We were a perfect match, the two of us. Such a brilliant contrast, smooth pale skin and deep, bottomless black hair, and me with my honey colored skin tone and blonde hair. He was slim, slight I think it's called, and I was muscular and clumsy, not that Fenton wasn't clumsy, in fact he was the clumsiest person I've ever seen, didn't make him any less graceful. Not to me anyway. To me even his stumbles and trips were refined. It's difficult, I know, to stumble down stairs and land in a heap on the ground and look like you just put on some performance, it's a talent you have to be born with.
He always makes the class burst into laughter, especially when he falls out of or tips over his chair. He's such a klutz, one second he's leaning over to pass in his assignment, next his entire desk is on its side and he's looking dazed and in pain, one of his legs pinned by the little metal basket beneath the chair. No one notices though, and he doesn't cry out. Just tries to scramble out while everyone is laughing and the teacher is glaring at him. I don't move, I never move, just watch. Someone would eventually stop acting like an ass and grab one side of the desk, picking it up off the ground far enough so he can get his leg out, then they're both setting it back up and the class is settled down and the teacher asks if he's alright like she doesn't hate him for being a dork. All teachers hate klutzes, they cause distractions and break things, so they hate them.
He just picks up the scattered assignments he was passing down and hands them to the teacher with a big goofy 'I'm sorry' smile on his face. I hate his fake smiles.
Me, I'm just a hulking brute, and that feeling of being too strong for my own good is often intensified when I hold him. Like he'll break, but I don't want him to break, at the same time I do. I want to see how far I can push him, how much pressure until he snaps, how much force until he shatters like a blown glass figurine cradled in my hands.
Being with him has taught me control, allowing me to reel in my strength and hold it tight so I don't lash out at people as much anymore, that doesn't mean I don't still beat the shit out of nerds, it just means none of them end up broken. I've now graduated to professional bully, and I owe it all to him which kind of made me hate him a little less, but just a little.
I discovered all this while he sat, far away from me, in class. It was government, my favorite class, and my last period too, which meant I'd be ducking into some dark place or another with Fenton somewhere between school and our homes. He'd been avoiding me, and while I was supposed to be taking notes, well I was thinking of him, or rather of what I'd do to him, with him…whatever. The point is, I wasn't paying attention and Fenton was ignoring me.
He hadn't sat with us at the table like he had started to do, Paulina didn't notice, or pretended not to notice, and Kwan was too happy to take his place beside me to talk.
Where did Fenton eat if he wasn't with us or his off limits friends? God they might as well have put up a barbwire fence between them and him, and they call us shallow. When I showed up at his house after school his parents told me he wasn't home. I called later and they said he wasn't feeling well. I stopped by in the morning and they said he had already left, and hadn't eaten breakfast.
He didn't eat lunch with us again for several days, and I didn't see him in the food line.
I saw him a couple of times stuffing a salad bar cracker in his mouth while the teacher wasn't looking. I could tell he didn't want to eat it; he had that look on his face that said he wasn't really hungry, but had to. I knew he hadn't been eating, and that made me mad, still does. Makes me want to hit him, he always makes me want to hit him, except when we're alone together…well you know.
He's just the right size too, smaller, thinner than me, but not too small. A perfect fit, perfect for sitting together, for standing side by side, for pictures, for kissing, for sex, he's just, right. And it makes me kind of uneasy.
He sometimes looked at me at school when he was avoiding me; only for a second and his eyes never met mine, just kind of glanced my way, peripheral vision. I knew something was up after about the fiftieth glance of the week.
I knew he didn't want to ignore me, but didn't know how not to now that it had started.
He wasn't eating; he wasn't speaking to me or his friends or anyone. He was lying to his parents and, strangest of all, he wasn't flitting around the popular crowd. Even when he wasn't a member he had always just kind of, been there. But now the outer fringes were empty of his presence.
My mind kept returning to the last time I was alone with him. The anger, the frustration.
He ran away.
Just when things were getting good, he ran away. He fucking ran away. The realization, as I looked down into my empty hands, hands that were supposed to be holding Danny Fenton. That we agreed would hold him, a contract, a give and take. Anywhere, anytime, no matter what.
