The Little Things

Two-shot request for xechoheartx. When you have someone to loathe so dearly as Dash did for Daniel Fenton, the very worst and last thing you can do is fall in love with them. One-sided Swagger Bishie, Pitch Pearl.

~*0*~

Well, this is a definite step out of my normal fandom! I'm not really huge on DannyxDash, but I requested xechoheartx (Who, by the way, is a remarkable artist; look her up!) for a commission, and she graciously accepted, even if she is insanely busy right now! :) I felt bad for adding to her work load, so I offered her a request. She asked for either Pitch Pearl or Swagger Bishie. I was originally going to write a story for Pitch Pearl, but had a little bit of a hard time knowing how to go about it. Is Phantom a separate entity, or just Danny's dead other half? It got very confusing, so I started evaluating what I could remember of Dash in the series.

Yes, there are a lot of spaces. I'm sorry. But a lot of this simply takes place in the past, so...yeah. Otherwise, it would be pretty confusing.

Hope you enjoy it, xechoheartx. If not, I will delete posthaste, and try again. By the way, uh...this is...really my first actual sex scene. *Blushes* If you'd rather the rating be dropped, please let me know.

In all ways but one, Dash Baxter had turned out to be everything his parents hoped him to be, and more.

He'd been born in the merry month of May, had inherited his mother's violet eyes, and his father's, as the proud Baxter Senior had put it, 'dashing' good looks. The pun had earned him a reproving smack from Mrs. Baxter, but it had also earned the blonde little boy a nickname. Alexander 'Dash' Baxter had been called Dash since the day his mother had cheerfully handed the boy over to a nanny upon coming home from the hospital, and thus he remained ever since. More than once, his parents would have to cross out 'Dash' whenever signing a great pile of boring and official forms and rewrite 'Alexander' in its place. At nine months, Dash was known to throw screaming temper fits whenever someone was foolish enough to use his Christened name, and so, he remained 'Dash.'

His mother had been the daughter of a wealthy CEO with plenty of 'old money' in the family to give, particularly when her old man had died and left his entire estate to his only child, much to the resentment of his few 'bastard' children. Dash's father was a well-to-do curator, whom, after spending years pulling the strings of his humble business to the crème de la crème of the upper class, was a man extremely well pleased with himself, and with his family. His wife was fit, and dazzling whenever they had over fine company-which was often, as Mrs. Baxter loved to host parties-and his son, well, he had football coaches over for martinis enough to exclaim over him, flattering the Baxters to no end. He had the building and the frame for the perfect athletic body, they said, watching Dash spit out bits of shrimp appetizers in the garbage nearby, looking nauseated. He was certainly speedy enough running around the backyard at only four years old while his nurse chased him, looking harried. He'd make a good track and field runner. Or, if he got a good enough muscle build, quite a decent football quarterback. A few coaches joked that they would happily reserve spaces in the NFL for the little tyke, for if he could hurl a football as well as he could 'throw' a temper tantrum, he'd be all but unstoppable. Quite possibly, the next Ray Nitschke.

Mr. Baxter had been flushed with pride to hear this, and got to dreaming at night when his mind would turn to boredom, passing over the many great and fine things he already owned and the grand things he'd believed he had done.

One of the few dreams he had never been able to realize was becoming a great athlete, as an injury at college had shattered his dreams of glory…at least, in THAT way. While he had done his best to compensate for his losses by finding a beautiful trophy wife and one of the more marvelous homes in Amity Park, there had always been the nagging suspicion that he could have been much greater than he was, which irked him incessantly, for while it seemed impossible, the doubt would not leave him.

But to raise a son who was a success-nay, but a star! Why, he'd be a hero. A star in his own right….people would be flocking to the house in droves to hear of his success in creating an ultimate superstar, wanting to hear of his sage advice and sound judgment. He'd publish an autobiography, publish millions…..

Dash would be grateful, of course, and see to it that his parents lived out the rest of their days in comfort…more comfort than the rat hole they lived in now. For while their home was nice, they were still living in a neighborhood that was regularly frequented by ghosts.

GHOSTS. HAUNTS. Spirits. Ghouls. As if the world had gone to pieces, and decided to remake itself into some absurd, ongoing Halloween special. No one ELSE at the club had the excuse 'Sorry I was late; a ghost hunter shot out my tires while trying to blast the head off of a specter stealing corrugated cardboard boxes from my house.'

