Chapter Text
The thing about it is that given another two years in the House, a chance to build up a little more name recognition, Kathryn Valdez could really make the Senate. She’s an absolute natural, charming to the point that it makes Dan envious, yet never coming off calculated. And then there’s her bio- not running for office would practically be criminal, what with her dead Air Force cadet husband, hardworking single mom status, and social justice cred.
Not to mention, it’s nice to have a boss he doesn’t have to explain social media to.
Behind closed doors, she rolls her eyes at the media narrative- “David died in a car crash. He hadn’t even graduated from the Academy yet. I mean, it fucking sucked, but he was no American hero.”
On stage, though, she's perfectly on message.
“When my daughter Sophia was born- almost five years ago, I can hardly believe it- my husband David was attending the Air Force Academy not fifteen miles from here. And I just know that here in Colorado Springs, much like people all over this great state, you want for your own kids what me and David always wanted for Sophia. And that’s to be proud to do everything you can for your country, including serve, and to know that we live in most free and equal place on Earth. Thank you.”
Anyway, the point is that there’s a ton of potential here, but today in Colorado Springs, the home of Pikes Peak and Focus on the Family, Kat ends her speech to only tepid applause. With less than four months’ notice to put together a Senate campaign, they’re definitely up against it. It looks likely that the GOP will beat them in this race, and might even take her House seat while they’re at it, although CD-2 contains CU-Boulder and is pretty reliably blue. On the walk back to the cars after the speech, some old man rolls by them on the sidewalk in a fucking Buick and just yells out “DYKE!” at the top of his lungs before pulling away.
“Wow, pansexual erasure much?” Kat says, looking more amused than anything. “On that pleasant note, do we have anything uncancellable planned for the next couple days? The baby’s been with her grandparents all week and Facetime really isn’t cutting it.”
“You have that prayer breakfast Sunday at the church in Centennial,” Dan says, consulting his phone. “Other than that, I think we’re in good shape. Honestly, a few family-friendly Instagram posts this weekend will probably do us more good than meeting any more of the adoring public.”
“Sounds good. I’ll see you Monday, then.” Dan starts to argue, but she cuts him off. “Take some time. Your dark circles have dark circles at this point, blanquito.”
Dan sets a couple meetings on the drive back to the hotel in Denver, lunches and drinks with donors who haven’t maxed out their campaign contributions yet. Mostly, though, he’s not thinking about work. It’s not like him to take breaks, moderation is for mouthbreathers, but for some reason being home for a little while, sleeping in his own bed, sounds ridiculously appealing. He books a flight for the following morning, Thursday, and packs dirty clothes to trade out in his closet at home.
--
After dropping off his dry cleaning, taking a nap, showering, and cleaning the bathroom, Dan gives in and texts Jonah.
To: Jonah 4:45:09 PM EST
Come over?
From: Jonah 4:46:00 EST
Okay? Since when are you here?
To: Jonah 4:47:45 EST
MMS SENT - IMAGE ATTACHED
Dan cracks a beer while he waits for Jonah to answer, and then has another when he hits the bottom of the bottle and there’s still nothing. It’s almost six when the doorbell rings.
When he opens the door, Jonah is doing something weird with his face.
“What?” Dan says.
“Nothing. Just. You’re here.”
“...Right. The miracles of modern aviation. Are you coming in or what?”
Jonah shrugs. “I guess.”
“You want a beer?” Jonah makes a half-hearted gesture, like why not?
Dan uncaps the bottle for him, and for several long beats they’re just looking at each other. Like everything else between them, it feels like a game of chicken. In a stark departure from the norm, however, Dan finds himself not minding being the one to cave; in fact, it’s more than that. He’s feeling generous. Rather than examine this odd impulse, he just acts, moving to set both their bottles aside and leaning up to meet Jonah’s mouth with his. Jonah tastes like shit- like cheap beer and the staleness of a long day in the West Wing- Dan grins to himself. It’s fucking great anyway, so familiar as to be effortless, Jonah’s hand on the small of his back.
“Dan,” Jonah says after a while, pulling back to meet his eyes.
“Yeah?” He’s pulling that constipated face again. Dan can’t put a read on it.
“Nothing, never mind,” Jonah says after a minute.
“Okay,” Dan says, bemused. He leans in for one more kiss while getting at Jonah’s belt with both hands, then his zipper, pulling his pants down smoothly as he drops to his knees.
