When he was still in high school and aided by bad comedies that were million dollar excuses to show boobs, Danny thought college would be an Experience--capital E and everything. And it was, for about two weeks, before he decided that he should probably focus more on classes than partying if he ever wants to be an engineer. He still goes to the occasional party, but now that he's in his second year, he's gotten more and more comfortable with just eating takeout and watching infomercials on weekends while he studies. His sixteen year old self would probably be disappointed in him.
"Do we need a Magic Bullet Supreme?" Danny asks his roommate, Tim, before shoving half a box of sweet and sour noodles in his mouth.
Tim shakes his head. "No way, man. You know Jacob?" Danny doesn't, but he nods anyway. "He bought one and he said it sucked. Though, he tried to use it to open walnuts."
"Probably," Danny says. "The video's so awesome, though."
"It is. And only three easy payments of $19.99."
Danny purses his lips as the people in the infomercial begin making daiquiris. "Let's put it on the 'if neither of us know what to get the other for his birthday' list."
"Deal," Tim says, and holds his fist out, which Danny bumps.
Tim is a pretty cool guy, all things considered. He's pre-med and generally quiet, except on the rare occasion when he gets wasted, but at that point he's just funny. He's clean and more importantly, not a jackass, so Danny likes him fine.
They've moved onto an infomercial about a super sucking vacuum when Danny gets the email from Franco. It's brief and directly to the point, as Franco always is:
Hey Danny, your money's been deposited. Hope you enjoy.
I had a shoot lined up this weekend but a model pulled out. How would you like to fuck one of our newbies this Saturday? I'm sure the viewers would love seeing you and Luke together.
Let me know,
Danny's been a 'model' at Franco Jordan's for half of a year now, and he's popular enough that Franco gets him in at least twice a month to shoot. Danny is more than fine with that--there's good money in fucking straight-acting guys on camera. He chews on his lip and writes Franco a quick reply: Absolutely. Let me know the time. He barely has time to hit 'send' before Tim speaks.
"So what's his name?"
Danny looks up from his laptop and glances at Tim, who has his computer in his lap. He's already on francojordan.com.
"What's whose name?" Danny says, though he knows he's smirking as he says it. He can't help it; Tim is too interested in searching the guys Danny shoots with.
Tim rolls his eyes. "Come on, man. You're a total loser and nobody likes you; if you get an email that you reply to, it's from Jordan."
Danny snorts. "Screw you, dude." Tim just raises an eyebrow and Danny sighs. "Okay, fine, it's Luke. You're really nosey, has anybody told you that?"
"My mother," Tim says absent-mindedly as he types in the name. He scrolls and clicks a few times, then whistles. "Not bad, Mahealani. Better than that Rod guy you did last month."
"Let me see," Danny says. He's admittedly a little curious. There's only been two whistles out of the plethora of guys Tim has checked out, so this is pretty monumental. Tim passes over the laptop and Danny sets it on the coffee table, clicks out of the picture Tim has up, which is just of Luke's dick. For a straight guy, Tim seems to focus a lot on the dudes' cocks. He brings up another picture and his eyes widen. He clicks another, just to be sure. "Fuck. Fuck."
"Dude, easy, the guy isn't all that," Tim says, getting back into the infomercial. Danny can't even bring himself to look at the TV, can't pull his eyes away from the screen. The body has filled out a little, muscles becoming defined, skin not so pale, but that face looks just the same.
His scene partner for Saturday is Stiles Stilinski.
Saturday comes all too quickly, and Danny spends a good portion of the days leading up to it thinking about Stiles Stilinski more than he's had in a while. Which, to be fair, until he saw Stiles' modeling page, he didn't really think about him at all. He just kind of assumed that Stiles would stick around Beacon Hills forever, chasing werewolves and trying not to get killed. Danny kind of wants to know what finally drove him out.
