"Warning Signs"
rating: R, slash, swagger bishie. boy in a skirt. you've been warned.
notes: written for suutkomgi as part of a fic/pic trade. her concept. whee.

All the warning signs were there; in the end, Danny had no one to blame but himself. Dash had been throwing him weird looks all night, at turns embarrassed and sweaty but then inexplicably hushed and determined. Danny caught each, sweaty or determined, and tossed back some looks of his own, consisting mostly of arched eyebrows and a downward quirk of his lips.

Eventually Dash had settled down and he and Danny were finally engaged in that most beloved pastime of horny teenagers around the globe. Even then, there were warning signs had Danny been paying attention. Dash's hand may have been trying to edge down the back of Danny's pants, but considering that attempt had been five minutes in the making and said hand had yet to breach the waistband of said pants, Danny had ample reason to believe that Dash's mind may have been loitering somewhere else.

To Danny's credit, clueless as he may be, two facts must be made apparent. First, teenagers are often gifted with more enthusiasm than actual talent. So while Dash's hand may have had yet to get down to business and down Danny's pants, it was probably safe for Danny to assume that Dash's mind was probably wandering around in the general vicinity of his own pants. Second, foreplay for teenagers generally consists of "Bed?" and "Too far, couch." Danny wasn't exactly in a frame of mind to be asking questions anyway.

Until Dash muttered something about a skirt.

That wasn't quite enough to shock Danny intangible, but more than enough snap his spine straight and make him stop doing whatever interesting things he had been doing to Dash's neck. Danny stared at Dash for a few moments until he could gather his scrambled thought processes into something vaguely resembling a coherent sentence. "Bwuh?" Vaguely.

"Nothing!" Dash replied too quick for comfort and finally got that hand down Danny's pants.

It was a noble attempt at diversion and actually managed to distract Danny for all of five seconds. Dash's fingers were cupped firmly against the curve of Danny's rear, just the way Danny liked and-- Wait a minute. "Skirt?" Yeah. That. "What did you say about a skirt?"

"Nothing..." Dash replied a bit slower this time. He tried another diversionary tactic, this time more towards the front of Danny's pants, but Danny cut the futile effort short and went intangible in Dash's lap. "Aww, come on, I didn't mean anything by it!" Dash insisted. "Danny?" Dash sulked a moment, but put his hands on either side of his knees. "Happy now?"

Danny was still nowhere to be seen. "What did you mean by 'skirt'?" At least he sounded like he was still sitting on Dash's lap. Maybe.

"Just... never mind! It was stupid and I'm sorry and will you please quit doing that?"

Danny's weight and presence became tangible once again and Dash was very happy with his lapful of Danny Fenton until he mentioned the damned skirt again. "What did you say about a skirt?"

Dash squirmed a bit, and not in a way that would indicate he was having any sort of fun. "Just... it would be different."

"Different...?" Danny echoed. Then it struck him. Realization may have dawned, but his expression only darkened. "Does this have anything to do with that porn I found in your closet?"

"It's not porn, it's hen--"

"I don't care what they call it in Japan, here in America, anything involving naked schoolgirls is called porn."

Dash was severely lacking in a clever response to that one. He tried the distraction bit again, wrapping his arms around Danny's waist and tugging him closer. "I don't want a naked schoolgirl." He traced the edge of Danny's jaw with kisses and dropped his voice to that husky whisper he knew made Danny weak in the knees. "I don't want you to be a naked schoolgirl." Danny melted against Dash and tipped his head back, bearing his throat, and of course Dash had to push his luck again. "I just think you'd look cute in a skirt."

Danny yanked back and glared at Dash. "Pervert."

"Um... your pervert?"

Danny's eyebrow twitched. "Pervert."

"Just once?" Dash asked hopefully. "Just try it once and I swear I'll never bring it up again."

"You shouldn't have brought it up in the first place." Danny shifted about a bit. "You'll shut up about it?" he said at last.

Dash wet his lips and tightened his grip about Danny's waist. "Oh yeah. Not a peep."

Then he grinned and Danny felt a flare of hungry heat that scalded his cheeks pink and tightened that ache at the pit of his gut to an almost painful degree. "Just go get your damned skirt."

He took just long enough to gently lift Danny of his lap and onto the couch before Dash was almost running up the steps. Danny, in the meantime, had just long enough to wander why he'd agreed to this in the first place before Dash was running back downstairs, a black skirt clenched triumphantly in both hands. He presented it to Danny with all of the pride of a cat awarding it's owner with a dead bird and Danny took the skirt with all of the enthusiasm of a cat owner accepting said dead bird.

"I'll just... um... go put this on, then," Danny said.

"Why don't you just--"

"You said you'd shut up."

So Dash shut up.

The skirt was cotton and pleated with a even row of one and a half inch folds. When Danny finally swallowed his pride and removed his pants, the skirt cinched neatly around his waist with a red ribbon (tied in a simple bow at the back) and swished gently just above his knees. Danny didn't know what logic compelled him to put his socks and sneakers back on.

Danny had barely muttered, "I feel like such an idiot," before Dash all but tackled him into the couch. They tussled and shifted and for a moment Danny was hopeful the skirt would come off and he'd finally be able to get off and then he was straddling Dash's lap again. The blond didn't say a word, but his tight, barely restrained movements spoke volumes. Danny swallowed hard and tried to smooth out the skirt. He opened his mouth to say something, but Danny found it rather hard to say anything when Dash leaned forward and shut him up with a kiss.

The skirt was soft and heavy against his skin and when Dash nipped hard on his earlobe, Danny forgot any such nonsense about being nervous. He fumbled with the button and zipper on Dash's pants and was very glad (only for one tiny, tiny little moment, mind you) that he wouldn't have any such problem with the skirt on. Dash bucked up against Danny when he felt the first brush of those fingers against his zipper and Danny could have sworn the moan that followed vibrated up both of their spines.

Such a simple touch, a single fingertip, a calloused caress tracing a line upward and inward from Danny's knee. Blood rushed to quench something hot and hard and thirsty and Danny was gasping for breath. He shifted desperately against Dash's hand, but even that wasn't enough, he wanted oh god he wanted but it wasn't enough and then a finger pushed past and inside him and Danny thought he'd scream because it was so close, so close, but still not what he wanted.

Danny groaned and bit down on Dash's neck and heard him whimper, but couldn't find it in himself to care. Why should he? He was ready to scream with frustration because Dash wouldn't quit fooling around and just--

And then Danny did scream, muffled and choked against Dash's shirt, because, finally, finally, it was enough and Danny ground down hard against Dash, hands splayed desperately across the blond's chest. Dash's breath was hot and moist in Danny's ear, but he couldn't make out the words spaced out between uneven gasps. Didn't matter, didn't matter, not now, not when Danny could yank Dash forward for a hungry kiss. Dash's hands were tight on Danny's waist, alternately lifting him up and pulling him down. The hard, frustrated knot in his gut finally unraveled and Danny moaned into the kiss. He sagged against Dash in relief, and Dash followed after a few sharp thrusts.

"That was... um..."

"Yeah," Dash agreed. "So?"

"Maybe we'll keep the skirt."