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It had been over a week since Dan had reinjured his right shoulder after tossing a stupid, made up stunt and no one had heard from him other than the occasional ‘yes, I'm still alive’ text since. Friends had tried to stop by to cheer him up but he just met them at the door and as politely as he could, told them to leave him the hell alone. On day eight, Bonde texts him for the third day in a row, asking if he can come over.
‘nah man im not feeling up to seeing anyone today’
‘Well, tough shit. I'm already here.’
A repetitive jingle starts to ring throughout Dan's apartment the same moment the text lights up his phone as Bonde continually jams the doorbell outside.
Dan makes no effort to move off his bed and instead just rolls his eyes. Bonde will leave eventually and Dan is a master at tuning out annoying noises…Except a solid minute of ringing grates his nerves into a fine dust and he angrily scoots out of bed, leaving his room for the first time that day, “Alright! Fuck!”
Daniel unlocks and rips the front door open left-handed to an obnoxiously grinning Bonde, whose smile doesn't falter even slightly under the heat of Dan's glare and whose arms are full of chip bags, gummy snacks, soda cans, and an unidentifiable ball of clothing.
Bonde doesn't wait for Dan to move before letting himself in, doing his best to avoid bumping shoulders as he slides by. He sends his slides flying in no particular direction in the middle of the living room and heads straight for Dan's bedroom, never once looking back. Dan can hear the dull thump of all the offerings being dumped on his dresser.
Dan ignores his rapidly beating heart, telling himself it has nothing to do with Bonde in his room and everything to do with being interrupted from his Pity Party.
The taller man stands by the front door, hands squeezed into fists at his sides in a brief wave of frustration before he gives in and follows the blond into his room. Part of Dan wants to rant and rave and scream and shout about being disturbed from his quarter life crisis but the bigger part of him just wants to get back in bed and pretend Bonde Johnson doesn't exist.
Only problem is Bonde Johnson very much does exist and is very much smack in the middle of his bed like he belongs there. He even pats the space next to his hip like Dan has to be invited to lay in his own bed.
Well… it works.
It's slow going but eventually Dan gets back on the bed, on top of the blanket, with minimal movement from his right arm and resumes the day's comfort movie of choice, Just Go With It. (What can he say, Adam Sandler is a directorial genius.)
For almost an hour, Dan successfully pretends that he is alone on the bed and not within smooching distance of the man next to him though it proves difficult with Bonde’s thigh pressed all along his and his bright laugh filling the room. Despite his best efforts, Dan knows he'll crack soon.
For almost an hour, Bonde totally fails to get any reaction from the man next to him as he tries to push the snacks under Dan's nose, offer opened cans of soda, and crack jokes with the movie but somehow Dan manages to remain stone faced. Bonde has never had this much trouble getting Dan to smile and he's starting to get uncharacteristically peeved.
Ten more minutes pass before Dan's constant scratching against his week-old beard finally breaks Bonde’s composure, “Dude, just shave it.”
Dan feels his annoyance slam back into place.
The words are out before Bonde can stop them and before he can even mumble an apology, he's being given the meanest look he's ever seen on Dan's face. A genuine flash of anger slides across the blond’s features as he hops off the bed, “You know what, I'm tired of your shit.”
By the time Daniel realizes Bonde had only said the first half of the sentence and that he had just been expecting the other half, the other man is in the en suite bathroom with the door shut behind him. Dan had never seen anyone take a bathroom break before storming out but alright. Fine. Whatever. Dan prefers to stew in his misery by himself, anyways, thank you very much.. except of course he doesn't. But is he willing to admit that? Absolutely not.
As the bathroom door clicks open a few minutes later, Dan keeps his eyes locked on the TV, he's not processing a single frame anymore but he refuses to show any indication of where his attention is actually directed. And then too many seconds tick by with no harsh words or stomping feet and Dan gives in, turning his head gently to the right. There in his bathroom doorway stands Bonde, hand towel thrown over his shoulder and bath towel folded in his arms. The older man is stoic as he says, “Come here.”
While Bonde had done his best to regain his cocky attitude while locked in the bathroom, he didn't quite succeed. Oh well. If he couldn't get his friend to laugh he could at least help him get comfortable in his own skin again.