He decides to cancel the shoot, to see if maybe Franco can find another model to fill his place, and then talks himself out of doing that about two minutes later. He changes his mind again a couple of hours after that, actually decides to call Franco and tell him that he can't shoot the scene because he's sick. However when he actually calls, he doesn't mention being 'sick,' instead listens to Franco talk about how it's Stiles'--Luke's--first time getting fucked on camera, after the standard solo and blowjob videos he's already done. Franco's keeping the set simple, just the standard soft, grey sectional, and he talks enthusiastically about the entire thing for about five minutes straight. Danny ends the conversation after getting the time specification and whether or not he should wear underwear.
If he's honest, the money is definitely not a motivating factor for going through with it. There are other shoots, and if he had turned down this one Franco would probably have another one lined up for him within the week. It's not like Danny's starving or anything; after his time on Franco Jordan, he's made enough cash that he probably won't have to worry about going homeless or paying college debts for a while. The money is not what's making him walk into the studio doors.
The chance to see Stiles, and the chance to verify that he hasn't been going out of his mind for nothing, is what's doing that.
Danny doesn't really know why. Maybe because he's looked at Stiles' page a dozen times by now, has seen pictures of Stiles in all angles, in all stages of dress. Maybe because when he really lets himself think about it, there's a small part of him that really wants to do this.
Even thinking of it now makes his dick take interest. Okay, so maybe it's the bigger-than-average part of him that really wants to do this. But all in the same vein, Stiles could have also chosen to back out of the shoot, and considering Franco hasn't sent him anything to prove that true, Danny figures his choice isn't that bad.
There's nobody in the studio lobby at first glance, lines of empty chairs that in Danny's experience are rarely ever used, so Danny pulls out his phone, opens Candy Crush and sits down. He's three moves in when somebody lets out a mangled breath across from him.
Danny looks up at the sound of his name, to find Stiles staring at him, mouth gaping as he clutches a magazine. Somehow Danny managed not to notice him, though he's honestly not sure how he could miss the one person in an otherwise unoccupied room. Especially when he's managed to get well acquainted with Stiles' face over the past few days.
"Hey, Stiles," Danny says, tucking his phone in his pocket. It'd probably be hilarious to any outsider looking at them, with Stiles looking like a deer caught in the headlights while Danny tries to be cool and casual, but for Danny it's just awkward.
"How--" Stiles starts, and then shakes his head. "Why are you here?"
"If you have to ask then you're probably in the wrong building."
Stiles looks a little distressed. "You're-- They said my scene partner's name was Kyle."
Danny can't help but roll his eyes. "Yeah, and they said my partner was Luke. Have you seen him around?"
Stiles' gape shrinks at that, and he leans back in his chair. He licks his lips. "Okay, point taken."
Danny wants to smirk at that, but he's having trouble wrapping his brain around Stiles not knowing who his scene partner would be. It suddenly feels a lot weirder to be doing this when Stiles is just now realizing. At least if he had known it'd just be the two of them dancing around each other, rather than Stiles looking at him like he's grown another head. "You didn't know?"
"How the--how would I know?"
"You look up the dude's page!" Danny says, feeling a little helpless. "That's like Porn 101."
"Well thanks for the lesson, teach," Stiles bites, and then sinks into his chair. "So, uh. I didn't even know you were around these parts. This is... well, this is going to be awkward."
Danny forces a smile. "Sorry, I didn't mean to catch you off-guard. We can probably cancel, or Franco can find somebody else to come in and--"
"No," Stiles says immediately, and Danny's eyes widen in surprise. Stiles runs a hand through his hair, short but longer than Danny's ever seen him wear it, and he blows out a breath. "I mean, I'm surprised. Like, if I had to go through everybody at our school who I thought would end up in porn... anyway. This was going to be awkward no matter what, right? Like, how do you just make friends with someone who's going to have sex with you on camera?"
"You get used to it," Danny says. Stiles just raises an eyebrow in acknowledgement and continues.
"At least I know you, and we we're... were we ever friends? We were, right? Like that sort of friend you'd say hi to in the hallway, or who you'd maybe eat lunch with once a month. Yeah, hey, we ate lunch together a bunch of times."
Danny's completely lost in what Stiles is saying, and he's not sure if it's good or bad that while Stiles may have changed a little physically, he still has the same personality. He's gesturing with his hands, pointing out each time he and Danny hung out even a little bit, and when Danny can't help but crack a smile he figures it's a good thing.