Jonah’s still mostly soft, but that honestly suits Dan’s purposes just fine: he’s in the mood to do his best work, deliberate and thorough. To this end, he licks a slow, careful stripe up the perineum; when he’s rewarded with Jonah’s slight shiver, he repeats the motion twice more, then uses two fingers to trace the line as he moves to mouth carefully at Jonah’s balls. Jonah groans softly, and his hips are moving in little forward circles. Dan pulls back to see Jonah’s cock half-hard; he takes it into his mouth eagerly, feeling it stiffen on his tongue. He moves his free hand to stroke up from the base, then pulls out to mouth at the tip, lapping up drops of precome.
As a rule, Dan really prefers not to deepthroat, even with previous conquests who were less physically daunting than Jonah’s freak-of-nature situation. He’s always just found it- the gagging, the watering eyes- it’s just so undignified.
Today, though, Jonah’s being uncharacteristically quiet. He’s responsive, yes, but his reactions seem muted- literally. Usually he would be narrating everything, talking nonsense, dropping pet names indiscriminately. If pressed, Dan would have probably placed his feelings on the subject at neutral-to-mildly-annoyed. Now that the commentary is gone, though, he finds himself indignant at its loss, itching to up the ante, to earn the positive feedback. He pulls off for a second, steels himself, then sinks down as far as he can, swallowing. It’s an overwhelming feeling, for sure, but not as unpleasant as he remembered; he doesn’t have much of a gag reflex, anyway, and he’s so focused on being here that he’s not overthinking it.
Encouraged, he goes to pull back and sink down again, flicking his eyes up to watch Jonah’s face for tells. Unlike the last three times he’s looked, Jonah’s eyes are open, and when their eyes meet Jonah’s mouth falls open, too, and then he’s saying- almost shouting, honestly-
“Fuck, Dan, no. I can’t do this. Get off.” Then, as if Dan were unable to comprehend the same quite simple idea repeated loudly, three times in three different ways, and in his native tongue, Jonah grabs his shoulders to push him off as well. Dan jerks away violently, moving to put as much space between them as possible.
Jonah is still talking, but Dan is outside the room - his body is definitely still there, on the other side of the kitchen island, but all he can sense is this hot, acidic feeling pouring over him in waves. His skin is crawling.
Jonah has zipped up his pants, refastened his belt, honestly looks the same as he would had he never been here, in Dan’s house, at all. He’s still talking out of his face.
“Dan? Can we talk?”
“You better talk fast, buddy,” Dan says. Before I fucking throttle you. Then, when Jonah hesitates:
“Hmm? Whaddya wanna talk about?”
Jonah looks uncertain. Dan has a feeling his face is doing something scary, but he has as much control over that right now as he does over the weather.
“Uh… like, us?” Jonah says finally, eloquently. “Like, what are we doing?”
Well, apparently nothing, since you no longer want me to touch you, Dan thinks. He doesn’t say that, can tell it sounds pathetic. He knows he’s shaking, tries to calm down, fails, and instead finds himself laughing a dark, manic laugh. “I’m sorry, what?”
He wants to stop laughing, but he physically can’t. Is this fucking aberration against God trying to break up with him? This is hilarious. “Sorry. Tell me again what the fuck it is you think is happening here?”
“I don’t fucking know, Dan. That’s why we have to talk. We’ve been fucking around for, what, almost a year now, and we’ve never had a conversation-”
“What fucking conversation, Jonah? This isn’t a relationship. What were you expecting, fucking anniversary flowers?”
“Okay, but don’t act like I’m making this up,” Jonah says, and he’s moderating his tone, crossing the room to stand closer to Dan. “You brought your family for a White House tour and then threw a hissy fit over your brother laughing at one of my jokes.”
Jonah is so transparently trying to talk him down; he’s acting like a zookeeper trying to tame a wild animal. It’s pissing Dan the fuck off.
“It was you who accused me of- and I’m quoting here- ‘cheating’ on you by texting someone about memes ‘behind your back’. So in whatever plane of reality Dan was operating on that day, were we in an exclusive relationship?”
“You’re gonna want to get the fuck outta my face, big guy.”
“Dan, can you just try to calm the fuck down?”
Dan is laughing louder now. No, he thinks. He probably couldn’t calm down even if he wanted to try, which he does not. “Nah, I don’t think I can, Jonah. Fuck you. You’re fucking delusional.”
“Jesus, Dan. Breathe.”