My fingers curled, muscles tightening in my hand outside my control, clenching tight, fisting in front of me. My teeth ground together in my mouth. I had thought, since I've always taken, never really bothered with his own needs, I would make him experience what he did to me, make him feel. Instead I scared him off.
And here I thought he might enjoy me taking some time on him, well fine then.
Fine. If he didn't like it, I wouldn't do it.
I stood, looking up at the staircase that would lead to the kitchen. Mr. and Mrs. Fenton poked their heads into the doorway. By their flushed faces, the embarrassment in their eyes they must have been doing some things of their own up in the kitchen. What a nice mental image. I forced a tight smile at them as I ascended.
He had left me in a seriously aroused state and I had to walk through his house like that! I should have just stormed out, that's what any rational boyfriend would do, but I was neither rational nor his boyfriend, no, I was practically his fucking owner!
Why had he run off when we were just starting to heat up? It didn't make any sense. Why, when we'd been doing this kind of thing for months, did he suddenly decide to get embarrassed? What more could fucking the school's star quarterback do to shock a teenage boy? And with the test results coming back negative, he should have been so happy! We should have been rutting like mad on the floor of the lab and all be damned if his parents heard or not.
Instead I stood at the foot of his staircase looking up at his second floor.
I was in a constant battle to keep him with me. If he wasn't running off to who knew where at the most worst times, he was complaining about his friends, or his schoolwork, or something. I was so sick of constantly being left with blue balls because he wasn't up for it. He belonged to me, and I wanted him NOW.
I was always so afraid of being bored, it never occurred to me that I might just get fed up with him, but it seriously looked like it was going that way. I was used to getting what I wanted when I wanted. I've never been turned down so abruptly, at such the wrong time.
I was not going to allow it to happen again.
My teeth ground together in my mouth and I climbed the stairs to his room, my feet took me all the way up without me even having to tell them, like I was stomping blindly in the dark, fingers gripping the banister when I reached the top, a right turn into the hallway, and then I was at the door. Completely lost in my fury.
It was easy to see it was his room; it had a sign on the door that said his name, and tons of stupid little space stickers like stars and planets. I turned the knob and shoved, feeling a weight on the other side. I pushed harder, hearing a grunt and movement on the other end. There was a thump and the door gave way so suddenly I almost fell.
Danny was on his backside facing the door, knees bent together and leaning back on his hands, looking scared shitless. His wide blue eyes kind of expanded when he saw that it was me, like it would be anybody else, and his shoulders started trembling.
He never looked that petrified, not when I was trying to beat him up, not even when he realized I wanted to beat him off, he was never this frozen, shaking little brat like he was right then. He tried at some choked sounding version of my name and scooted back a bit, his foot kicking at the game controller that had wrapped itself around his boot in his mad scramble away from the door.
Why did he look at me like I was going to hurt him? I thought we were past this stupid fear, that we had come to an agreement, and yet he still runs away! Runs like he did when I first kissed him, only now, now he didn't even punch me, didn't have the stubborn, rageful disgust.
Anger exploded somewhere in me, like some big firework, making my body jerk and tremble as I stomped towards him and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. I didn't even lift him all the way up off the floor before I tossed him onto the bed, the game console flew to the floor from its little shelf under his TV at the harsh tug of the controller, the plastic of the little thing clanking against the black iron bars that rose up like two walls to a cage at the head and foot of his bed. The alien-like TV antenna made a kind of vibrating noise at the movement, the sound was like a type of music, I can still hear the humming in my head sometimes.
Fenton landed nearly halfway on the bed, his arms and hands gripping at the covers while his feet and legs still dragged on the carpet. With a furious sweep I had him spun around until he was facing me, pinning his arms above his head at the elbows and crushing my mouth to his.
I know I was there, you know like I wasn't insane or blinded by anger or anything, I knew exactly what I was doing, that I was hurting him, that it wasn't exactly right, but I just didn't care. He was mine, he belonged to me, an item, a trophy I had fought for and won. He didn't have the right to refuse me. That was what kept repeating in my mind. Like some strange chant from a church or cult gathering or something, foreign and dark, and not quite understandable because it just bled together in my mind, but I knew it, and understood it. Listened to it.