"Are you going to get to the point today, Stiles?" he asks, but in a somewhat polite way.
Stiles swallows and nods. "Right, yeah. You're, well. You're attractive. And I mean, Brennan, my first scene partner, was sort of not. And who knows who Franco would get otherwise, you know?" He pauses, and then his eyes widen. "Oh. Oh. Unless you don't think I'm attractive."
Danny has a sudden flashback to Stiles asking him if he was attractive to gay guys, and he can't remember if he ever answered that. "No, I think you're attractive," Danny says slowly, and Stiles seems to preen at that.
"Wait," Stiles says. "You looked up my page?"
"Yeah," Danny says, frowning. "It's what you do."
"So you've told me." Stiles purses his lips. "So what did you think? Did they have some good shots of me on there? Like, do you think I'm every gay man's fantasy?"
"Okay, now you're just fishing for compliments." Stiles doesn't look too ashamed. "You're sure you're okay with this."
"Yeah," Stiles says, dragging the word out. "Dude, I'm totally chill." He doesn't fake calm very well, but Danny figures if Stiles is still up for it, he can give it a shot, too.
Franco calls them in before long, and Danny and Stiles make nice with the camera guys and the lighting guy. Stiles talks to them like they're old friends or something, which is ridiculously unfair considering it took Danny two months worth of shooting to get to this comfort level. Considering that Stiles seems way looser now, though, with an easy smile and lots of laughter as he flashes his stomach to Larry, one of the cameramen, Danny figures it's okay that Stiles is bizarrely comfortable.
"We're ready to start," Franco informs them, sitting behind the main camera. Danny and Stiles get on the couch while Randy fiddles with a couple of lights, making sure the room is bright.
"Get closer," Franco says. "Kyle, put your arm behind Luke."
Danny does as he's told, and takes the opportunity to glance at Stiles. He's still smiling, not freaking out yet, and Danny has to remind himself that Stiles has already done this part twice, has probably done everything else, too, at least off-screen. Somehow, Danny finds himself wondering when in the one and a half years since he's last seen him did Stiles figure out he was into guys.
"Alright, big smiles now, rolling in five, four, three." Franco holds his fingers up for two and one, and then the cameras are on.
"Howdy, boys," Franco says. Danny hates the introductions; they're pretty pointless because most viewers probably aren't on francojordan.com to hear him say anything more than 'oh, yeah' and 'fuck me harder,' and despite how many he's done he still can't feel completely comfortable. Danny and Stiles each give a little wave, and Franco continues. "Big day today."
"Yeah," Stiles says, and Danny watches him, camera-ready smile glued to his face, and finds that Stiles is smiling, too. It's small, but it looks real, if a little hesitant.
"How do you feel about that?"
"Kinda nervous, actually," Stiles says, high half-laugh choking out of him. "But I'm excited."
"Good. That's good. How about you, Kyle? How're you feeling?"
Danny smiles broader, waits a moment before answering. "The same, mostly."
"Nervous, too?" Franco raises an eyebrow. "How come?"
Because I've never shot porn with somebody I know, Danny doesn't say. Instead, he shrugs, looking at Stiles. "From what I hear, it's somebody's first time."
Franco grins. "That it is, that it is. You're breaking him in."
"I'll be gentle," Danny says, and Stiles laughs for real this time.
"Hopefully not too gentle. He's got a big dick, Luke. Think you can handle it?"
Stiles sort of pauses, like he's deliberating. He turns to Danny, a toothy smirk on his face, and he says, "I guess we'll find out."
Franco looks like he's ready to eat Stiles up over that, and Danny can almost understand the impulse. He swallows as Franco rubs his hands together with glee. "Well, well. We'd better not waste any more time, then."
That's their cue, and Danny turns on the couch, runs his tongue over his bottom lip. His palms are sweaty against his jeans, but Stiles is already taking the leap and closes the distance, crushing their mouths together. Danny grunts in surprise, feels Stiles' palm press against his cheek, his tongue already brushing across Danny's lips. Danny doesn't know if this is Stiles or Luke who's kissing him hard, trying for more, but he figures that's not important right now.