He'd only be laughed at; humiliated. It was abnormal and unseemly, the life that he had to live in Amity. He could not move elsewhere; his company was there, and the rest of the backwater towns that were nearby were in a sadder state then the one regularly visited by the undead.

The Baxter family did not live behind the classic white picket fence, but they did have an enormous home with two swimming pools and a stylish security system on their small gate that was most likely just for show, as they already had two hulking security guards on the premise, most likely also simply for show, as they gave passerby a look so menacing neighbors had been too afraid to come up to the door with 'welcome to the neighborhood' casseroles when the Baxters had moved in.

But they could yet do better. The homes of pro players were often adorned with fountains, and many Summer homes to retire to. Mr. Baxter, much to his indignation, had only one cabin at a ski resort for winter vacation. He could not inherit any, for his own father, much to his chagrin, had none but the little roof over his head, which doubled as his popular and beloved town-favorite….

Bakery.

He'd been glad that he had demanded what little inheritance his father could give him at such an early age, go to college, and consequently disown the man. But Dash wouldn't do that to HIM. He'd settle down, marry a nice girl, (Or at least one who could have attractive babies) and enjoy a magnificent career.

It was only when Dash was two that his father took him outside, and carefully started explaining the rules of the game of football. Unfortunately, getting his attention had not been an easy task, considering all the child wanted to do was mull about with his mother's pet Chihuahua (Much to his irritation) and read picture books all day. He'd finally had to request that the maid take out the bookshelf from his son's room, and fill it with action figures from notable football teams. Dash's old blue teddy bear ensemble that his mother had had carefully prepared for the child's birth had been repainted and redesigned with jerseys, helmets, and posters, most of which had been signed by famous, overpaid players endorsing certain brands of sneakers.

Dash's mother had wanted to send her son to a private school, but Mr. Baxter, not appreciating the idea of expense and excess coddling, had not approved. He'd grown up in a public school, he had exclaimed, puffing his chest out like an ailing peacock, and had done fantastically well for himself. Dash was to be sent to Amity Elementary, and that was that. Dash's mother scarcely argued with her husband, and on the few occasions she did not get her way, simply went out sulking and bought three or four new hats or a designer bag before returning home in quite good spirits.

There were, however, some problems with the child's schooling. While he now had a little friend named Qwan, whom, much to Mr. Baxter's relief, also looked as though he could easily be a star one day, there came home some negative results from his parent teacher conferences.

In the classroom, Dash was constantly turning in unfinished art projects and sloppily done homework which wasn't even finished most of the time. Mr. Baxter had only rolled his eyes at this; a good deal of his own college scholarship money had come from athletics, and this did not overly concern him, especially since he was a good father, and practiced football with Dash every day when he arrived home from work. He'd have to start getting one of the maids to do Dash's art projects.

There also came strange reports of….bullying that Dash's mother had shaken her head throughout the entire duration, eyes swimming in indignant tears.

While the teacher never saw it, the first grader was said to relentlessly pick on another little boy in the class-a child named Danny Fenton. The Baxters had exchanged exasperated, furtive looks at one another while the teacher carefully explained the problem, looking troubled.

Fenton…he had to be the son of the crackpot Jack Fenton, a ghost hunter comically incompetent. How like people of HIS sort to tell lies!

Dash was said to be constantly hovering around the little boy and his friend, a young Tucker Folley, at every interval. At recess, Dash would knock Danny down, and shove gum in his hair before running off, always glancing behind him to make sure Danny was crying. He'd stolen Danny's lunch more than once, tossing it in the garbage, and had thrown the little toy rocket ship that Danny had brought to school one day in a tree. He tossed spitballs at him in class, he called the boy nasty names, and he deliberately tripped him on the classroom's trips to the bathroom and the water fountain.

His older sister Jasmine, who was in the third grade, was forever running off to the teachers and complaining of what she'd seen, and now Danny's parents were starting to get upset. The teacher, Ms. Willkins, gently advised that the Baxters have a good long talk with the Fentons with both Danny and Dash present, as to sort this matter out peacefully and properly.

