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Danielle tries not to think too much, not late at night when he knows nothing good can even come from thinking too much about anything. It's especially bad to think about his feelings too hard and to make it even worse, there's nothing more counterproductive than thinking too hard, too much about how he feels about Clay. About Clay in general.
One thing about Clay is that it's easier to overlook a lot of things about him if you got it bad, the way Danielle believes he has it. When he has Clay next to him, as close to him as he'll allow himself to be, it's so much easier not to think too much or too hard about anything. How can he waste time thinking when he has such a pretty thing right in front of him?
Thinking is for people with a lot of free time and Danielle has a lot to do. If he doesn't, he can always find something to do to keep himself occupied. To keep his mind occupied so he won't have to think too much. Going out for a jog, exercising, playing tennis, rereading some of his favorite gothic erotica novels. Working, coaching the kids. All that he can do.
He doesn't need to worry about keeping himself busy enough not to think when he's around Clay. Being around Clay is like being some piece of iron or steel and being near a magnet. His eyes are constantly drawn to Clay, all of him, his face, his eyes, his lips, his hair. Danielle's hands are always itching to reach out and touch, he has to keep himself in check.
If he could run his fingers through his short hair, gently scratch his scalp with his nails, if he could pull his hair, make it all messy. If he could press his thumb against Clay's lips, press his lips to his just to feel how soft they are, if he could bite his lip and lick the blood clean off. If Danielle could let himself cup his face in his hands and lean in, get close enough to feel his breath, open his mouth and–
"Dolly, can we settle up?" Clay had said that night when he pulled away from him, turning to Danielle with no hint of any emotion on his face. "I should go."
Danielle had smiled and waved and pretended that it didn't hurt when he left but he knows he didn't fool anyone, not anyone other than Clay. Dolly gave him a look that was half pitying half the lingering awkwardness of watching his interaction with Clay. Alone with his thoughts, without Clay there to keep him distracted, he started to feel things.
He realizes now that this going too far, to a point of no return. Even if he could distance himself from Clay and not see him again, that'd have consequences. He wouldn't be able to control his thoughts, his feelings, something he didn't think he had to worry about. Sometimes, the way he feels about Clay feels like a disease.
If you look at it, there's no mistaking it. The symptoms are all there. Fatigue, he feels exhausted without Clay by his side. It feels like he's been running a marathon for ages, unable to reach his goal or stop to hydrate, take a moment to breathe and then resume. He feels like there's nothing he wants to do but lie in bed feeling like shit. He can't eat, can't sleep.
Nausea, he gets that one all the time. He feels like throwing up when he gets back from their meetings and he remembers the way he practically begged Clay to go home with him, with his actions and not his words. He wouldn't go as far as to say he's disgusted with himself, that's not quite it. But it does make him feel ill, nauseous. Maybe it's the alcohol.
Lovesickness isn't a real thing, he's sure of it but when he's around Clay he feels like it might as well be. Even if he goes home and sits on the bathroom floor letting the water hit his back, hugging his knees and staring into space. Even if he can't even look at himself when he gets back, even if he wants to never do anything like that ever again.
He's still eagerly expecting Clay's next call, staring at the phone and begging any deity who will listen to make him call him. Make him meet up with him, make him want him. He wasn't sure who did it that night, the night Clay called him and met with him and was an absolute tease the entire time right up until he got up and left.
Maybe it was God, he told himself and that's how he ended up actually going to church on Sunday. Something he never even considered doing before because in Danielle's entire life, no amount of praying to God ever got him anything. It didn't get his parents to finally split up and stop making each other and their son miserable.
Not even when his dad cheated. Not even when the woman ended up pregnant. Praying didn't help when he was eleven and his parents locked him out of the house regularly so they could argue, scream at each other and ultimately choose to still be together. It certainly didn't help when his mom found his stash of men's underwear catalogues when he was fourteen.
There was no excuse he could give, he couldn't claim to be keeping those out of interest in buying them. It was men's underwear, for grown men. Danielle was a scrawny kid. And some of the pages were glued together. He was lucky his mom found it and not his dad. The old man didn't hit him, never had the time to even spare him a glance but if he had found it he would.