He leans forward, slides his hand up Stiles' arm and squeezes his shoulder, smirks against Stiles' mouth and shoves. Stiles tumbles back with a small oof, and he takes a moment to collect his bearings before rising up on his arms, and he matches the grin Danny flashes him.
"Showoff," he mutters, spreading his legs in an obvious invitation. Danny takes it, kneels between them and leans down, lets his crotch press up tight against Stiles'. Stiles groans and claws at Danny's back, fingers digging in and stretching Danny's shirt. Danny might normally mind, because he likes this particular shirt, but Stiles' tongue is pressing against his lips again and this time he opens for it, presses back with his own tongue.
Stiles kisses differently than what Danny expected, through those short days that he spent thinking about this moment. He's got one talented tongue, all warm and pliant against Danny's, and he's making these soft, hitched noises. He's good at playing to the camera, too, pulling back enough for shots of their tongues meeting to get captured.
They're both pretty hard now, cocks grinding against each other, and it's not exactly comfortable, despite the fact that it feels good rocking against Stiles. Danny breaks their kiss and presses his lips to the corner of Stiles' mouth, then kisses his jaw, working his way down slowly. Stiles removes his hand from Danny's back, goes back to supporting himself with both arms and tosses his head back with a groan when Danny mouths at his neck.
Stiles' skin is warm, clean and smooth, and Danny sucks a kiss near his Adam's apple before moving down to the groove of his neck. Danny gets his fingers under Stiles' shirt and rucks it up, then moves down his body farther to trail his tongue down Stiles' lower stomach. There's a fine line of hair here, leading under Stiles' jeans, and Danny follows it down. Stiles' dick is straining hard against his jeans, and from the look of his bulge, the pictures Danny saw didn't do it justice.
Stiles has one stupid fucking belt, Danny finds out quickly, buckle sticking and being ridiculous. Stiles shifts and sets his hand by it, asks, "Need some help?" in a voice that's either amused or needy.
The belt comes free and Danny smiles wide, drops a kiss on Stiles' hip bone. "Got it," he says, and then pulls the belt from the loops. He feels his mouth water a little as he pops the button on Stiles' jeans, slides down the fly. Stiles is wearing form-fitting black boxers that stretch over his cock and leave very little to the imagination, and Danny glances up at Stiles for a moment, partly to remind himself that yes, this is Stiles, but also to see the heat in his eyes.
He presses his lips to Stiles' dick, mouths at it the best he can. Stiles lets out a shaky exhale and his hand quickly finds the back of Danny's head, fingers scraping against Danny's skull as he sucks at the head. Danny tries to play it up for the camera, runs his tongue across Stiles' shaft, but he's anxious to get past the material and slip his mouth around it.
Danny slips his fingers under the band of Stiles' underwear, tugs the fabric down until his dick pops out, full and hard and jutting straight up. Danny's admittedly looked at Stiles' dick a lot over the past few days, but it doesn't stop him from taking it in his hand and gradually stroking it, looking it over once more. He spares a short glance at Stiles, sees how his tongue's caught between his teeth in anticipation, and Danny goes for it, covers half of Stiles' dick in one smooth move.
Stiles groans immediately, and Danny's a little sad that he can't grin with his mouth wrapped around him. He bobs his head, slicks the shaft with his spit until it's dribbling down his chin, pooling at the base of Stiles' cock. He slides off it, licks the underside with the flat of his tongue, and then pops the head back in his mouth, sucks at it firmly as Stiles' fingers tug at his hair.
Stiles is saying a lot of things, everything from, "Yeah, suck it," and, "Oh, fuck," and "Your mouth," and Danny's not entirely certain if he's playing it up for the camera, or if he's just naturally talkative when getting his dick sucked. Considering it's Stiles, either could be a possibility. Danny usually tunes the guys out at this point, because it's hard to take "You're a cocksucking god" seriously, but he finds himself listening to everything Stiles says.
