The coffee’s going cold; I can feel it where my hands are cupped around the mug. I should go back to bed. Instead I sit here, counting the seconds after each growl of thunder. It’s childish, but it keeps me entertained. So much so that I almost dismiss the knock on my door as just a part of the storm.

Another determined pounding comes, this time out of synch with the storm. I glance at the clock and blink. Four in the morning. Who the hell comes knocking at four in the morning? If they wake Lisa up…

I grab a kitchen knife off the counter on my way to the door, and hold it behind my back. Opening the door, I back out of reach. It’s a moot point; the visitor staggers forward, nearly into me. The knife is up before I register that the face looking up at me is familiar.

Dropping the knife, I hiss, “Jesus, Danny!”

He chuckles low in his throat, bitterly. His eyes look black in the darkness as he steadies himself on the wall. “Not really, but I’m honored by the comparison.”

“What’re you doing here?” Wincing as he sways visibly, blinking at me, I add, “You’re dripping.”

“Sorry,” he says, too absently to mean it. His eyes are feverish in his gray face. “I don’t know why I’m here. Thought maybe you could tell me.”

Time to back up again. “I think it’s time to call your girlfriend. When’s the last time you slept?”

That distracts him enough for a moment that I can move back a decent distance. Tilting his head like an animal, he considers the question. Finally, he shrugs. “Last good sleep I’ve had was a couple of years ago. Which is your fault.”

“I didn’t do anything to you.”

His harsh bark of laughter sounds loud. “You kissed me, you idiot.”

The room temperature drops a few degrees between us.

“We’re not discussing this now.” That might almost manage to sound authoritative, if it wasn’t so desperate. “Lisa’s upstairs.”

“So when are we going to discuss it, Tim?” There’s a nasty edge to his voice, almost as disturbing as the look on his face. “I’m losing my mind here. Maybe you should have thought about Lisa before you started this.”

I take another step back, not liking the look on his face. This time he follows. His eyes shine.

“It was a mistake. If I could take it back, I would.” The lie rises easily to my lips.

“You can’t. Face up to it. Be a man.”

We move around the kitchen, step by step, an awkward sort of dance. Some part of me wishes that I still had that knife. He smirks suddenly. It’s the only thing that warns me before my back runs into the counter, hard. There’s no where else to go. His too bright eyes flick back and forth, watching in case I jerk to one side or the other.

“What do you want me to say?” My voice sounds almost calm, detached. My heart is pounding in my ears so loudly that I wonder if he hears.

Lightning flashes, casting shadows on his chalk-pale face. He looks half dead.

“Tim,” he drawls the word like a curse, “I don’t want you to say a goddamned thing.”

His hands are rough on my shirt, pulling at it. The buttons pop and tear, skittering across the floor. My breath freezes in my throat; I can’t even get the will to pull away.

“Wait a second- dammit, wait-“

He ignores me, his eyes locked downward. Sensitive fingertips blunted by leather gloves trace down my chest, finding the pattern, seeking out something. The motion seems cold, almost scientific. When I reach out to touch him, grab his hands and make him stop, he smacks my hands down and growls at me.

I let him go.

The wildness in his eyes keeps me still. I wish I could say that’s the only reason I’m not fighting.

His touches are rough, nearly jabs now. He can’t find whatever he’s looking for. With a frustrated noise, he shakes his head fiercely, a desperation in his eyes. I reach out without thinking. “Danny…”

He flinches from the touch, his expression hardening. Before I can tense, he drops to his knees on the tiles. His hands are impersonal on the waistband of my pants, hooking in and tugging down. I grab his wrists more out of reflex than anything, gripping so hard I’ll probably bruise. He glances up at me, his expression cold with detachment.

“Stop.”

“Tell me you don’t want this and I will.”

I’ve got the words all planned out, I’ve even perfected the righteously indignant tone. All I have to do is get my voice to cooperate. Simple, really.

He snorts and looks away. His hands slip out of my grip without even much of a struggle, leaving me free to brace myself on the counter in a daze. This can’t be happening. I have to be dreaming.

 With one sharp tug, my pants are around my thighs. He blinks, then tilts his head like a curious animal. The intensity of his stare makes me want to push him away, but before I can get my hands to move, he looks away. Leaning forward, he presses his cheek against my hip. I flinch; his skin’s cold and clammy with rain. He doesn’t move, his eyes half closed and his breaths slow, even.

