes around the corner he sees Kyle washing dishes. The house is only half as trashed as he thought it’d be.
Kyle looks up at him as he walks in.
“Morning.”
He grunts, going to pluck a clean glass from the drying rack.
“Hangover?”
“Nah. Slept wrong.” He fills his glass at the fridge and downs it all at once. The water helps wash the sour taste from his mouth. Ugh, he should still brush his teeth.
He fills the glass again and heads back upstairs. He pushes back into his room and when the door creaks he sees Danny jump.
He walks around the bed and offers the glass to a squinting Danny.
“Awake?” he asks.
Danny groans and pushes himself up. His hair is messy, hanging in his eyes. It's infuriating.
He rubs the side of his face and when he takes the cup their fingers brush.
“Thanks,” he murmurs.
“We have pop-tarts and cereal and shit downstairs.”
Danny gives him a thumbs up while he drinks.
He wants to ask if he’s okay... He decides to leave it for later.
Wes leaves his room and goes back to the kitchen. When he gets there, he pulls the pop-tarts down from the cabinet.
“So, here’s what I’m thinking,” Kyle says, “if you wanna clean the dining room, I’ll clean the living room.”
“Nope, no. This was your thing, dude. You threw the party.”
“But Wes,” he whines, “Dad’s gonna be home tonight.”
“Then you should probably get started,” he says and claps him on the shoulder on his way to the toaster.
“Dude, cold blooded. You’re just gonna watch me slave away for hours and not even help your own brother?”
“Uh... yeah.” He slots the pop-tarts into the toaster. He turns towards Kyle and leans against the counter, grinning at him.
Kyle gives him a look.
“How much.”
“No. No, I’m not gonna be bought this time.”
“Twenty bucks.”
“Kyle.”
“Fine, you drive a hard bargain. Forty.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“‘This time?’ What happened last time?”
They jump and look at Danny as he comes down the stairs. He has his hoodie slung over a shoulder and the half empty water glass in his hand.
“Holy shit,” Kyle says.
“It’s not important,” he says, sending a glare at the back of Kyle’s head.
Danny walks up to the counter and sets the glass down to pull his hoodie on.
“No fucking way,” Kyle says, voice pitched up. “I didn’t believe it when everyone was talking about it last night, holy shit.”
Danny tugs the hem of his hoodie down and gives Kyle a confused look that he moves over to Wes.
He returns the look, just as lost.
“Dude, what the hell are you talking about?”
“You two hooking up last night,” Kyle says, like it’s obvious.
It feels like for a second time stops—
Hooking up?
Hooking up?!
His heart skips in his chest and heat rushes to his face and the tips of his ears. He feels like he’s been slapped across the face.
Danny looks like a deer in the headlights.
“Uh—”
The toaster pops.
“Which, can I just say, I totally called it. I knew there had to be another reason Wes was so obsessed with yo—”
“Kyle!” he snaps, his voice higher than he anticipated. “Kyle, oh my fucking god, shut up. We didn’t— Nothing happened last night, we just—”
His breath feels tight in his throat and he wants to lock himself in his room forever. He can’t make himself look at Danny.
“Who the hell told you that-that we—”
“Uh, dude, a bunch of people saw you guys go into your room together. You know Pualina was telling me that Danny was all over yo—”
“Okay! Thank you, Kyle!” he cuts in. “Jesus fucking—” He buries his face in his hands.
This is it, this is how he’s going to die.
“I’m just glad for you two! I mean, like, jeez, finally!”
“Kyle, I’ll help you clean if you shut up right now and never bring this up ever again.”
Kyle stops, face lighting up. “Dude, deal.”
“Cool. Now please leave.”
“What?”
Wes grabs him by the arm and starts dragging him out of the kitchen. “Leave. Go get the cleaning shit from the garage or some shit, I don’t know.”
“Oh. Ohhhh, I see. I get you. I’ll leave you two kids alone to enjoy your breakfast together,” he says with a wink and holy fuck, he’s going to kill his fucking brother.
Kyle heads for the stairs and calls down, “Lemme know when it’s safe to come back down!”
Wes drags his hands down his face. He lets out a slow breath and he tries to ignore his pounding heart.