"Damnit," he says, when Danny tongues the crown of his head, hand tight on his thigh, squeezing.
He groans and says, "Fucking shit," when Danny starts bobbing on it again, hand following his mouth on each stride. He starts a litany of, "Yes," and "Oh," afterwards, hips pumping up as much as Danny will let them.
When Danny removes his hand and takes the dick all the way, head slipping into his throat, Stiles says something incomprehensible, but there's a "fuck" in there somewhere.
Danny pulls off and swallows, takes a deep breath; he's been sucking dick since he was sixteen and he still hasn't quite gotten used to deepthroating. His mouth abandons Stiles to move up his stomach, but he keeps jerking Stiles with his hand, nice and easy as he bites at Stiles' lip, slides his tongue inside his mouth. Stiles gives into the kiss for a minute, but then he's gently shoving at Danny, guiding him off of Stiles and against the couch.
Stiles must be part ninja, because one minute Danny's being pressed against the cushions and the next Stiles has his dick out, soft, warm lips wrapping around it. Danny gets one look at Stiles, mouth open wide like it's been so many times in the past, but this time stuffed with his dick, and he has to fight off the urge to come right then and there. He closes his eyes, cups the back of Stiles' head with his hand, and relishes in the suction of Stiles' mouth, the small flicks of tongue, the soft rubbing of his thumb behind his sac.
Danny kind of loses himself in the fast, messy rhythm of it, lets Stiles ride his dick like he was made to do just that, and the only time he snaps back to reality is when Stiles pulls off. He's talking.
"What?" Danny asks. Stiles looks so resolute, mouth a thin line that's only broken when his tongue slides over his lips.
"I want you to fuck me," Stiles says, in a low and dirty voice that does marvelous things to Danny's dick. He smirks a little, and Danny's not really sure where the hell this Stiles came from. "That okay with you?"
"Fuck, yes," Danny says.
Stiles grins, all teeth, as he reaches over Danny for the condom and lube sitting on the side table. He pushes them in Danny's hand and kisses him hard, once, and Danny snaps back to reality, sits up and kisses him back. He tugs off his shirt and Stiles does the same, finally completely naked.
"On your hands and knees," Danny commands, and Stiles eyes widen slightly for a second before he swallows and does as told, baring his ass to Danny.
Danny chews on his lip, lets his hands cup the smooth cheeks of Stiles' ass, tugging them to get a view of his tight little hole. He pulls back and sucks two fingers into his mouth, coats them in spit before moving them against Stiles' hole. He traces around the opening, flat of his fingers pressing against it, before he finally sinks one in, pushing in to the first knuckle, which makes Stiles groan.
"You like that?" Danny asks, and he pushes in the rest of the way. Stiles opened himself up before the shoot, as per usual, but he's still so tight, so greedy for it. Danny fucks his ass with his finger a few times, gets into the rhythm of fucking in as Stiles rocks back, breath already heavy.
"Come on," Stiles says, slightly strained. "Fuck me, man, come on."
"Yeah," Danny says, as he gets up from the couch. He quickly strips out of his pants and underwear, tears open the condom wrapper with his teeth and rolls it down his dick. He's achingly hard, and he manages to drip lube all over the floor when he coats his cock.
"Need some help?" Stiles asks. Somehow despite the tightness in his voice, he's still managing to be a smartass.
Danny doesn't answer with words. He gets back on the couch and lines his dick up against Stiles' hole, one hand resting on Stiles' lower back for support, and pushes in. Stiles grunts as the head slips entirely in, and Danny fights the urge to bottom out immediately. He waits a moment before going in deeper, a steady push until he's finally, finally all the way in, and he releases the breath he's been holding as he relaxes.
Stiles is definitely still tense, though, and he reaches behind himself to press a hand to Danny's waist, fingers gripping into his skin as he adjusts to Danny's girth. He slides back a little, testing, miniscule strokes that make it all the more harder to resist shoving Stiles' face into the pillow and fucking him senseless. Danny bites his cheek and matches Stiles' rocking, the slides getting larger and larger, until Stiles' hand drops from Danny's side and goes back to clutching a pillow.
