Swagger Bishie Fic Installment 5
Like an eager child with a large present, he impatiently tore the chain link away from the wardrobe and swung open the two panels. There were no clothes.
Instead, two wooden boards were roughly nailed into the back panel of the wardrobe (Dash bet it was Fenton’s shabby handiwork); on them were several identical…thermoses? Even through the dim lighting (the sun was beginning to set) Dash could make out Jack Fenton’s face plastered onto each one of them. Below the two make-shift shelves, on the bottom of the wardrobe, was a contraption he didn’t recognize. The blond delicately picked the mechanism up; it weighed very little. On the device were two flip switches: one red, one green; the rest was painted a dull gray, reflecting little light. He studied the two switches but soon grew bored since there was no indication to the difference (if there were any at all) between the two or their individual or group functions. Dash glanced back and forth and back and forth…and back and forth and back before he plainly gave up and flicked the green switch to its “on” position.
The evil cackling made him drop the machine in surprise.
---
When Dash came to, he was suffering from the worst headache (even worse than the time Hawkins body-slammed his occipital bone by accident; how the buff boy managed that, Dash really didn’t know). Assuming he just drank too much at a party again, he kept his eyes closed and tried to work his way through the pounding inside his head.
He knew he was lying on a bed with the sheets tucked right under chin (it was suffocating, but he left it alone); he also knew from the soft feel of said sheets (his mother expressed an active interest in quilting once upon a time-Dash was the sole owner of her only creation) he was not in his own bed. This realization surprised him very little. Kwan had taken him home on more than one occasion when Dash was pumped too full of alcohol to remember his own name (that had surprised him; Kwan’s parents raised their children with an exceptionally liberal hand). Funny, this didn’t seem like Kwan’s queen-size either.
As an arm wrapped itself around his waist, Dash was certain he was nowhere near his Asian friend’s house: Kwan never got in the same bed as him despite its large size (he claimed Dash both used him as a kicking post and large teddy bear). The next possibility was not nearly as comforting.
Now Dash just didn’t want to open his eyes anymore-not if…if…he knocked some girl up.
The body next to him shifted, snuggling closer to its source of heat-Dash. The blond held very still, the coil of panic that had originally settled in the pit of his stomach rose further and further up inside him. Images of crying, puking brats assaulted his mind. He imagined sitting in a run-down apartment with peeling, yellowing wallpapers and carrying two wailing babies in each arm while five more screaming ones scattered around him. God, he was just a junior in high school! He wasn’t ready for kids yet! In fact, at this stage of his life, he wasn’t even sure if he would ever be ready for one-oh God, what if there were twins in her belly?! He would-would have to get a job! Never go to college! Maybe he would have to quit the football team…or high school in general! Then he would never get to see Dann-
Wait.
…Danny? Danny?! As in, Danny “I’m-Destined-to-be-a-Loser-for-Life” Fenton? Oh, this was just brilliant. The day that he discovered he was playing for the other team (and most likely fancied Danny Fenton of all people), he found out that he had to marry a nameless (and probably ugly) girl because he was stupid enough to sleep with her when he senselessly drunk-and he couldn’t even remember his mistake sufficiently to regret it!
Sometime during his hyperventilation Dash had turned away from his bedmate, holding his head (his headache had developed into something much, much worse), his eyes still squeezed shut. He stopped breathing when the arm around his waist pulled him closer to the other body until his back was firmly fitted against the other person’s chest. This day just kept getting better and better, didn’t it? He was officially in the “spoon” position; what’s more (he didn’t think it could get worse), he was the one being spooned…
Wait a minute…
Dash somehow twisted his body around in the stranger’s tight grip in order to face his bedmate. He carefully calculated and angled his head so the first thing he sees when he opened his eyes would be a chest and not a face (he would work himself up to that a little later). Cautiously, the blond cracked open a blue eye. As his vision slowly cleared (the headache all but evaporated, odd), Dash saw a bandaged (the muscles were nevertheless visible) abdomen. With a little less care, he opened the other eye. The process yielded similar results.