His mom did hit him. But she was a frail woman, always tired and always with bags under her eyes. She barely even had the energy to hit him, Danielle felt lucky at the time and he was still young enough that he attributed that luck to divine intervention. But God isn't interesting in helping people like him, he would soon find out.
So yeah, Danielle hasn't been to church in a long time. The hypocrisy of the so called christians, his dad who was a "man of God" but cheated on his wife every time he left the house, his mom who was "humble and forgiving" but didn't even look at him anymore, much less talked to him after she found out what he was. What he is.
He's never wanted to change. Never felt like he was losing something being like this, that maybe his parents would love him if he was normal. Danielle isn't ashamed of what he likes. He wasn't when his mom found the evidence, he wasn't when someone spray painted the word FAGGOT in big, bold letters on his locker when he was sixteen.
He's not ashamed of himself at all because why should he be?
So he puts on his best sunday suit, complete with a cross necklace he's used for less than christian reasons lately and puts on some of that nice, strong cologne Clay seemed to like so much. When he goes to church again for the first time in years, he's not reminded of going with his parents. He hasn't talked to his dad in years.
Stopped talking to the old bastard when he went to college, started talking to him again a bit after that to get updates on his half-sister, Nursula. Stopped talking to him altogether when he learned about what happened to his little sister, what his dad sat back and allowed to happen to her. Now the only family he has is Nursula and Joe. And he doesn't care much for children.
Which is why it's not that hard going to church again, it doesn't reopen any old wounds or make him feel like pretending to be something he's not. He cherishes the look on Clay's face when he sees him in his yellow suit, the slightly fond smile he gives when Danielle passes by and blows him a kiss, winks at him. He hopes Clay knows it's for him.
And then he's surprised to see there's a guy who looks weirdly a lot like Clay at church, someone Orel claims just moved in with his family. He sees in the guy an opportunity to make Clay jealous and he kisses his wife's hand before doing the same to him, discreetly checking to see if Clay has a reaction to it. He does, to Danielle's absolute delight.
Attending a service is surprisingly easy, not as boring as he thought it would be. Mostly because it's fun to watch Putty trip all over his words and glare at him the whole time. If he wasn't so caught up in his attempts to get Clay through any Gods necessary, he would wink at Rod. Remind him that he wouldn't mind giving him a "special massage" again.
Praying to God is pointless, Danielle knows this very well but the men he gets in bed with often end up calling for Him regardless. Danielle doesn't mind it but he would like to have someone call his name when he's giving them the fucking of a lifetime rather than giving that omniscient bystander all the credit. Even so, he thinks he wouldn't mind if it was Clay.
It's probably not what he should be thinking about at church but Putty's sermons are repetitive, boring and sometimes bordering on a cry for help. So he doesn't feel guilty for letting his mind wander, thinking about how it would feel to have Clay under him, gasping, moaning, crying out yes, god, please!
And now he's hard. At church. Great. He should have seen this coming when he first got here, Clay in his sunday suit looking like a gift Danielle would love to unwrap. He briefly fantasizes about having him right there. Fuck it, maybe at Putty's office. That could be fun. Bend Clay over his table and fuck him hard enough that he'd be screaming for God.
Even though it's pointless. God has no mercy and Danielle isn't very different from Him in that regard.
"Soooo," Clay says, approaching him after the sermon. "I gotta say, I didn't expect you to show up here. You seem like you'd have much better things to do on a Sunday, Danielle."
"Oh, I thought I could give it a shot. I mean, there has to be something worth listening to if all these people keep coming back."
Clay gets closer, not as close as Danielle would like but close enough that other people won't hear him whisper:
"You know, I don't think he's ever given a new sermon in the past ten years. I can't even tell you how many times I heard the same thing."
Danielle laughs, "Can't say I find it hard to believe that."
Suddenly, Clay gives him an intense look, getting unsettlingly serious.
"I find it hard to believe you'd attend a service. What made you decide to do it anyway? And why now?"