Fuck that, Dan thinks, but infuriatingly Jonah is right, it feels like the oxygen’s going out of the room. He ought to be doing anxiety breaths, counting and visualizing a beach or some shit, but he wants to scream Amy-style instead and then possibly murder Jonah and discreetly dispose of the body.
“It’s literally impossible to have a human conversation with you,” Jonah is saying. “You’re like an anxiety disorder just stuffed into a fucking skin sack. You might want to look into whether there’s a pill you can take to help you be less of a total fucking psycho.”
Dan’s really not even thinking in words at this point, just visualizations, but instead of a calming seascape he’s picturing curbstomping Jonah’s fucking head, or locking him in here and setting the whole townhouse on fire, and fuck the neighbors. Fuck Jonah for acting like he’s the rational one in this. What a joke. Somehow he’s turned the tables and now if Dan gives in and beats the shit out of him he’s proving the fucker’s point. Jonah will probably want to fucking “calmly” discuss the beatdown afterwards.
No, for this to work he’s going to have to get Jonah to break first. Funnily enough, having a discrete, achievable goal is what allows Dan to calm down, at least somewhat. He concentrates on channeling all the rage into an icy, precise weapon.
“You know what, Jonah? You’re right. I’m the crazy one. It’s totally logical to think that since I’m the first psycho idiot to ever make the same mistake for twelve months in a row, that I actually give a shit about you.”
Jonah looks thrown off by the sudden change in Dan’s tone, and he’s opening and closing his mouth like he’s searching for something to say. Dan barrels on.
“Yeah, it’s understandable that you might get confused. I mean, you don’t have any friends and you never have, so you can’t tell when someone is transparently fucking with you. That’s why you’ve been in love with me since the three days I spent pumping you for information in 2012. I mean, it is fucking pathetic, but I get it.”
“Shut the fuck up, Dan,” Jonah says, but he doesn’t look angry enough yet, just sort of sad.
“You were the one who wanted to talk, pal. It’s just weird, because it seems like you’ve forgotten that the day I fucking deigned to touch you was the luckiest day of your life, and I was 60% doing it as a joke.”
Jonah shakes his head. “You’re such a fucking narcissist.”
“Yeah, and? You gonna fucking cry about it?” Now Dan is the one getting in Jonah’s face.
“Fuck you, I’m not fucking crying. Anyway, you’re not even the hottest person I’ve ever been with.”
Bull shit. By the time Dan remembers he’s not supposed to be throwing the first punch, his fist is already flying through the air. He hits Jonah’s smug face first, then his stomach. Jonah winces, then shakes his head again.
“Dan, I’m not doing this. This is ridiculous.”
“Yeah? Then get the fuck out of my house.”
Jonah has his hands up to block Dan’s fists, but his expression is still a placating one. Dan can’t remember the last time he was this furious. “Hit me back, you motherfucking pussy.”
“Jesus Christ, Dan,” Jonah says. Dan surges forward into his space, but Jonah grabs his wrists instead of hitting back. Furious, Dan thrashes, trying to get his hands free. He succeeds only in knocking both of them off balance, sending them careening to the floor. He tries to pull his right fist back, but Jonah and his unfair size advantage somehow manage to overpower him, flipping him onto his back like a fucking dying beetle.
“Fucking hit me back, you fucker,” Dan spits. “Hit me or get the fuck out of my house.”
Jonah doesn’t release his death grip on Dan’s wrists. Instead he just lowers his enormous body until his full weight is resting on Dan, effectively caging him in.
Dan is still mad as all hell, but his traitor body responds to Jonah’s closeness, his smell, almost immediately. He’d thought he was maxed out on humiliation for the night, but this is a new low. They’re grinding against each other now, frantic and feral, and when Jonah searches out his mouth he kisses back, thirsty and violent, their teeth clashing. He bites down on Jonah’s bottom lip so hard he draws blood. Jonah moans and grabs onto his hair, jerking Dan’s head to the side so he can get at his neck. He sucks on it, hard and sloppy and wet, and that’s definitely going to leave a mark. It feels fucking good, though, and Dan’s brain has sort of shorted out. “Want you,” he hears himself moan, and his voice sounds fucked-out already, throat still raw.
“I fucking hate you,” he hedges.
“Yeah? Am I ‘delusional’, or are you about to beg me to fuck you?” Jonah stills completely and gives Dan this knowing look. Dan seethes. He really means to push Jonah off, because he’s not this cock whipped, even if he did fly across the country this morning mostly in hopes of getting reamed.