In response, the Baxters had stormed out, and Mr. Baxter had taken Dash out for ice cream, praising him for exerting his authority, but advising him to stay under the radar, preferably AWAY from the Fenton boy, if he could help it.

But it appeared Dash could not.

In second grade, while he and Qwan were far from the brightest of their class, they often reconvened at Dash's home to plot nasty tricks on Fenton, Folley, and now, the newest member of the dork squad, Manson. Sam lived nearby in a house far fancier than the Baxters,' (Much to his father's chagrin) but while Dash loathed Sam with a passion that surprised even him, he normally did not do much other then call her names….which, for the most part, was ineffective. He'd only ever hit a girl once, and his father had boxed his ears, claiming that while 'boys would be boys,' he was to never, ever touch a girl.

Dash took those words to heart, and continued punishing Danny, hating him, hating him, hating him so dearly that he thought he might die from it. It surprised even Qwan, who, upon reaching third grade, had gotten tired of picking on the trio, but meekly continued to harass Danny at Dash's order.

It puzzled Dash sometimes, when he did his best to avoid looking at Fentina (A nickname he had recently begun barking at the boy at the start of the year) whenever they started picking teams for dodgeball. He did his best to never, ever pick Danny, taking pleasure in the fact that it was generally he or Folley who was picked last, and consequently hailed on with a sea of dodgeballs.

He hated Danny, though he did not understand why, and it unnerved him. It was scary at such a young age, and he hoped that hitting him might at last tire him of the act, and he wouldn't be quite so angry anymore.

Because there were no answers, he continued to do his absolute best in being a thorn in the boy's side; focusing almost as much as he did in playing football. While Dash took little pleasure in it anymore, he had grown quite good, and now he was playing on a junior team on the weekends. He imagined the football was Danny's head when the time came to punt it, and had sent Danny to the nurse's office with a bloody nose twice already.

When life was perfect, pardoning his poor grades and the fact that Daddy yelled and said some terrible things sometimes, why was a pipsqueak like Fenton managing to bother him quite so much?

In Fourth grade, he'd finally done it. He stared down at the curled up form of his enemy, stunned, while Sam glowered up at him from the ground, arms protectively thrown around Danny while Tucker raced away, shouting for a teacher.

Danny was crying slightly, and now there was blood, blood everywhere on the ground. The eager children that had gathered around the two were now eyeing Dash uneasily, and were inching away from him. Numb to it all, Dash listened to Danny sob, the boy's hands cupped over his bleeding mouth, a bloody molar lying next to him.

One of his blue eyes now brilliantly purple, Danny had looked up at Dash, his uninjured eye glittering with tears and anger.

"I hate you," he had gasped, his bruised face pale, and contorted into a mask of seething resentment. "I hate you, you oversized pig, and I….I hope you DIE! Which you will, all alone, because no one likes you. Everyone's just scared of you because you're a big bully that doesn't have any feelings!"

Dash's mouth had dropped, and he had only stared at the boy, blood pounding in his ears as he stared down at his trembling fist that had committed the crime.

No one, pardoning in father, in all of his nine years, had dared to talk to him in such a matter. Ever.

Sam had tugged her best friend to his feet, her own eyes glittering with unshed tears.

"He's right. Go away, you pill. No one likes you. It's no wonder you don't have any REAL friends-just underlings."

He didn't know what 'underlings' meant, but it sounded nasty. Sam glared at him, her heart-shaped face cold.

"No one wants to play with you," she repeated, as she turned around, taking Danny with her, her Bonjour Buggy backpack smiling creepily back at the schoolyard bully with all six of its rolling eyes as Tucker hurried back to the two, a playground attendant in hand. Dash soberly watched as Danny was lead into the school, a bloody handkerchief pressed against his mouth.

For a moment, none of his fellow classmates moved a muscle.

Then, as if by some general, unspoken gesture, they all slowly began to move away, uncertainly settling back into their former activities; talking, playing kickball, or tag. Qwan anxiously inched to his partner in crime, and whispered into his ear:

"Aw, man. Dude, we are SO busted."

Dash said nothing. He was still looking at the gravel where Danny had fallen, where it was still gleaming with blood.