Danny figures that's as good of an okay as he'll get, grips Stiles' hip with one hand and his ass with the other, and slides out completely before pushing back in. He starts off slow enough, long, gradual thrusts to ease into it, though Stiles doesn't seem like he needs it, head between his shoulders, moaning steadily. Danny lets his own groans spill readily, knows from experience that more is better in this case, and pumps his hips faster, slides getting shorter.
From this position, it should be easy to forget that this is Stiles who he's fucking, Stiles who is squeezing tight around him, whose moans are more cut off now with harsher breathing. Except Danny can't forget, finds himself unable to really think of anything beyond the fact that this is Stiles he's digging his fingers in, Stiles who tomorrow could possibly have bruises on his hip from where Danny's holding him.
He wonders if he should still be panicking, if he should just be thinking of this like every other shoot--fun, easy sex--but he can't, not really. This is Stiles, and he's tight and warm and feels so good around his dick, and for now Danny doesn't care that the knowledge of who it is just makes it all the better.
Danny runs the hand on Stiles' cheek up his body, sliding over the lightly tanned skin, already a little slick from sweat, until he can latch on to Stiles' shoulder. Once there he speeds up his thrusts, fucks into Stiles hard, can hear the harsh slap of skin on skin as he bottoms out. Stiles' head is craned up now, tossed back and Danny is willing to bet his mouth is open. Danny eases up a little, moves his hand to Stiles' neck, feels the bob of his Adam's apple against the palm of his hand.
He slows down, goes back to fucking Stiles at a more even pace, and loosens his grip on Stiles' hip as he moves. Danny fucks into Stiles a few more times, good, long movements as he runs his hands down Stiles' back, and then he pulls out. It takes Stiles a moment to get with the program, but as Danny sits on the couch Stiles is already moving towards him again.
He gets comfortable on the couch, slouching, legs spread wide, and then Stiles is there, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he straddles Danny's waist. They can't actually go anywhere until the cameramen adjust their own positions, and it's a torturous few minutes as Danny's dick presses against Stiles' ass.
Danny sets his hands on Stiles' cheeks, moves with the rhythm Stiles begins. Stiles moves in to kiss him, and it's messy and open, more a mix of tongues than anything as Stiles rocks back against Danny's dick, flats of his fingers rubbing one of his pecs.
Stiles breaks the kiss and licks a stripe across Danny's jaw, leads his mouth up the side of Danny's face. Danny groans and squeezes Stiles' ass, lets his eyes fall shut as Stiles nibbles at his ear. He stops after a moment, and then he laughs, sounding drunk, and he whispers, "You know, I've thought about this before. Riding you."
Danny's eyes spring open, just in time to catch Stiles' wicked grin. He said it low enough that the mics wouldn't pick it up, and obviously that was the point. Jesus. It's unfair that Stiles told him that, because now Danny's just wondering when Stiles thought about this, and Stiles is now lowering himself on Danny's dick and all Danny can do is bite his tongue so he doesn't come on the spot.
Stiles' face is scrunched up, tongue to the side of his mouth, and there are beads of sweat running down his forehead as he sinks down on Danny slowly. Danny wonders if Stiles thought about that stuff back in school, if those seemingly endless questions on his attractiveness were more than just him running his mouth off. It's something Danny wants to ask him, but he definitely can't with cameras catching his every move, so he pulls Stiles in for a kiss instead.
Stiles locks his arms around Danny's shoulders, palms flat against Danny's back. He rises slowly the first time, painstakingly slow, even; Danny can feel the pull of his body every single inch that Stiles goes. He catches Stiles' eye, sees a gleam he's never seen before, at least from Stiles, and then he gets it as Stiles unceremoniously sinks back down on Danny's dick.
This is Stiles' real opportunity--this is when Stiles has all of the control. And Danny's not sure where that sputtering guy from two years ago went, but he's not sure he needs to know right now, not with Stiles riding him with vigor. He's a vision like this, really, side of his lip between his teeth and his eyes focused on Danny's, his hair sticking to his forehead.
"Yeah," Stiles is saying as he bobs on Danny's cock. "Yeah, come on, touch me. C'mon."