Danielle looks him up and down, staring at him with those eyes that always seem to glint whenever they're looking at each other. He sighs.
"Some things are worth any trouble," Danielle says and looks away from Clay to avoid thinking too much. "Even having to sit through one of Putty's boring sermons."
At that, Clay laughs too and grabs one of Danielle's arms, making him turn to look at him. Staring into each other's eyes in the middle of a mostly empty church, Clay clutching his arm and looking at him like he's never seen anything so beautiful in his life.
"They're less boring with you here, Danielle."
Instead of pulling away like he probably should, Danielle gets even closer. Feeling Clay's breath on his face.
"Mm, is that so?"
Clay nods, eyes still fixated on Danielle like he can hardly believe he's in front of him. Like he has to touch him to be sure.
"Yeah."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Behind them, Danielle can hear some guy say, loud enough that he knows Clay heard it too:
"They're doing it at church now. Like Forghetty's isn't enough."
There's no indication he's talking about them but Danielle knows he is, Clay also knows that and that's why he pulls away from Danielle like he just woke up from a hypnotic trance. And then he takes a deep breath and, right in front of Danielle, he turns into everything he so desperately wants people to believe he is.
Straightens his tie, combs his hands through his hair and looks at Danielle like he's dirt beneath his feet.
"Nice seeing you," he says in a bored tone and leaves.
Danielle is used to this. More than used to it. But it still fucking hurts. In fact, it hurts even more because he cares about Clay. He can't even bring himself to be mad at him. Even now, all he wants is to reach out and hold him close, all he wants is to comfort Clay, kiss him all over and tell him he doesn't need to be ashamed. They shouldn't be ashamed.
But Clay wouldn't let him. The last thing he wants now is to be seen with Danielle and that's why he doesn't make any attempts to stop him from leaving. He goes back to his house, takes the stupid suit off and looks at his pictures of Clay. The ones where he's not ashamed, where they're away from the world and they're together and Clay is happy.
That's how he knows he's sick. He wants to make Clay happy. He doesn't just want to fuck him, to get to have him and get to slide into him and get to make him come for him. No, it's worse than that. He wants Clay happy, he wants him safe and loved and cared for. Loved. God, what is he even thinking? He can't love Clay.
Love is a disease, he thinks. Did he ever love his parents? He thinks maybe he did, one day. Back when he thought maybe all he had to do was be good, behave and maybe they would give him more attention. Maybe they would care for him. But that was a childish thought, an innocent fantasy. He quickly got over that and realized the world isn't so kind.
No one ever cared about how he felt. Not when he was a kid and his parents only ever talked to him to tell them he was an embarrassment. Not when he was a teenager and every guy he hooked up with ended up turning against him, saying "I wasn't like that before you. You infected me". Like Danielle was a fucking disease.
Just thinking about the way Clay pulled away from him makes him want to pull his hair out. Out of everyone, he really wished Clay wouldn't treat him like this. Love is a disease, it's a painful thing and he can't love Clay, he can't love someone who will ultimately look at him in disgust like his classmates did, like his lovers did, like his parents did.
Like he's a disease, like his love is a disease. That's why Clay doesn't want to be seen with him. Who wants to be seen with Danielle? No one, if they know enough about him. Danielle, the fag, the pansy, the sissy, the cocksucker. They called him all that in high school, the same guys who went after him when no one else was around, looking for some fun.
He had been so desperate for anyone to actually care that he got in relationship after relationship with the same guys. The guys who would call him a fag when their friends were around, the guys who let him suck them off but never returned the favor, never even kissed him when he was done. Like he was a hooker. Like he was sick.
Maybe Clay could have been different, maybe he would have cared about him the way no one else did. Maybe he'd actually want him around. Or maybe he'd be just like those guys. He'd laugh at Danielle behind his back, call him a sissy and a cocksucker, go after him discreetly enough that no one would know and let him blow him.
That's more accurate, Danielle thinks and he can almost picture Clay, what would he have been like in high school? Not a jock, that's for damn sure. He is a mayor so maybe class president, a goody two shoes who probably went to church every Sunday. Who everyone would like. Who all the girls would want to ask to be their date to prom.