~*~0~*~

A much frazzled and very upset Maddie Fenton had picked up her son shortly afterwards, and lead him to the weird, oversized Fenton assault RV. Sixth grade Jazz had idled behind, carrying her books, with an arm around Danny's shoulders. Everyone had watched them go from inside the class windows, buzzing like an overturned beehive. While the teacher had tried to restore order, Dash had only sat sullenly in his seat, frowning at nothing, chin in hand, unexpected emotion burning at his throat.

The next day, when Danny came back with a small gap in his teeth, (Luckily, it had been his very last baby tooth) he found a large grape sucker in his desk, and a new eraser that was shaped like a rocket, and smelled like bubble gum. No one could tell him where it had come from.

~*~0~*~

He had to mutter a quick apology to Danny, and shake his hand abruptly. Danny had not looked at him the entire time, though his blue eyes had frozen over, and he was casting an ugly look at the rug. Dash did likewise, doing his best not to touch him any more than necessary. He'd also been told that he had to write an essay explaining why what he had done was wrong, but thankfully, the maid at home by now knew how to duplicate his atrocious handwriting, so that was taken care of.

For a few weeks, Dash had given Danny a wide berth. His father had slapped him on the shoulder, had told him not to worry; players on a football team saw a great deal worse injuries, and frequently did a number on each other. Why, just last week, a hockey player had accidentally spit out his mouthguard, just in time to meet an oncoming puck that had knocked six or seven of his teeth out. Dash had stared at the article in disgust, his stomach in knots.

During fifth grade, he still desperately called out rude names whenever Danny approached too close, but they were becoming halfhearted. Thankfully, (And regretfully, surprisingly enough to the young jock) the new teacher had enough sense to separate Danny and Dash in different homerooms. While he still had a worshipping young lackey at hand named Qwan, he now found his chattering best friend to be slightly wearing, though he continued to hang out with him. While his father didn't really care about his school life, it was still important that he keep up appearances, and he was still cultivating the group of mindless, rich young teens that would make up his middle school and high school clique. You could never prepare too far in advance.

It was in sixth grade that he and Fentina were paired up as lab partners, and had the subject been on anything other than SPACE, he would have loved to torment him incessantly. But his science grade was averaging between a C- and a D, and Casper Middle School had threatened to kick him off the team if he couldn't keep his grades up. They were heading for Dash's first-ever championship league, and his father was all but foaming at the mouth in anticipation.

But this lab was an in-class assignment, worth thirty percent of their quarter grade. He had to pass. And while he had tripped Danny in the hallways, threatened him once or twice about the report, and had all but watched an angry Danny do all the work for the two of them, complaining loudly all the while, Dash couldn't help but keep staring at the shorter teen, wondering how in the world a kid who was so poor at PE could be so skinny. His nerd friend Folley shoveled down an average of three Nasty Burgers a day, and still remained trim, but Fentina was downright scrawny. He also rambled a lot on space, and he might as well have been speaking Greek to the layman's ears, but he also noted how Danny's eyes lit up when he started talking about the stars. Not the stars in the soap magazines Mother was always bringing home, mind you-but actual rocks in the sky. And stuff. Surprisingly enough, some of it HAD been fairly interesting….Danny had made Dash look through a stupid telescope and see two giant spoons in the sky, as well as a constellation that kinda looked like a football.

Grudgingly, he decided to 'help,' but Danny pleaded him not to, considering Dash had played connect the dots with their star charts, and the boy now had to do damage control. While Dash was 'helping' (He'd given himself the time-honored roll of poking Danny in the back of the neck whenever he stopped working to think a few moments) Danny outside on the last evening they recorded the stars outside the school, Danny worked quickly and quietly, but not, like, with the fanatical nerdiness that some people like Tucker had whenever they were in IT classes. And stuff.

No-Danny was in his element, serene, and at peace, glancing up at the sky every now and again as stars continued plummeting to Earth, as though to confirm something he already knew before bending back over his star chart.

Lying on the cool grass a few feet away, Dash had stared disinterestedly at the specks of dust overhead the working students, before he found himself sequestered by a strange sort of calm that he had never really known before, not at home, and certainly not on the football field. The specks of dust looked like…well, specks of dust, but they were kinda pretty. He could at least comprehend why Fenton was so interested in them, though to him, they just looked like a mess scattered across the night sky that needed to be swept up.