Wes goes to the nearest counter and puts his head down. The surface is cold against his burning skin. He groans like an injured animal and at this point he really wishes someone would put him out of his misery.
“Well…” Danny says from behind him.
He hears Danny moving and the sound of the fridge being opened. He looks up, watches as Danny takes orange juice from the fridge. When he turns around he sees his face is red too.
“I mean… hardly the worst rumor to get spread around about us,” he says. That stupid smile makes its way onto Danny’s face.
“I once had this dude tell everyone at school that I was a ghost. It was super weird.”
Wes shakes his head. “Dude, shut up.” But he can’t help the grin that pulls at his lips.
Danny laughs, a quieter thing today than it was last night.
“I can have some, right?” he asks, lifting the OJ.
“Yeah, it’s fine.”
They fall into silence while Danny pours a glass and Wes goes to numbly retrieve his pop-tarts.
“It’s probably spread through all of Casper now, huh.”
Danny glances at him. Something dances through his expression. He hums as he takes a drink of his juice.
“Uh. Probably further than that, now that everyone knows I'm… you know.” Danny shoots him an uneasy look.
Right. Right.
This was just getting better and better.
He takes a bite of his pop-tart. It crumbles in his mouth like sand.
“Are you… okay?” Danny asks. He reaches back and rubs his neck, and dammit, now he’s just adding insult to injury.
He looks at him, and he sees the nerves in the way he holds himself, stitched into the way the light hits him. He’s not asking just one question.
Wes swallows.
“Yeah… Yeah, I mean, like you said. There could be way worse rumors,” he says. He looks at Danny like he’s too far away, like he enjoyed last night way more than he should have. And he sees it in Danny too, some sort of mirror.
“I think so too,” Danny says, heavy the way he exhales it.
They break eye contact and Wes doesn’t really know what to do, what to say.
“Well, uh. You have cleaning to do, I guess. I should probably get home before my parents get too freaked out.”
Wes nods. “Yeah, probably.” He wonders if Danny knows what’s in his voice. The dark from last night is clouding his mind, pulling him, begging him to just say it.
“Yeah… I’ll, uh, see you at school?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool.”
But Danny doesn't move.
He lingers like a shadow. He looks like he wants to go. He looks like he wants to stay.
“Wes,” he says.
Wes looks at him.
He worries at his bottom lip and moves along the counter towards him.
“Thanks. For last night.”
He lets out a puff. “Well, someone had to make sure you didn’t die the rest of the way from alcohol poisoning.”
Danny rolls his eyes.
“I wasn’t that bad.”
“You were pretty bad.”
“Not even.” Danny smiles.
And they’re close again, sharing each other's space.
“It wasn’t… awful, I guess,” he says before he can stop himself. “Even with you being a pain in the ass the entire time.”
“Maybe we could do it again sometime,” Danny murmurs.
“What, me looking after your drunk ass the whole night?”
Danny snorts. “No, I was thinking more like I match you drink for drink instead,” he says.
“At least then you’d last till the Smash tournament.”
Danny glances away.
“I didn’t mind missing it too much, actually.”
Wes’s breath gets stuck and his heart beats like a drum in his ribcage.
“Really?”
“Yeah…”
In some ways it’s just like last night; Danny’s close enough he can feel the movement of his breath between them.
“It’s way more fun, bothering you.”
It’s a slow motion sort of thing, a hair raising thing.
“Well you’re an expert at it by now.”
Wes thinks about theme parks. Sitting at the top of the sky and just before his stomach drops—
“Always room for improvement. I could get better at it if you want me to.”
And what if he does? What if he wants to see Danny in all the ways he can? What if he wants to know Danny for real this time?
Maybe he wants pictures, proof that it’s real.
Maybe it’s always been leading to this.
Maybe it’s fucked up.
Wes having the power to hurt him all over again.
“Drink for drink?” he says, barely a whisper.
“Drink for drink,” Danny says—closer, closer, breath against his lips.
Danny gives him time to pull away. But Wes doesn’t. Something to do with what he decided last night.
The heavy wooden desk in the center of the office was overturned with a leg broken off and stuck into a cushion on the couch pushed against the wall. Torn papers were strewn across the wooden floor, drawing their attention to the crimson liquid staining the once white carpet. It was wine, they tried to convince themself. Not blood. Wine. It was wine that had stained the perfect white fabric just as it had been wine that had led them to this point.