It takes me a moment to realize that he’s smelling me.

“Danny,” I snap at him, not sure if I’m repulsed or incredibly aroused. It doesn’t seem to matter much, since he ignores it either way. Taking in another breath, he opens his eyes. The determined set of his jaw is bizarrely endearing, and I feel my world start tilting.

Then his mouth is on me, hot and wet and awkward, and the whole thing flips over on its axis. No matter how much I want to pretend, something in me wants this. Hard and fast and dirty, with Danny on his knees.

The awkwardness is gone in a few seconds, replaced with an ease that’s almost disturbing. He’s done this before, apparently enough times that he leaves his hands at his sides instead of using them to keep my hips still. They knot in his shirt, kneading like a cat’s claws as his head bobs on me in a business-like rhythm. His eyes stay closed, his expression distant. When I touch him, his shoulders are taut.

He starts, his eyes flying open. I think I just narrowly missed having something bitten off. Carefully, I lay my hand on top of his head. His hair is wet from the rain, but it still feels good carding through my fingers. His eyes narrow to slits, the suspicion written clearly on his face. When I don’t start trying to lead him, he warily goes back to what he was doing, his eyes on my face. I let my head fall back, watching the stairs.

God, he’s good at this. The slow flicks of his tongue over the head, the touch of sharp white teeth like a warning build into a rhythm that has me grabbing at the counter with my free hand. My teeth sink into my lower lip to hold back the whimpers. "Danny,” I whisper instead, shaking under that damned perfect mouth, “oh, God.”

 And he takes me deeper.

I can’t bite back the sharp noise that tears through my lips as orgasm rips through me so hard the room goes white. Dazed, I let my knees go out under me, leaving me kneeling on the floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him edge away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. My palm feels cold without his hair under it.

I wait until I can get my breath back, then look up at him. He’s scowling at the floor, such a childishly resentful expression that I almost make the mistake of laughing. When I reach out to touch his cheek, self-indulgently, he pulls sharply away and is on his feet before I can even blink. He looks caged suddenly, like a dangerous and wild thing that has no place indoors.

“Danny…” The sound of his name doesn’t get his attention. If anything, he ignores me even more. “What was that?”

“A blowjob. Skip that day in health class?”

“You know what I meant.”

 “That doesn’t mean you get a decent answer.”

Grabbing on to the edge of the counter again, I pull myself up on to shaking legs. Stars blink on and off in front of my eyes; I moved too fast. It’s his turn to back away, closer to the door. He isn’t even wearing a coat.

“Talk to me.”

He makes a face that would be a sneer on anyone else. On him, it looks like a death mask, a grimace of pain as something eats him inside out. I want to tear it out of him with my bare hands, cradle him close while he screams his nightmares out. His chest rises and falls in sharp little pants, faster and faster. His grin never slips. Something’s going to break.

Shaking his head, he looks at me with haunted, sleepless eyes. Through lips still smeared with my come, he whispers harshly, “I can’t get you out of me.”

I move towards him. I don’t know why. I think I want to reason with him. There are no monsters under the bed, little boy, just in our heads. Nothing important, nothing to fear. Don’t run.

I get too close, and something behind his eyes gives. Jerking the door open, he bolts through and into the storm. The wind shoves the door shut behind him with a bang that makes the house rattle. Some part of me protests deliriously that he has the world on his side. The rest of me is too busy nearly tripping over furniture as I get to the doorway. Through the rain-spattered windowpane, I get one glance at red hair disappearing into the distance, getting lost in the darkness.

Then he’s gone.

“Tim?” The sleepy little girl voice behind me warns me a few seconds before a warm body curls up against my back. “Baby, what’re you doing out here?”

“Getting coffee.” My voice sounds mechanical and weak. I can’t tear my eyes away from the storm. “Couldn’t sleep.”

She makes a sympathy noise and nuzzles me. “Are you sick?”

The laugh tears out of me and echoes too loudly. I can feel Lisa start, but my mind is elsewhere, on the broken-glass shimmer of his dead eyes.

“Yeah, baby. Yeah, I am.”