But it was a mysterious sort of mess. Their teacher had said that the night sky was the 'floor of heaven' or something weird like that. Dad wouldn't like it if he knew that Dash's teacher was trying to get him to think. It made his head hurt a little.

He glanced back at Danny, and started a bit; it had gotten a bit darker outside, and now, the boy's alabaster skin was practically glowing in the dark. His slim and careful fingertips still worked over the telescope and their charts, and, when it got too dark for him to see very clearly, he carefully lit a nearby lantern, and suddenly illuminated his face with a small sort of glow.

He smiled faintly to himself for a moment, as if remembering some vaguely funny joke long since past. Raven dark spikes ruffling in the late evening breeze, he patiently continued his work, as though he had done it a million times before, while other students complained loudly to one another in the distance over the hour and how HARD this stupid lab was.

It was only after a few moments that Dash had felt himself go dizzy, and he had to inhale several times to clear his head. Oh. He hadn't been breathing. Breathing was good. Yeah.

He'd glanced down at his large sneakers, feeling very awkward and very useless for the first time in years. He shifted uncomfortably, wondering what Fenton was thinking about, and why that burning prickle behind his throat had returned….with his insides feeling about as seized up as the few times he'd pulled a muscle whilst training.

Hey, Fentina? Do you still want me to die?

They'd passed-with flying colors. He'd left Danny alone for a few weeks: Qwan was suffering in Extra Credit hour classes for weeks after he'd gotten such a poor mark on the lab. It was only by the skin of his teeth that Qwan had managed to stay on the team, and they boys had taken home State for Amity Park.

His father had been overwhelmed with joy, his mother had been sobbing with glee as people pressed all around him at the after party, raising sodas in a toast, all wanting to give him gifts, snacks, and another round of applause.

To his surprise, while he'd smiled and been pleasant and had boasted at all the right times, it had meant surprisingly little to him. After all, the trophy now on display at Casper Middle school was really only that; a trophy. A hunk of metal that would need dusting soon enough, with less than substantial memories alongside it.

He kept looking at an empty chair-one not filled by a giggling girl texting on her phone or whispering amongst her friends, or a bragging athlete or a gaggle of adoring yes-men.

Of course, he wouldn't have invited Fenton. Who would have wanted him? He wasn't popular. He was a total nobody-a guy who just so happened to have two weird friends to hang out with so he didn't totally disappear into the crowd. His presence was still just as infuriating as ever-an eyesore on Dash's perfect existence-and his parents would never have tolerated a Fenton kid here. Besides, Danny would have probably regarded an invitation as a colossal joke.

And yet, Dash had found his eyes wandering to that stray chair, which remained empty for the rest of the party.

And he wondered what he might have done with him there, too.

Seventh grade came. For his so-called 'the talk,' with his parents, Mr. Baxter had come into Dash's room, and had unceremoniously dumped a bag full of condoms on the startled teen's bed.

"Just don't knock a girl up" was all he'd said, after handing his son a small box, and gave him a wink. "And here…for all your, uh…..special needs."

And with that, he'd tussled Dash's hair, and had left. Curious, Dash had opened the cardboard box, and peered inside. What he saw made his face contort, and his stomach, unexpectedly, twist.

Oh.

These types of magazines. He tentatively withdrew one by the tips of his fingers, as if handling a long rotten bit of garbage. Face reddening, he'd opened a magazine, and was surprised to see pictures unfold out of a…..

Oh, dear.

He slammed the thing back in, and threw the entire mess under his bed, before tossing his head in a football-shaped pillow, face crimson red.

It was in eighth grade that the sneaking suspicion had come, and he'd been absolutely, one hundred percent, sickened with dread and horror.

While he continued to torment Danny as he had done in his childhood heydays, he had sat around with Qwan in corners around school, pretending to be browsing through textbooks while in reality peering at dirty magazines behind the covers. Qwan had flushed and got all sweaty and grinned and had had to run off to the bathroom. Dash tried to follow suit, but it wasn't with very much gusto, and it worried him.

What would his father think of him if he were impotent? It was better than the alternative, which his father insisted was vile, despicable, and a crime against nature. He'd worked too hard for too long to earn the man's respect, and he wasn't going to toss it away so that he could walk in mustache parades wearing rainbow suspenders. The very notion was revolting. He'd make himself enjoy the thought of….doing that….with a woman. Someday.