Now for the real test.
Gradually, he allowed his gaze to trace the line of the abdomen up to where it met a…flat chest.
I’m safe, Dash thought with relief, no babies!
Maintaining the same deliberate pace, his gaze traveled up higher (passed an alluring throat) and higher (what a nicely shaped jaw)…and came eye-to-eye with Danny Fenton’s amused light blue eyes.
--
Dash felt like an utter fool when Danny (Dash decided first names are more appropriate for referring one’s supposed love interest-at least internally) calmly pointed out his obvious panic attack was rather unnecessary given that they were both dressed from the waist down, and Dash still wore his black shirt.
“None of this would have happened if,” Dash swallowed, cheeks warm, “you hadn’t…gotten in bed with me.”
“It was completely your doing,” Danny seemed unfazed at his (could be interpreted as) suggestive comment, “Jazz even called to tell you to leave my stuff alone.”
“How was I supposed to know that you have a…what do you have in your wardrobe?”
“A ghost, a dangerous one at that-a dangerous one that you released by flicking that switch,” the brunet did not seem to be pleased with the escape, though Dash could not blame him. “Now I have to go catch him all over again-“As if Danny just remembered to whom he was speaking, he placed his hands defensively in front and hastily amended, “I meant my parents have to catch it again. I helped a little last time. But just a little.” He held up his right thumb and index fingers, almost making them touch to signal how “little” he aided in that particular quest.
“The point is: a lot of effort was spent in capturing that ghost and you being the smart jock that you are…let it go without a fight.” Danny swung faintly in his computer chair. “Did you know that I found you out cold on my floor?”
Dash recognized a change of subject when he heard one but played along, “After I…flicked the green switch, there was an-“
“Evil laugh? I know. Vlad has the tendency to do that.” Danny seemed lost in his memories of this “Vlad” character for a two short seconds, but it made Dash irrationally angry for reasons the blond was unaware. “Must be how old people get their kicks.”
Instead, two wooden boards were roughly nailed into the back panel of the wardrobe (Dash bet it was Fenton’s shabby handiwork); on them were several identical…thermoses? Even through the dim lighting (the sun was beginning to set) Dash could make out Jack Fenton’s face plastered onto each one of them. Below the two make-shift shelves, on the bottom of the wardrobe, was a contraption he didn’t recognize. The blond delicately picked the mechanism up; it weighed very little. On the device were two flip switches: one red, one green; the rest was painted a dull gray, reflecting little light. He studied the two switches but soon grew bored since there was no indication to the difference (if there were any at all) between the two or their individual or group functions. Dash glanced back and forth and back and forth…and back and forth and back before he plainly gave up and flicked the green switch to its “on” position.
The evil cackling made him drop the machine in surprise.
---
When Dash came to, he was suffering from the worst headache (even worse than the time Hawkins body-slammed his occipital bone by accident; how the buff boy managed that, Dash really didn’t know). Assuming he just drank too much at a party again, he kept his eyes closed and tried to work his way through the pounding inside his head.
He knew he was lying on a bed with the sheets tucked right under chin (it was suffocating, but he left it alone); he also knew from the soft feel of said sheets (his mother expressed an active interest in quilting once upon a time-Dash was the sole owner of her only creation) he was not in his own bed. This realization surprised him very little. Kwan had taken him home on more than one occasion when Dash was pumped too full of alcohol to remember his own name (that had surprised him; Kwan’s parents raised their children with an exceptionally liberal hand). Funny, this didn’t seem like Kwan’s queen-size either.
As an arm wrapped itself around his waist, Dash was certain he was nowhere near his Asian friend’s house: Kwan never got in the same bed as him despite its large size (he claimed Dash both used him as a kicking post and large teddy bear). The next possibility was not nearly as comforting.
Now Dash just didn’t want to open his eyes anymore-not if…if…he knocked some girl up.