“Bonde, what’re you-”
“Daniel. Come here.” The demand leaves no room for argument and to be quite honest, Dan didn't mind being cut off as he wasn't proud of how pathetically whiny he sounded. Bonde is so very rarely this serious that Dan's feet are hitting the floor and carrying him across the room before he realizes what's happening. Adam Sandler and Jennifer Anniston continue to make jokes to an empty room.
Upon approach, Dan sees that the sink has been plugged and filled with steaming hot water - a wash cloth floating lazily in it -, and his razor and a long forgotten can of shaving cream have been set on the counter.
Bonde steps aside and motions for Daniel to enter. Dan thinks about standing his ground but to his utter disbelief, his feet are once again moving without his permission. Once both men are crowded into the small bathroom, nearly chest to chest, Bonde gestures to the closed toilet seat, “Sit.”
“Bonde-” Blegh, whiny again.
“Sit!” Bonde leans up into Dan's space a little as he speaks up.
Dan sits.
Has Bonde always been this commanding?
Has Dan always been this into it? Because he feels that authority settling low in his stomach.
“Shirt off.” Bonde stands directly in front of Dan, his own sweatshirt sleeves pushed up to his elbows, hands out and ready to help. Daniel opens his mouth to argue again but he doesn't get a single noise out before Bonde’s stare turns poisonous. His teeth click with the force in which his jaw shuts.
With as few movements as possible, Dan gingerly pulls his shirt over his head, refusing Bonde’s help by batting his hand away, and drops it in a heap in the tub. He still attempts to stare defiantly up at the older man even though he's starting to feel a little self conscious now in only his shorts. He somehow feels more naked now than he has before in similar states of undress. It's probably from those bright blue eyes staring into his soul.
Bonde carefully schools his features into unfazed and unbothered as he steps into the tight space between Daniel’s knees but he's internally buzzing with excitement over the rare sight of Dan shirtless. With a twinge of regret, Bonde drapes the bath towel around the younger man's bare shoulders and uses a chip clip Dan has never seen before in his life to keep it closed in the front.
Without stepping away, Bonde reaches into the sink and rings out the wash cloth until it's no longer dripping and dares Dan to say anything with just a look as he places the rag over the lower half of the brunette's face, just below his nose, holding it there with both hands cupping his jaw.
After a solid thirty seconds of just staring each other down, Dan gives in first and closes his eyes with an over the top, through-the-nose sigh, trying his best to pretend like the warm rag against his face doesn't feel nice.
Bonde lets his eyes roam over his buddy's face and wonders to himself how he's never noticed how thick and dark Dan's eyelashes are or how they're long enough to rest against his cheekbones when his eyes are shut. They're almost.. pretty? Huh. Weird.
A guesstimated sixty seconds later Bonde removes the now cooled rag from Dan's face, plopping it on the counter. Dan's eyes flutter open as the cold air touches his cheeks. Bonde tries so hard to keep the amusement off his face at his friend's out-of-it expression but fails for just a millisecond and Dan immediately goes back to mean mugging him. Bonde rolls his eyes as he reaches for the shaving cream, spraying out a palm sized dollop. He supposes annoyed is better than numb. He lathers up the foam between his hands before softly tapping Dan's chin up with the back of his wrist.
The two continue to hold increasingly more and more conflicted eye contact as Bonde lathers up Dan's cheeks and chin, the stares unexpectedly going from something akin to a Western Showdown to thinly veiled Bedroom Eyes as Bonde spreads the foam across Dan's neck in long, unhurried swipes. Dan swallows hard under the hand now covering his throat and he knows Bonde can feel his Adams apple bob under his fingertips. The action sends a shot of adrenaline through both of their systems but they both try to ignore the sudden boost of arousal, positive the other is still unaware of the current shift in tone. Neither man knows entirely what's going on nor do they want to be the one to put their toe over the line and mess up the delicate balance of their friendship so they continue to play aloof.
Bonde is the first to break this time, clearing his throat and briefly looking away as he wipes the remaining shaving cream off on the towel that's still perched on his own shoulder. He picks up the razor, swirling it in the hot water as a continued distraction. The tips of his ears feel like they are on fire. Bonde refuses to look Dan in the eye right away when he finally brings the blade up to his face, too worried about what inappropriate comment might leave his own mouth. He would never admit it out loud but he's a little afraid of finding rejection behind those deep blues, too.