Why did he have to grow up quite this fast? While he was stocky, and taller than most his age in middle school, he felt puny inside. He didn't do puny.

At school, he'd kissed Paulina under the mistletoe around Christmastime. While she had drawn back with a satisfied smirk, she had quipped an eyebrow after glancing at Dash's crestfallen expression. He assured it was nothing-he'd just, uh…..never done mistletoe before. Yeah. That was it.

Pathetic, yes. But Paulina had taken it with a shrug-she had probably had better, had had worse. As she wandered away to her next class, Dash remembered his parents talking about his 'relationship' status as of late. His father wondered why he had yet to bring a girl home, but his mother had insisted that Dash would find a nice one in time, and besides, it was rather ridiculous for children to start dating at 13, anyway.

Hooray for Mom. Sulking, Dash had moved onto his next class, passing Danny Fenton in the hallways. While considering dropping his head down the toilet sometime later on, Dash glanced carelessly back at him, only to notice that there was a hard scowl set on the boy's jaw, and he was throwing the mistletoe and green, red, white, and blue tinsel in the hallways a very filthy look. Dash was surprised the berries on the ornament did not wither then and there.

Ah, yes. Fenton hated the holidays. It had to be a fascinating story why; but he wouldn't let himself believe that he was curious to find out, or that he cared. He had long since stopped caring about the holidays himself, considering what all he normally received was sports and fitness equipment these days, and he felt he needed to attend a host of parties at so-and-so 's place to maintain his eloquent social circle. All acquaintances (Whatever that word meant) and no friends.

What he really would have liked would have been simple alone time. Maybe with someone that didn't have to gush holiday tunes every few seconds or talk of the expensive gifts that they wanted. Maybe someone to sit and drink hot chocolate with while looking outside at the snow.

They wouldn't have to talk about Christmas or Hanukkah or whatever. In fact, the hypothetical person could hate it, for all he cared.

So came Spring, and with it, graduation. Dash brought home another state championship before he went, making sure to rub the plaque in Danny's face. Much to his disappointment, Danny had only rolled his eyes, and had stated that he hadn't even bothered to show up at the game.

Dash transferred to Amity High, where Danny still showed his face. It was a fact that Dash both respected and loathed, for while Danny would pop up, he would find himself growing hot, then embarrassed and angry.

How dare that little punk just…..just stand there! Years of repressed rage were fixated on this insignificant little target. Why did he have to exist? Why was Fenton being such a creep? He was so small, it was pathetic. He could probably wrap his hands around his neck and throttle him, though Dash certainly wasn't murderous. Heck, he could probably wrap his hands around the guy's waist, and they'd touch one another at the boy's nav-

His first day of thinking thus (And it definitely was not the last), Dash ran to the bathroom, and all but vomited his insides out.

Now, his mother was starting to ask too many questions. While she was still kind and fairly mild, Dash felt pressure slowly creeping back on him, and he hurriedly blurted out an interest in the first girl he could think of:

Jasmine Fenton.

While his parents had whooped it up at the thought of their son liking an older girl-let alone a Fenton, they could hardly deny two things:

One-Jazz was very, very intelligent. She'd been in the paper for managing to get a perfect on her C.A.T. She was brilliant; plenty of colleges already took interest in the Junior, and she'd received more than one letter from Ivy League schools.

Dash's grades started to drop again, and so, he had hurriedly made the first move to contact her and petition her for help. Jazz had been rather reluctant, but at last agreed, and had told him her schedule could only accommodate Dash if he….

…..went into the Fenton household. Oh, hell.

Oh, how he hated, hated, hated seeing Danny there! The teen was just as ready to give him a dirty look, thankfully.

He spent most of his time staring at Jazz, smirking slightly as he outlined her lovely features, finding slight similarities from SOMEWHERE, but he most definitely could not remember where from. That perfect little nose, that chin, the shape of her eyes, that funny little pout, the way she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and looked at you…..

Thankfully, Jazz managed to jerk the jerk out of his reveries, and angrily reprimanded him each time she caught him at it. With her assistance, Dash was able to pass his first quarter of school, and allowed to stay on the football team. Jazz had rejected him when he'd asked her out, something he'd been all too grateful for.