The body next to him shifted, snuggling closer to its source of heat-Dash. The blond held very still, the coil of panic that had originally settled in the pit of his stomach rose further and further up inside him. Images of crying, puking brats assaulted his mind. He imagined sitting in a run-down apartment with peeling, yellowing wallpapers and carrying two wailing babies in each arm while five more screaming ones scattered around him. God, he was just a junior in high school! He wasn’t ready for kids yet! In fact, at this stage of his life, he wasn’t even sure if he would ever be ready for one-oh God, what if there were twins in her belly?! He would-would have to get a job! Never go to college! Maybe he would have to quit the football team…or high school in general! Then he would never get to see Dann-
Wait.
…Danny? Danny?! As in, Danny “I’m-Destined-to-be-a-Loser-for-Life” Fenton? Oh, this was just brilliant. The day that he discovered he was playing for the other team (and most likely fancied Danny Fenton of all people), he found out that he had to marry a nameless (and probably ugly) girl because he was stupid enough to sleep with her when he senselessly drunk-and he couldn’t even remember his mistake sufficiently to regret it!
Sometime during his hyperventilation Dash had turned away from his bedmate, holding his head (his headache had developed into something much, much worse), his eyes still squeezed shut. He stopped breathing when the arm around his waist pulled him closer to the other body until his back was firmly fitted against the other person’s chest. This day just kept getting better and better, didn’t it? He was officially in the “spoon” position; what’s more (he didn’t think it could get worse), he was the one being spooned…
Wait a minute…
Dash somehow twisted his body around in the stranger’s tight grip in order to face his bedmate. He carefully calculated and angled his head so the first thing he sees when he opened his eyes would be a chest and not a face (he would work himself up to that a little later). Cautiously, the blond cracked open a blue eye. As his vision slowly cleared (the headache all but evaporated, odd), Dash saw a bandaged (the muscles were nevertheless visible) abdomen. With a little less care, he opened the other eye. The process yielded similar results.
Now for the real test.
Gradually, he allowed his gaze to trace the line of the abdomen up to where it met a…flat chest.
I’m safe, Dash thought with relief, no babies!
Maintaining the same deliberate pace, his gaze traveled up higher (passed an alluring throat) and higher (what a nicely shaped jaw)…and came eye-to-eye with Danny Fenton’s amused light blue eyes.
--
Dash felt like an utter fool when Danny (Dash decided first names are more appropriate for referring one’s supposed love interest-at least internally) calmly pointed out his obvious panic attack was rather unnecessary given that they were both dressed from the waist down, and Dash still wore his black shirt.
“None of this would have happened if,” Dash swallowed, cheeks warm, “you hadn’t…gotten in bed with me.”
“It was completely your doing,” Danny seemed unfazed at his (could be interpreted as) suggestive comment, “Jazz even called to tell you to leave my stuff alone.”
“How was I supposed to know that you have a…what do you have in your wardrobe?”
“A ghost, a dangerous one at that-a dangerous one that you released by flicking that switch,” the brunet did not seem to be pleased with the escape, though Dash could not blame him. “Now I have to go catch him all over again-“As if Danny just remembered to whom he was speaking, he placed his hands defensively in front and hastily amended, “I meant my parents have to catch it again. I helped a little last time. But just a little.” He held up his right thumb and index fingers, almost making them touch to signal how “little” he aided in that particular quest.
“The point is: a lot of effort was spent in capturing that ghost and you being the smart jock that you are…let it go without a fight.” Danny swung faintly in his computer chair. “Did you know that I found you out cold on my floor?”
Dash recognized a change of subject when he heard one but played along, “After I…flicked the green switch, there was an-“
“Evil laugh? I know. Vlad has the tendency to do that.” Danny seemed lost in his memories of this “Vlad” character for a two short seconds, but it made Dash irrationally angry for reasons the blond was unaware. “Must be how old people get their kicks.”