I could feel his erection digging into me, and it surprised me somewhat. He'd never responded before, never showed any signs that he'd wanted it, only that he was willing to tolerate it. The whole point of a few minutes ago was to make him want it! And he ran away scared!
Why, when he's struggling beneath me does his body respond, but when he's agreeable he's lax and unresponsive? I just didn't understand, I didn't get him!! Why did he only want it..when he doesn't want it?!
But his body's reaction gave me some confidence when my anger was dying, and I drug him up onto the bed and tried to pin him there. His arms got out of my hands and his hands gripped my face, pushing my head away from his. He tried talking me down, tried to tell me to stop, that he couldn't do this now. Made excuses about his parents and his sister, said he wasn't feeling well, said he didn't want it. He looked conflicted, like he was struggling against something, but I didn't think too much about it. Just grabbed his hands hard, not caring about hurting him, and yanked the stupid cord off his rubber boot and, pinning his chest down with my knee, tied him to the iron bars of his headboard.
The only thing I can really remember about thinking was that bondage was something I'd never done with anyone before, but then I'd never had to take from anyone before either. Sure some liked it rough, but I'd never had to force. People came to me willingly. I was fucking Dash Baxter!
Fenton was the only one who just kept making me work.
I unzipped his suit and his struggling increased, back arching as he twisted this way and that to remove his hands from the cord, elbows knocking together. I tugged him down until his arms were streached out flat, kissed him hard, and stuck my hand in down past his waistband.
I didn't put my tongue in, knowing he'd be in a biting mood, but I sucked at his mouth, hoping to calm him down with the kiss. I wanted him badly, and I wished he'd stop struggling so I could untie his hands and we could do this right. But my hips were already moving, and by the shuddering going on under me Danny didn't seem to be having any problems with the rhythm we were going at to warrant a break. He was still struggling of course, but that was mostly because he hated the helpless position of being pinned beneath me. He still protested too, but they were broken and shaky from his gasps. He was enjoying it just as much as me, however compulsive the pleasure was.
He kept his eyes closed the whole time, which sucked because I wanted to see what they looked like when passion really hit him. I hoped they were as bright as when he was pissed, but I never told him to look at me, and he never did, so I didn't get the chance to see. I wish I had told him, just once, right at the end. But that was okay, I might not have liked what I saw just then anyway.
He was so edgy, what was he so nervous about? It wasn't like it was our first time.
I left him there, didn't even bother with untying him, figured he'd get out of it eventually. And truth be told, if his parents found out, well I didn't really care, not at the moment anyway. The thought of them pressing charges or picking up and moving away scared the shit out of me when I cooled down a bit, and Danny's avoiding me in the days that followed didn't help my anxiety.
I figured I'd just have to catch him like I used to, not like his friends would be there at his locker to help hide him. I'd just grab him in the hallway and drag him off somewhere so we could talk, after I get rid of some of the frustration I've been building up of course. Didn't really know for sure if I wanted to beat the shit out of him or fuck him blind, but I was sure as hell going to do one, and I wasn't going to let him off easy this time.
No, Dash does not actually rape Danny. Not that he doesn't want to he obviously does, but it's been shown various time's that the Fenton hazmat suits only unzip down to the belt, and with Danny's hands tied up onto his bedpost it's pretty much impossible for Dash to undress him. What's going on up there is essentially grinding.
And yes, under normal conditions Danny would be fully dressed under the suit, but if you go back it tells that Dash undressed Danny and then redressed him in the suit, giving it a more erotic feel.
I guess what I'm getting at is that I set up the circumstances to build up to a non-consensual act between Danny and Dash, filled with lots of anger and confusion and struggle, but in the end keep away from any actual penetration that would eat up time and chapters and plot to make room for healing and therapy. This isn't about a lovey-dovey building of a slashy romance between the boys. It's just hardcore fanservice.
The reason Danny doesn't use his ghost powers to defend himself will be explained in his side of the story, coming up next. Bear with the plot hole for just a few more days.
Also, Photo Opportunities WILL be updated soon. I'm having some…artistic difficulties.
If any of you have a Gaia(or not), you can keep up with some miniscule mini-paragraph updates there.