One night, in the Autumn of his Freshman year, he'd woken up with a slight problem. Cursing, and red-faced, he'd bungled his way into the bathroom, and hurriedly ran up a cold shower, shuddering as he passed under it, willing his 'problem' to die away.

He rubbed at it absentmindedly, thinking of the hustler magazines that he'd only been too happy to allow Qwan and his buddies borrow. Those had brought him a vague sense of satisfaction, much to his relief, but it was nothing like the way described in that stupid romance book he'd clumsily read he'd had for school. For something to be called so magnificent, it seemed more annoying than anything else.

But of course, you weren't a maaaannnnnn if you thought so. What sort of one would you be, if you somehow some way imagined being in the school locker room, watching out of the corner of your eye to again access how worthless and sad-looking Daniel Fenton wa-

Dash jumped, nearly slipping on the wet surface of the shower, heart hammering as his erection swelled. A mixture of butterflies and panic fluttering in the depths of his stomach, he frantically splashed icy cold water on his body, but to no avail. Glancing at the mirror across the bathroom and seeing his face was tomato red, Dash leaned back against the wall and wearily sighed, hands pressed over his stomach.

One time.

That's all it would be. Everyone had fantasies at some point; his parents had said so themselves, and had always insisted that one would grow out of it. Yes. That was the way it would be-he would try it once, God forbid twice, and be done. Forever. He'd realize how much better normal fantasies were-like half-naked chicks on the beach or something-and it would be amazing, and he wouldn't feel pressured to comply in rules that seemed too stifling for his limited comprehension.

Dash uneasily shifted from one foot to the other, not knowing where to start. So….it would be just the idea of doing it with a guy? Any guy? Dude, that was messed up. Where would you even…

…oh.

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Dash slowly cupped his hands around himself, and started thrusting, his face coloring a darker shade.

Okay. Maybe he was getting a brief idea of what people were talking about…..this was kind of good. His heart was pounding in his chest, and if he didn't have to see himself doing this, it wouldn't be so bad.

He staggered back, switched the water to a hot temperature, and tried to relax under it, loosening his rigid muscles. All the time he kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut, pretending that he wasn't in his own bathroom, but in the school's locker room. He and someone else were alone, just alone…..

He could faintly hear his own moans and grunts of appreciation, pretended that the skin sliding past his own belonged to someone else. Someone who was pressed against the wall, breathing heavily in the steam, leaning backwards, perfect face flushed rosy….

Warmth bloomed in the pit of the jock's stomach, and he let out a loud groan, teasing and worrying the head, almost feeling someone lean up into him, and groan, in a familiar voice that he wish he didn't know….

'Uuuggggghhhh! Da-aaackk, D-Dash-"

A dark crown of spiky hair. He imagined blindly suckling at soft skin at the base of the boy's neck; he let out a whimper, and dragged his hands down the glass, leaving marks through the moisture the steam had brought.

Danny Fenton groaned, cerulean eyes dark, lidded and smoldering with lust; rolling backwards as Dash slammed harder and harder into him, squeezing monstrously tight, and listening to Danny gasp, tipping his head back only to have his mouth accosted by his bully's…..

"Dash, please!"

The taller boy happily obliged, his body searing with heat, but shivering with delight at the feel of the smooth, warm, wet, buttery flesh rubbing obligingly against his, while Dash all but screwed him into the wall, feeling the paramount pleasure building as Danny shrieked, and curled his toes when Dash hit a particularly sensitive bundle of nerves deep inside him that had both of them gasping.

He accosted Danny's mouth, and a smooth, petite hand moved to cup his face-as soft and sweet as a butterfly's touch. As Danny moaned breathlessly, he seized him by the hips and dragged himself deeper and deeper inside, all but mad with lust and desperate for more contact, as something paramount was building deeper and faster and more frantically inside him, until-

The snap.

For a moment, all Dash knew was nothing; nothing but bliss, and then, he slowly pulled himself out, all of his limbs trembling.

He opened his eyes.

Danny was gone. Dash was standing under the showerhead, with water that had long since gone cold again. After blinking in confusion for a moment, he'd slowly sank to his knees, and let out a series of low sobs, hands covering his eyes.

The books had gotten one thing right: the whole post-orgasmic chill thing.