After a second of consideration, Bonde reaches out and puts his left thumb on Dan's cheekbone, pulling his skin tighter like he would on his own face. Bonde decides right then and there that he could never be a professional barber because this angle is fucking WEIRD.
Alright, here we go.
The first pass of the razor is absolutely atrocious. The angle of the blade is all wrong and all that's achieved is Bonde scraping off a heap of foam straight onto the towel around Daniel’s shoulders. There's not a single hair in the blob. Pitiful.
But, hey. Looky there. A tiny smile. At least the blunder was good for something.
Bonde widens his stance a fraction and inches up until the tips of sock covered toes bump the base of the toilet. The cool ceramic against his shins feels almost arctic compared to the inferno that is the inside of Daniel's thighs now pressed against his knees. Bonde pushes his growing randiness down, certain it's all in his head. Maybe depressed people just run hot.
Feeling Bonde’s cool skin brush against his overheated legs makes Dan's head swim and his body flush harder. He's always been the type to go through hot flashes in moments of panic or stress and now apparently when he has a 190 pound man in-between his knees. He takes a few calming breaths and hopes Bonde just thinks his overheating is from letting someone else put a fancy 5 bladed mini sword to his face.
The older man resets his hands and goes over the same patch again, this time actually taking off some of the scruff. A few more strokes and Bonde gets into a rhythm; two passes of the razor, a rinse in the sink, a shake to get rid of excess water, and repeat. It's very slow going but neither of them are willing to risk the integrity of Dan's face to go faster.
Dan closes his eyes with another sigh, this time though, the noise is more content, relaxed even. He slumps a little more against the water tank and stretches his legs out just a little as he flexes his fingers against his knees, feeling fabric against his fingertips. Dan starts to pick at the cloth absentmindedly until he realizes it's not his own shorts he's fiddling with. His fingers pause briefly before a wave of courage that only those in the 'Nothing Matters Anyway, Might As Well' phase of depression can experience allows him to keep going.
Minutes have passed and Bonde is so caught up in making sure he doesn't nick the pretty face in front of him that he hadn't noticed until he's almost finished that Dan has been fidgeting with the bottom seam of his shorts. Bonde quickly puts his rising hope into a choke hold and body slams it into a bottomless pit before it can cause a scene because he's sure Daniel doesn't even realize he's doing it. It's just a comfort thing... besides, Bonde's just doing clean up passes now so what's the harm.
Oh.
Oh, okay.
Definitely not a comfort thing. Not with the way Dan has gone for broke as his fingers skim the inside of his thigh under his shorts, burning hot and too high to be accidental. But this is progress! This is flirting! And Bonde can do flirting.
“Really?” It just comes out, honestly.
To Bonde, that one word hold the realization that maybe all his flirtatious teasing wasn't entirely unrequited; that two years of stolen glances, witty one liners only said to hear Dan laugh, denied feelings, and lingering touches may have actually been worth it and that maybe they could have been together this whole time.
To Dan, that one word holds the realization that all his teasing banter, late night calls, movie nights, and secret smiles meant for Bonde’s eyes only were 100%, no doubt about it one sided and all he can picture is Bonde getting ready to explode in a fit of No Homo Rage before storming out.
Anyone with working eyes could tell that Dan swings both ways but for the better part of a year, Dan has been trying to suss out if Bonde may swing the same way without outright asking and it seems
to him that he had just found his answer. His eyes squeeze shut even tighter as he pulls his arms back to his sides, his right shoulder screaming in pain at the sudden jolt, “Oh, god. I'm sorry, please don't hate me, I won't do it again, I'm sorry, please-”
Oh, that was not the response the older man was expecting. Bonde puts the razor down on the counter and drops his hands to his hips, “Dan.”
Daniel stops dead in his word vomit and waits for the verbal beat down, arms out in front of him like he's also expecting a physical attack. Seeing Dan scared of him, as if there is anything he could ever say or do that would make Bonde raise his hand to him, makes Bonde want to burn the world down.