Danny moves one of his hands to Stiles' head, digs his fingers in the damp, tangled mess of hair, then complies and uses the other to grab hold of Stiles' dick. Stiles shifts at the touch, dipping to watch the space where his cock pushes out from Danny's fist, head shiny and wet with precome. Danny tries his best to match the rhythm that Stiles is creating, but he keeps shifting, a little sporadically, and Danny has to abandon any real attempts at following suit, just jerks him fast.
Stiles gets a little shaky, legs trembling slightly as he works Danny's dick, his fingers digging into Danny's shoulder blades. Danny is ready to take control again, get Stiles on his back and pound into him, but then Stiles' intense gaze breaks and his eyes squeeze shut, mouth parting.
"Fuck yeah," Danny says when he realizes. He jerks Stiles faster, harder, watches as his shaking gets visibly worse.
"Fuck," Stiles groans, and then he shoots on Danny's chest, warm spurts of jizz that trail down Danny's stomach. The last of it spills over Danny's fist, slipping between his fingers and Stiles' dick as Danny gets him through it. Stiles is sagging, hands slowly sliding across Danny's shoulders, down his chest. He's just rocking on Danny's cock, small nudges back and forth as he comes down from it.
It's easy to cup the back of his neck and guide him in for a kiss, to lick open his mouth and go slow, explore a little as Stiles gets back to himself.
Stiles gets his bearings back quickly, hands gripping Danny's hair as he takes control of the kiss, more tongue, mouths wider. He's moving on Danny's dick again, fuller movements, but before he gets anywhere good he stops and climbs off brusquely. Danny almost whines, and Stiles looks like he knows it, red mouth pulled into a smirk.
"Tell me what you want."
Danny considers the question for about half of a second before he says, "On your back."
And Stiles complies immediately, like he knew just what Danny was going to say, and Danny once again wonders how the hell Stiles became so cocky. He also wonders why the hell he likes it. But then Stiles is on his back, legs spread, and Danny's kneeling on the couch, stroking his dick and looking at Stiles' puffy hole, and he suddenly only has one thing on his mind.
Danny catches Stiles' leg at the bend with one arm, grips his cock as he rubs the head against Stiles' hole for a moment, teasing himself just as much as Stiles as he presses but doesn't quite push in. He circles Stiles' hole and positions himself, pushes in just until his head pops in with just a little give. He takes Stiles' other leg in his arm then, pushes his hips forward and bottoms out in one fluid motion, and he can't help the guttural groan that escapes as he slides into Stiles again.
He fucks into Stiles fast and hard after the initial thrust, lets himself use up every ounce of energy he has for this part. He wants Stiles to feel it tomorrow, to remember Danny's dick inside him every time he moves. The thought fills Danny's mind, makes him a little light-headed, and it makes him push through the burn he's starting to feel, strives him to go longer.
"You gonna come?" Stiles asks, eyes half-lidded, as his fingers clutch the couch cushion. "Yeah. Yeah. Come on, man. I wanna see you come."
And Danny is; he can feel it building steadily in his balls, so close to that edge and Stiles' urging just gets him there faster. He can see one of the cameramen approach from the corner of his vision, but Danny blocks him out. He fucks Stiles a couple more times, until he's barely able to hold off from coming, and then he pulls out and ditches the condom, strokes himself twice before he comes with a bitten-off swear. He coats Stiles with it, white streaks across his stomach, reaching up to his chest, the latter dribbles trailing down onto his hip.
Danny tries his best to gracefully plop down on Stiles, because he sort of just wants to sleep after that. Instead, he kisses Stiles again, partly because that's how Franco likes the shoots to end, but more because he just wants to. As the spur of sex starts to fade away, he finds himself wondering if he's ever going to be able to do this again, so he decides to savor the moment. It's more gentle this time, trading placid and slow kisses until Franco calls cut.