It was around that year that the ghosts in Amity Park started many, some colossal, some mildly frightening, and some just rather sad-takeovers. But the ghost boy was now there to protect everyone from it. He was beautiful, enchantingly so-and even when he was zipping around the sky like an addled sparrow, he still glittered, and he still looked like he was doing ballet.

At school, Dash was miserable. While the Casper Crows were doing excellently in his sophomore season and he still maintained his status as a member of the 'in' crowd (What did that even mean anymore?), he found his collection of Danny Phantom memorabilia growing, to the point where it even surpassed Paulina's impressive collection (She had a wad of gum he'd been said to be chewing, creepily enough). He tried drawing the ghost boy, but he got nothing but several wads of paper that had wound up in the trash, as his clumsy hands couldn't replicate the boy's slim fingers, or his delicate limbs, or his eyes.

He felt empty.

And while he bullied Danny worse than ever, he wondered about the phantom, who looked like he could easily be Fenton's long dead brother, or something. While the eyes and skin color were shades apart, the countenance was still the same, although Fenton usually looked more frightened and subdued; Phantom was forever smiling quirkily.

That smile had him up late in the shower more evenings then one.

Junior year passed. Amity Park became a safer place to live, and Danny Phantom much, much more popular. You started seeing DP memorabilia everywhere; Danny Phantom became a household name. Dash had even bought a plushie at the stores of his favorite hero, claiming that it was for his 'little sister.'

It was stashed under his pillow.

Senior year. He received a scholarship for Notre Dame. But Danny, he'd heard, was competing for a study abroad program in flippin' overseas somewhere, where the space program was still continuing!

Most likely, unless they had a high school reunion, he'd never see the twit again.

The thought was agonizing.

Okay. So he was (shudder) possibly gay. At least, he was in love with a pipsqueak and a ghost that reminded him of said pipsqueak. But his Dad never needed to find out! He'd simply say that he wasn't interested in getting married when he was older. Yeah, that was it.

….but Dad made it clear that he wanted grandkids someday. Crap. Well, he could always adopt one, though he wasn't actually a huge fan of the little….things to begin with.

One day, in the schoolyards. Dash was sadly turning over a Black-eyed Susan in his hands, his eyes dull while he perched on a table bench.

Okay. So he now knew he'd hated Fentina for existing to begin with. How long had he wanted to….?

Nope. He wasn't gonna go there. Negative. Dash abruptly shook his head, teeth grit.

He loved to LOOK at Phantom, only because he reminded him impossibly of Danny where he SHOULD be: Amongst the stars. Dash didn't know that much, but he knew Danny was beautiful, and that he was going to get somewhere special someday. Whereas he was probably going to get some concussion playing football, get seriously injured, and die after getting drunk, and driving his car into a wall. Or something.

Danny would be happy….probably with a chick like Manson. Dash let out a hollow laugh.

Even if he chose to stop obliging Daddy's demands, it didn't matter. It was coming up now to eleven years of cruelty, and Danny would never love him in turn. While confessing had practically always worked in the yaoi novels he had stashed under his bed, Fenton had SOME sanity. And the dude had been crushing on Paulina for years. He was straight.

Dash plucked the yellow petals of the flower, and watched them drift away, expression blank.

There is a sad sort of truth that many, if not all, homosexuals have to face in their lifetime: You'll invariably fall in love with someone 'straight,' and get your heart broken.

'Straight…..' as in, proper? Was he an abomination-or just a truly horrible person?

He let out a dry snort.

Yes, he was horrible. Without a doubt. Manson was right: He didn't HAVE any real friends. None at all. The moment Qwan had become an accessory, he'd been all too easy to drop away, like an unnecessary third arm.

But soon enough, graduation would come, and he would be moving away. Where would Danny be? Russia? England? Japan? God only knew.

Dash hopped off the bench, swearing under his breath, kicking angrily at a small can on the ground.

Why?

Why had this happened? Why did it have to be HIM? Why couldn't it have been-

Whoooooossshhhhh.

A bolt of twinkling darkness had zoomed past the startled jock, sending his blonde hair in a frenzied mess. Whipping his head around, Dash saw, much to his surprise, Danny Phantom hurtling around the next bend, bookbag slung around his shoulders.

Bewildered, mouth extremely dry, Dash gave chase, years of training only just allowing him to keep up with the shadow.