“I can't concentrate on not cutting you when all I can think about are your hands on me.”
Dan cracks open one eye and almost immediately opens the other to make sure he sees what he thinks he sees - Bonde flushed from his neck up to the tips of his ears, eyes half lidded. Daniel refuses to breathe just yet, still thinking this must just be the calm before the storm. He doesn't have to worry for long, though, as his thoughts go from ‘oh shit’ to ‘holy shit’ as Bonde grabs his chin and firmly (but gently) manhandles his head from side to side, presumably checking for any missed spots.
Bonde did a damn good job if he does say so himself.
“Lemme get you cleaned up, alright?” Woof. He sounds as wrecked as Dan now feels.
Seeing Bonde Fucking Johnson breathing heavy and close to speechlessness from just his touch does way too many things to Dan's ego and he can't help but smile as he exhales, barely able to believe that he didn't just completely destroy his most treasured friendship and has instead seemed to have sent it in the exact opposite direction. He’ll have to ask Bonde what they are later but right now he's too busy drowning in happiness. Depression who? Dan doesn't know her.
A look of pure, amazed disbelief contorts Bonde’s face as he thinks, 'how can someone switch emotions that fast?' Out loud he chuckles, “Bro, I'm happy you're happy but I need you to pick an emotion. This rollercoaster of sad cranky touchy-feely is giving me whiplash.”
Dan tugs at the towel around his shoulders, not sure where to put his hands anymore but obviously needing to touch something, “This one, I choose this one.” He's still grinning like a fool but there's a spark of something more in his eyes.
And then Bonde is smiling back just as foolishly before he can stop it, shaking his head as if to say, ‘how did we even get here’.
Bonde pushes the plunger to release the dirty water from the sink and picks up the cold rag from the counter, running it under warm, fresh water before ringing it out again. Most of Bonde’s focus turns back to making sure he gets every loose hair and every trace of shaving cream off the brunette’s face. Dan watches with glassy eyes at every swipe of his tongue and bite of his lip as he works.
Slowly and with surprising steadiness, Dan's hands go back to Bonde’s skin. He plants both hands on the outside of Bonde’s thighs and drags them slowly upwards, bunching up the material of his shorts as he goes, until his fingertips bump up against boxer briefs.
Bonde’s movements halt on the last pass of the rag over Dan's jaw, “Daniel.” He means it as warning for the inevitability that Dan tries to take things too far with his boo boo shoulder and ends up hurting himself but all Dan hears is that he's winning their game of gay chicken. As if.
The younger man smiles again, a filthy flirty thing, a challenge in his eyes, “Yes?”
With a scoff, Bonde kicks Dan's feet further apart and somehow takes a half step forward, now 100% in the other man's personal space. Dan's fingers squeeze against Bonde’s legs as he tries to hold back a.. whimper? is that what that noise was supposed to be? Whatever it was, it was broken and pathetic and Bonde has to repeat a mantra of ‘he’s hurt, he's hurt, he's fucking hurt’ in his head before he does something stupid.
“I should waterboard you.” Bonde holds the cloth in front of Dan's face but the brunette doesn't even glance at it, he only has eyes for the blond now.
“Whatever you want…sir.” The words aren't nearly as confident or as seductive as Daniel was intending but they get his point across. He's trying so hard to keep his (non-existent) upper hand but his brain is quickly becoming a mushy pile of touch, squeeze, stroke.
“Jesus Christ.” Bonde breathes it out more than actually says it. Alright, playtime is over.
Bonde tosses the dirty rag and the towel from his shoulder in the tub and then proceeds to unclip the towel from around Dan’s shoulders, using the corner to dry Dan's newly smooth face, and then chucks the towel in the tub, too. He takes a hold of Dan's wrists and guides those huge hands to his ass, a shock of excitement running through his veins at his own actions. The smirk drops from Dan's face quicker than a shot and Bonde can feel the smug grin on his own face instead. That's more like it. He leans forward at the hips, pushing his ass harder into Daniel's hands, until their faces are level. He takes hold of Dan's chin in one hand and feels along his upper thigh with the other (‘jesus christ that's one beefy leg- nope! he’s hurt, he’s hurt, he’s fucking hurt’). With their faces just inches apart, Bonde speaks from low in his throat and velvety smooth, his gaze flicking between Daniel’s eyes and lips, “Don't start games you have no chances of winning,” he makes sure their lips juuuust brush on the last word, “sweetheart.”