They have to stay for a while after the shoot, reshooting things and adding other shots in for filler, and Danny is relieved when Franco finally gives them the okay to get cleaned up. They shower off after the shoot, in the large shower that's big enough for an orgy, and it starts off quiet. Danny stands under one of the showerheads and Stiles chooses the one immediately next to it, and while Danny expects it to be because he wants to talk, Stiles says nothing, just shampoos up his hair.
Danny's momentarily panicked, because he sort of anticipated that Stiles would be running his mouth a mile a minute once they got away from people, but Stiles doesn't really seem eager to say anything. But considering the fact that Stiles is slowly working the shampoo into his head instead of rushing to finish, Danny figures he might not be resistant to some conversation, either.
"So," he says, rubbing soap on his chest. He's glad that Franco didn't bother filming them in the shower like he usually does to close off a shoot. There's a degree of performing even after the scene's finished, when all Danny really wants to do is get away from the camera. "That was something."
Stiles laughs, this little short, cut-off kind of laugh, and he says, "Yeah. Wow. Something."
"So how was it?" Danny feigns casualness, but he's not exactly good at it; there's a reason he's doing porn instead of community theater. "I mean, this was your first shoot like this, right?"
"It was... good," Stiles says carefully, like he's weighing his words. And Jesus, he really has grown up, considering Danny's heard him blabber on for half an hour with Scott over the mere concept of sex. Now he's barely speaking in full sentences. "Unexpectedly good."
Danny raises an eyebrow, cracks a smile even though he's not sure if he's supposed to take offense to that. "Uh, thanks. I guess."
"I meant because I came here expecting to do some skinny guy with a giant dick."
"One outta two ain't bad," Danny says. This time Stiles laughs for real, and it makes Danny grin unabashedly. As he pours more soap into his hand, he adds, "You weren't quite what I expected, either."
Stiles stops what he's doing and turns to face Danny; Danny can't really help himself to give his wet body a once over. "Is that a bad thing?"
Stiles stares at him for a long moment, then shrugs and goes back to washing himself when Danny just keeps smiling.
"You were more confident than I thought you'd be," Danny finally states after a minute of mutual silence.
Stiles snorts. "You thought of how I'd be?"
"I had time," Danny says. "I thought you'd either run away screaming or be squeamish. But you seemed pretty confident."
"Not as confident as some people." Stiles turns and hunches over, squeezes his hands into fists as he huffs, "Get on your knees. Grr. Get on your back. Me tough."
Danny laughs loudly at that, flips Stiles the bird for his trouble. "Fuck you, man, I don't sound like that."
Stiles just hums and steps under the water.
They're drying off when they speak again, and it's Stiles breaking the silence this time. He's toweling his hair when he asks, "So what are your plans after this?"
Danny doesn't look up from drying his feet. "Chinese, definitely." Truthfully, it's probably more, Chinese which I'll bring home to my roommate and he'll tease the shit out of me until I give him details, but he kind of wants to leave it open-ended.
"Hey, I was thinking of Chinese, too." Stiles says it like it's a big coincidence, like all amateur porn stars don't think of food as soon as their shoots are done.
Danny bites his lip, because it's either that or smirk, and he finally meets Stiles' gaze. "Yeah?" he asks, managing to be perfectly cool, which is a miracle in and of itself.
He just nods. "Yeah, man. Getting fucked makes me hungry. Who knew?" He runs a hand through his wet hair. "I can't really find any good Chinese places up here, though. Think you could show me one?"
"Luke, are you asking me out?" Danny tries his best to look doubtful, but it's a little hard with the smile that's threatening to take over his face.
"I think it's more like I'm intruding in on your alone time," Stiles says, and for a second Danny gets a flash of that same high school Stiles, lying through his teeth to get off on a technicality. "But asking you out works, too."
"Do you always ask the guys who have sex with you on camera to lunch?"
Stiles shakes his head, licks his lips. "Not always. Usually only the hot ones." He raises an eyebrow. "Why, is this cliched? Do your scene partners normally ask you to lunch?"
"Oh, totally," Danny says.
Stiles looks like he's about ready to roll his eyes, but he apparently decides to humor Danny. "Oh, yeah? And do you normally say yes?"
"Not always," Danny says, smirk finally creeping in. "Usually only to the hot ones."