Work Text:
It's not a bad thing that Jericho invites Zack out with them. It's also not a good thing but Danny lets it slide, it's not like he's in charge. Zack looks like a smug asshole, radiating this sense of superiority and contempt for something that Danny can't quite put his finger on. Contempt for Americans or maybe those who haven't done as many tours of Japan as Zack has. Danny doesn't know and he doesn't care.
But his eyes keep getting drawn to Zack throughout the evening and when he's drunk enough to say something, he ends up saying fuck all.
"You alright, Daniel?" Zack asks him, more amused than smug for once.
Fuck you is what Danny wants to say but his mouth just breathes out, "Aight."
They got the win, didn't they? He can face Shibata and pick up his belt. The rest doesn't matter. Even if Zack raises both eyebrows, looks at him like he knows what's up, even if Danny doesn't.
Fuck him.
The hotel room is stuffy and Danny knows how he ended up here, the silent agreement when Zack said which floor his room was on, the elevator going up and up and up and doing the little ding sound. Last chance to turn back and he didn't. He just walked down the hallway, two steps behind the tall Brit and wondered what the fuck he's doing.
It's been a while, hooking up with a guy he doesn’t even like, and Danny doesn't really want to remember the last time. Then there was Yuta, but that was different because at least once upon a time they were friends and that feeling tends to linger. When Yuta kisses him it's brutal but tender at the same time. When Zack does, there's nothing there but the self-satisfied smile, and that's fine. At least it will evaporate by the end of the night.
It's a prelude that neither of them want so the hand that cradles Danny's neck soon guides him lower. He expects a sarcastic line, a degrading remark, fucking something, but Zack stays silent apart from the gasp when Danny's mouth takes in the velvety head of his cock.
Danny's cheeks light up with flush, and he's turned on. He feels worse than when they started, but the need drives him further. His own dick is straining in his shorts and he palms it, but focuses on getting Zack wet, ready to get him deeper. He sinks into the role a little too easily. Just eager to give this asshole what he wants. Just happy to do good.
What the fuck, he thinks to himself. You're such a slut, man.
The hand in his hair is rough, twisting and unforgiving like Zack's limb work in the ring. He tries not to think of Yuta's hand the last time it was there, not exactly gentle but the right amount of rough, like he knew Danny liked. Through their ill-advised hookups they learned enough about one another to get each other off in a matter of minutes, or make each last for hours, or just do it so many times a night they lost count.
It was just sex, Danny thinks and focuses on this moment in its depravity, but Zack's hand holds him in place and the length thrusts into him faster than he's prepared for. His eyes water and he almost chokes. The hand pulls his head back and Danny briefly thinks his throat is about to be assaulted but instead it's his release.
"You like that?" Zack's voice steady and deep, his eyes dark.
The fucked up thing is, he kind of does. His cock jumps at the look on Zack's face, somewhere between disgust and awe.
"Fuck you," Danny says but his mouth widens into a smile anyway.
The first slap lands on his cheek, the second one beneath his ear. A small grace, not making his ears ring. Then Zack slides into his mouth again, slick and hot and this time, Danny takes him all the way to the hilt. It's a good party trick, his chin tilted up slightly, his throat accepting.
The last time he did it, Yuta groaned, low and needy, calling him perfect. It was a balm over some old, unknown wound and Yuta knew he liked that, knew he craved it, even if he liked the rougher hand, too. It was about that balance, the sugar with the medicine, the same mouth that leaves bite marks kissing over them in the aftermath.
Zack groans during climax, too, but it's different. The heat leaves Danny's mouth momentarily, but he keeps it open. The bulbous head lands on his tongue ans what follows is a viscous warmth. Zack's hand pumps all of it into him, and he swallows just so he can take in more. Needy, greedy, hungry, all things Yuta called him in the heat of whatever their thing was, things he loved being called. Just the thought of them makes his spine tingle.
The second kiss is more gentle but with none of the feeling. That's fine, Danny thinks, his back sinking into the bed as his hips lift, long fingers stripping him naked. Zack's hands don't linger in the touch, they don't brush through body hair or squeeze Danny's muscles, grabbing possessively. Maybe he does all that for someone else or maybe he's just a shitty lay, and Danny takes some sick comfort in that Zack could be bad at something when he's so good at wrestling.
He relaxes into it and tries not to think of what comes after. He just needs to get off and not pretend like this means anything. Danny doesn't exactly want a hardon while watching the G1 later this year.
Zack is good, though, annoyingly. The pressure of his lips, the steady tug at the base of Danny's cock, the fucking perfect wet heat of his mouth. Danny can allow the sensation to take over, his mind to drift and his brain hits upon the memory of Yuta again. It's unfair but he can't help but stay there. The fingers digging into his thighs as Yuta's mouth takes him in some dingy bathroom, drives him closer to the brink, faster than anyone, because he's Yuta and he knows exactly how to fuck Danny or love him or hurt him, too.
He comes with a shocked moan, allowing Zack the smug satisfaction again, because it can't have taken longer than a minute all told. He's spent and breathing hard and he needs to get out of here.
"It's the alcohol," Danny says but Zack's face tells him he doesn't buy it.
Danny puts his clothes on hastily and there isn't a goodnight kiss, because this wasn't that kind of hookup, and he's glad for it. Zack steps into the bathroom, shuts the door with his heel and when Danny hears the water run, he's finally dressed and leaves.
Dazed, he looks at his phone but there's just Anna sending stupid memes in the group chat and nothing else. His hand hovers over several numbers, friends, could-be-friends, and he tells himself that's just the alcohol, too.
His thumb hits on the one person he shouldn't call.
"Danny, it's four am." Yuta's voice sounds rough, gravelly and tired.
Fucking hot, too, Danny's cock reminds him by twitching impatiently.
"Work hard, party hard," Danny says nonchalantly.
Who the fuck are you kidding, a voice inside his head asks and he brushes it aside.
"Right." Yuta doesn't sound like he's got the patience for the bravado, the fronting, the act Danny knows he can see through.
Danny clears his throat. "Since you're up now–"
"I don't think that's a good idea," Yuta cuts him off.
It's never been a good idea but that never stopped them before. It wasn't a good idea for Danny to stay over, not smart for Yuta to pull him closer, not according to plan when they spent a morning in bed just kissing without getting up. But they did all those things anyway, so why is it any different now?
Because one of them doesn't want it, Danny understands with a sinking feeling in his stomach. That's why it's different.
"Whatever," he says, petulant and hangs up.
Sleep arrives uneasy that night. He drags himself to the airport the next morning. his bones feeling at once too heavy and too brittle to be moving. His head throbs. When he walks backstage in Toronto, his eyes don't meet Yuta as they pass by one another.
His pulse picks up when Yuta's eyes land on him, and stay there, if only for a beat.
Just one beat, and then Yuta looks away.
Danny will learn not to want it, too.