“Fine, you can fuck me, but do it from behind. I don’t want to fucking look at you,” Dan grits out after a couple long minutes spent trying and failing to summon up the sufficient willpower to refuse. Jonah looks way too triumphant at this concession.
“Look, I’m only agreeing to this because you’re more convenient than trying to jerk myself off with one hand and hold a vibrator in the other.”
Jonah is too stupid to recognize this for the dismissal it is. His eyes light up.
“Dan, are you telling me there’s a vibrator hidden somewhere in this apartment and I am just now finding out about it?”
“You’re an idiot. What I’m telling you is that your only value to me is that of an oversized sex toy, and that you have about two minutes to start fucking me before I change my mind.”
Jonah clambers off him in a hurry, gesturing towards the bedroom. Dan obliges, libido winning out over resentment. He’s still wearing his jeans, and he’s regretting the decision to go commando, with the zipper chafing and precome soaking through to form a sizeable wet spot on the front.
“Will you stop fucking smiling?”
“No,” Jonah says, and twists Dan around forcibly so he’s leaning up against the dresser, bracing himself with both hands.
“Color?” Jonah asks as he jerks Dan’s pants down and starts to finger him. Dan shoots a glare over one shoulder.
“Jonah, I’m gonna need you to stick your cock in my ass right fucking now, or so help me-”
Jonah slaps one hand over Dan’s mouth. Dan squawks in protest, but he’s mollified by the rough slide of not-enough-prep as Jonah finally makes good. It hurts, actually- but it’s satisfying, feels vital, feels good. Jonah sighs contentedly and moves his hand to Dan’s hip, digging his nails in.
“I can’t fucking stand you,” Dan reiterates, for clarity. “We’re never doing this again.”
Jonah doesn’t answer, just puts his mouth back over the spot on Dan’s neck that’s already reddening, bites down hard and sucks. The skin is sensitive already, this hurts, it’s so overwhelming that Dan can’t help the full-body shudder, tries to bite back the moan that accompanies it.
As if sensing that Dan’s holding out on him, Jonah snakes one hand up his shirt and pinches one nipple, harder than Dan would usually like. Somehow, instead of complaining, he’s shouting out, pushing back on Jonah’s cock, chasing more pleasure, more stimulation. It must be all the adrenaline, but he’s wretchedly worked up already. He lifts one hand off the edge of the dresser, reaches for his cock-he’s fucking close , ridiculously so for being untouched- but Jonah slaps his hand away.
“Fuck you,” Dan says.
“I am fucking you, Daniel, and I’m pretty sure you know that. But I’m not touching your dick until you beg me. Or, if you prefer, you can jack yourself off when I’m done using your pretty fat ass.”
Dan shivers, fury and humiliation somehow just making him more desperate.
“You gonna beg for it, baby girl?”
Like fuck, Dan thinks. “If you were fucking me properly, I would have gotten off by now,” he says.
“At this point-” he’s cut off by the feeling of Jonah raking his fingernails down his entire torso, and he makes an undignified noise which somewhat undercuts his point- “I’m thinking I should have gone with the fucking dildo.”
It’s not even a dildo, really, it’s a very unassuming, streamlined prostate massager, utilitarian really, but Dan knows he’s said the right thing when Jonah slaps his ass, hard. He grins, victorious.
“Oh, now you wanna hit me? Do it again, pussy.” Jonah obliges, keeping time with the movement of his hips, and Dan loses count after twenty-something, registers only slightly the feeling of Jonah’s teeth sinking into that same spot on his neck for the third time before his orgasm hits and he’s totally ruined the wood finish on the dresser, probably.
“Oh, fuck, baby, ” Jonah says, and Dan almost regrets that this choice of position means not seeing Jonah’s retarded cum face one last time.
After throwing out the condom, Jonah comes back over and tries to kiss him. Dan freezes and opts not to open his mouth. Now that he’s gotten off, Dan feels slightly less murderous, but he’s still keenly aware that something’s off, a shift in their careful equilibrium. Why did you want to ruin this, he wonders sullenly.
“You should probably go,” he says.
“Yeah, okay,” Jonah agrees after a second.
“Turn out the lights on your way out, will you?” He gets into bed.
Dan sleeps badly, even by his standards. In the five o’clock sunlight, he examines the bruises on his neck in the mirror, pressing down on them and feeling nauseous. He pulls out his laptop and pays the $200 change fee to move his flight up by two days. Kat will be glad to have him back, anyway.