Danielle didn't get to go to prom. A bunch of his classmates, not only that but also his teammates, they were all in the Moralton High basketball team, got together and acted as "bouncers" the whole night. They even took turns so some of them got to get inside and dance with their dates. The whole night, they stood there daring Danielle to try to get in.
"Tolerance is just a theme," one of them had said. "And we don't need your kind here, Stopframe."
Danielle doesn't even remember his name but he remembers the smug look on his face, looking at him like he was disgusting. As if half the guys on the team didn't make out with him at one point, begged him to suck their dicks and then laughed the next day when their friends called Danielle a fairy. Laughed like they weren't one, too.
"The guys here just want to have a good time. We don't need to be constantly looking over our shoulders to see if you're trying to get in our pants," he had laughed and then got close enough to feel Danielle's breath on his face. "I can still smell come on your breath, you know?"
Danielle had laughed, surprising even himself. Sometimes they got creative with their insults. If he were in a better mood he could have said something smart. Ask how the guy could recognize the smell of come so easily. Joked that if he can still smell it, that it was probably from one of his buddies. But Danielle was tired. He hadn't even wanted to go to prom.
He remembers feeling strangely empty in the car, going back to his cold house while his classmates enjoyed their prom night. At the time, he had wondered why the tears weren't coming. Why he wasn't more upset about it. Now he knows that he doesn't really care that much, didn't even care that much back then.
If he had met Clay in high school, he doubts it'd be much different from any other guy he met back then. He would have told Danielle he liked him, he felt like he could tell him anything, he felt like he could be himself around him. He'd kiss Danielle, Danielle would kiss back because he's always looking for warmth. And it would be the same old story.
Clay would beg Danielle to touch him, suck him, do anything. Danielle would oblige because he's always been a sucker for the feeling of making a guy fall apart for you, cry your name and moan, thrust into your mouth desperately. And Clay would finish, would take one look at Danielle, in the middle of swallowing his come.
And he'd say:
"No one can know about this. I'm not like you."
They always said that, after coming inside Danielle's mouth. I'm not like you, like just saying it immediately cleansed them and rid them of any sin. Danielle would be left with the taste on his mouth, the bitter taste of semen and knowing that next morning the same guys who claimed they liked him, they felt like they could tell him anything, they felt like they could be their real self with him would be calling him a fag.
That's why it doesn't surprise him, when he goes to church again next Sunday and Reverend Putty's sermon is all about homosexuality. About how sinful it is, the biggest sin out there apparently because murder is nothing compared to two guys kissing. How unnatural it is and how God hates all of them, them, Putty said, looking directly at him.
It's nothing he hadn't heard before. It's the same shit he's been hearing since he was old enough to understand what was being said at church. God hates them, he said like it's some new concept no one else heard of. Danielle knows He does. He's aware of it. That's why it doesn't affect him at all to hear the sermon. It's not like he ever expected any different.
Everyone obviously knows the sermon was about him because by the time it's done, he can feel their eyes on him. He's at church in his best sunday suit and he can feel everyone staring at him, can almost hear them whispering to each other about him and laughing. Clay sees him and quickly gets out before Danielle can even try to talk to him.
And all of a sudden he's back in high school, trying to talk to the same guy who had his tongue in his mouth the day before. Being ignored, feeling everyone's eyes on him as he walks past the hallway and his friends, not his friends, his teammates, are all laughing and looking at him. They didn't even try to hide it.
Look at Danielle, the sissy, the fag, the cocksucker.
He wonders which one Clay would pick first, when he came inside Danielle's mouth like those guys had and looked at him once they were done, ashamed and very aware of what they just did.
Danielle wonders if Clay would look at him like they did, like he's disgusted by him. Like Danielle is sick.
"I'm not like you," he can almost hear it in Clay's voice.
He wonders how long it'll take for him to realize what they're doing, how long until he realizes Danielle is dragging him to hell with him.
Because he doesn't want to go alone. And he feels like he's been alone his entire life.