Bonde’s letting go and standing back up before Dan can fully comprehend what's happening but he tries to chase those hypnotic lips before the sudden jerk pulls at his shoulder and he flinches back in pain. Bonde’s face softens at the look of agony on Daniel’s pretty features, “Besides, you're hurt. You can't handle me right now anyway.”
Dan very reluctantly lets go of Bonde’s ass to dig his thumb into his right shoulder as he slowly rotates his arm, slowly trying to re-loosen his muscles as he responds, “Cocky, motherfucker.”
The blond is back to smirking, “You have no idea.”
Dan had purposely kept himself from thinking such things for a long time out of respect for his friend but when he is basically being given permission, and when everything is at eye level, it's practically impossible not to quickly glance at the goods, “Fuck.”
“Well..,” Bonde taps his chin and looks up like he's actually considering it, “not right now but if you behave maybe I'll let you kiss me.”
Dan looks like a kid who just got a floppy-eared, smelly-breathed puppy for Christmas, “Really?”
Sad cranky touchy-feely panicked horny innocent, Bonde really can't keep up.
“Oh my God.” Bonde slaps a hand over his forehead as he walks out of the bathroom. His mind is at war with itself; absolutely demolish Dan with a perfectly executed roast or absolutely demolish Dan right there over the sink. The decision is too tough and he lets his legs carry him away while he finds a decent middle ground.
“No, wait!” Dan is halfway off his perch before Bonde calls over his shoulder, “Sit. I'll be right back.”
Dan does as he's told, this time nervously picking at his own shorts for real. Thankfully, Bonde is back in no time and bearing gifts no less. He's holding something soft and cozy looking. Something the younger man has seen many times before. Dan's mouth works faster than his brain once he recognizes what's in the other man's hands, “That's..kinda gay.”
“Well, I hope you're sitting down because it seems like so are we. Now, arms up.” And the roast wins, anyways. (A weak roast, but a roast all the same.)
Slowly, Bonde helps Daniel into the ‘You Had Me at Cracker Barrel’ sweater he had brought with him. It had been a last minute grab before he walked out of his house and he didn't think he'd even bring it in let alone think Daniel would actually end up in it but damn does he look good in Bonde’s clothes. It's making the older man's tummy feel funny.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” The younger man self consciously brings a hand up to his face thinking he must be bleeding. Dan's mind is slow to realize his face is fine as he keeps pawing at it, the smell of Bonde lingering on the shirt is extremely distracting and his mind is malfunctioning a little because of it.
Bonde continues to gawk and when he can't formulate a reply right away on his own, his Failsafe Sarcasm kicks in, “Losersayswhat?”
“What?” Daniel's hand pauses.
“Ahh, got ‘em!” Bonde holds his arm out in a dap offering. Okay, so maybe being with another man will take more getting used to than he expected; Bonde didn't think it would be any different than being with a woman but by the way he's reverting back to middle school humor at just the sight of Dan in his sweater, perhaps not. Or maybe it's just the Dan-ness of the situation. Only time will tell.
“You're such a child.” Daniel's hand drops back into his lap.
“Yeah, but you love me anyway.”
Dan’s stomach does somersaults at how close Bonde’s words are to the truth and he feels another blush rising to the surface.
Bonde lets his arm fall back to his side dap-less and GOOD GOD. Bonde can see his tombstone now: ‘Here Lies Bonde Johnson - Devoted Son, Friend, Brother, and Coach - Taken Too Soon by a Pair of Big Goo-Goo Eyes Staring at Him Like He Hung the Moon and the Stars’.
This time when Bonde walks out, he doesn't come back.
Luckily, Dan is saved from his incoming panic when Bonde shouts, “You comin’ or what?” Daniel pops up immediately, hitting the light switch on his way out of the bathroom.
Once again, there in the middle of Dan's bed like he belongs there, is Bonde.
Only now he does.
“Now, let's watch a real movie. I'm thinking the 1984 classic - Ghostbusters.”