Randomly recalled your concussion!Boba and went down a rabbit hole of daydreaming about drunk!Boba bragging on his badass wife, and alternately Leia drunkenly telling tales of her wonderful husband. I love the MLT-verse you created!
The most important thing about the 3rd moon of Frell was it’s proximity to a tibanna gas mine. The sulpheric atmosphere produced high levels of amoxoniom, making the gas particularly well suited to armor forges. It was the place to go when you needed something vital repaired.
It wasn’t the first time Bossk had run into Boba Fett there. It wasn’t even the first time he’d spotted him in the shadowy corners of this particular cantina. Out of armor, Fett was practically invisible. It was true when he was little more than a sprout of a human and it was true now.
It was the drink in his hand caught Bossk’s attention. He didn’t know much about human alcohol, but the fizzy pink beverage seemed at odds with the man holding it. “What is that?”
“Hello to you too.”
The bounty hunter’s sarcastic bite was a slower and softer than normal. He was clearly drunk.
“I’d ask who broke your heart,” Bossk grunted. “But we both know you don’t have one.”
Fett’s smile showed a flash of teeth. It was unexpectedly alarming. “That’s what makes it so funny.”
“What does?”
“I miss my wife.”
Bossk blinked and cleared his throat. “Do you know who killed her?”
“She’s not dead.” Fett paused for another sip. “She’s out there somewhere being important. Conquering entire systems with words. Bending the galaxy to her will. Pulling everything into her gravity by sheer force of will.”
“The fek are you talking about?”
“I’m a little scared of her. Of what she can do.” Fett spoke matter-of-factly. It was the lazy gesture and the way the fizzy liquid sloshed around his glass that gave away his inebriated state. “But then she smiles at me. You know that feeling when you come over a rise on a swoop bike and there’s nothing but wide open space in front of you?” He inhaled, flexing his free hand on the table as he exhaled. “That’s how it feels. Like the whole damn world is in front of me.”
“Did you...marry into a mob family or something?”
“Close enough.” Fett studied the contents of his glass. “I don’t even know what this is. I just know that she drinks it. It’s what she tastes like after a long day.”
“You’re chatty when you’re drunk.” Bossk didn’t try to hide his distaste. “I don’t like it.”
Fett looked up at him, his brow furrowed. “Neither does she.”
Meanwhile, at a posh hotel bar on Chandrila...
“You know what the stupidest thing is about my husband?”
The declaration was sudden, but Mon Mothma was not particularly taken aback. Leia was on her second bottle of Alderaani sparkling wine and increasingly bereft of her usual eloquence.
“What’s that, my dear?”
“He doesn’t drink. He never drinks but when he does he talks so much.” Leia underlined the aggravation in her tone by clutching at the air in front of her. “He might say five words to me all weekend, but get a couple of drinks in him and he won’t stop talking. And he’s smart and insightful and he says things...” Her voice trailed off she paused to recapture her thoughts. “He says words. Nice words.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”
“Yes! Yes there is!” Leia pounded her fist on the bar for emphasis and received a warning look from the bartender. “Sorry.” She turned back to Mon Mothma, her expression earnest. “It means those words are inside of him all the time. He just doesn’t say them!”
“I see.”
“I just wanna...open his head,” She mimed breaking something open as she spoke. “Just so I can see what’s really in there.”
“I don’t think that’s how brains or marriages work.”
“I know. He’s just so...Mmm.” Her teeth bit into her lower lip. “I should comm him.”
“I really would advise against that.”
“You’re right. I know. It’s just been...I really want to...” She made one final, futile gesture before her hands fell to the bar.
“This conference won’t last forever, Leia, no matter what it feels like.” Mon Mothma set down her own glass and gestured to her assistant. “You’ve been married for barely a year, and during that time you’ve worked incredibly hard and had a baby. Perhaps it’s time to slow down a little. For now, please go get some sleep. Lib will take you back to your room.”
“Indeed I will,” the tall Zeltron promised. “Now, Senator Organa, is this a walking or a carrying situation?”
