Rated: M

I do not own Danny Phantom.

A/N: First time writing anything in this…genre? Category? Class? Regardless…I hope you like it. Reviews! : 3

Chapter 1: Jock and Lock

Tick, tick, tick, tick. Eternal sounds of time rang out louder than real in Danny's ears, mocking his azure eyes that glare at the clock—which was refusing to speed time any faster no matter how much he begged. Tapping his pencil to the slow pace of reality, Mr. Lancer quickly looks up from his copy of Catcher in the Rye long enough to send a burning look towards the teenager, halting his synchronizing motions. Met with a sigh of a response the teen slouches further down his desk, which sat smack-dab in the middle of the classroom. Outstretching his feet further underneath the desk in front of him, they land on the basket, the basket of Dash Baxter's seat to be more precise.

Disgruntled sounds of idiocy and a general lack of knowledge seeps out of the, at-first-glance-second-year-freshmen, who was in fact Dash—struggling to answer the questions on his literature assessment. Even without the use of supernatural mind reading equipment, it didn't take a complete thought to realize what was swirling around in his giant—but oh so empty head of his. Tonight's game was overpowering whatever ideas or answers he might've had in his mind.

"Dammit!" was the one audible word that blanketed over the room's stale silence, making stray students peer up from their eggshell colored papers in search of the sound. Few eyes landing on Dash, whose sweat glands had produced enough moisture to drip onto the wooden desk.

"Language, Mr. Baxter, language," Lancer said nonchalantly carelessly flipping the next page of his classic novel, far too uninvolved to put even a thought into his last class of the day—on a Friday no less.

Putting a more than amused look on his already smug face, Danny Fenton rose from his slumped position and back into formal posture to tackle the last part of his exam that plagued his concentration. Scanning the clock that was less than cooperative a few minutes prior, the young teenager gasps at the quickened pace of time. With less than five minutes before the end of class, a single sweat drop ran down the bridge of his nose.

Tick, tick, tick, tick. The sound seeming more and more audible in his ears, cascading off every receptor and bouncing off every nerve making his thoughts go hazy. Cursing himself in his own mind for leaving the most important section for the last minute, his hand shakily holds his pencil centimeters above the paper. Met with anxiety, the boy's eyes flutter around his vicinity to no one in particular, who might have this portion already filled out. Coming up empty handed, on account of Lancer's surprising amount of surveillance of his students during these last minutes of class, Danny's emotions are purged with a neutral thought. One composing of the shear disinterest in the subject at hand, one that pushed away every raging thought that had a chance to compile itself in Danny's mind.

"Fuck this," he whispers loud enough for his own liking to hear as he takes a solid breath of air into his lungs. Ascending from his seated position his shoes squeak as he pivots towards Lancer's desk, which is situated at the direct front of the room. Grabbing his bag that hangs loosely on the back of his chair, the fluorescent lights overhead cast an awkward sheen on light onto his forearms. Passing the blonde-haired jock, whose own assessment is thoroughly drenched in perspiration, his blue eyes realize that the entire front page is completely blank—even his name. Danny chuckles lowly.

Placing his sheet of paper at the exact moment the bell rings causes Lancer's hands to release grip on his book letting his fall onto the desk with a loud thud! Picking up the stapled sheets of paper quizzically, the teacher's tired eyes flip through the pages—landing on the last page in particular. Met with a confused look, Danny's own eyes reflect emotions that mimic extreme indifference. Straggling students rise from their desks separately, each with their exams in their hands ready to head out the door and into weekend freedom.

With a quick motion to his left, Danny's footsteps echo on the tile floors as his right hand grips the handle to the door that grants his escape into the student-filled hallway. First one out of the claustrophobic room, the teenager's ocean colored eyes fall on the struggling jock—still sitting at his desk head cast down toward despair.

Heading down the hallway, Danny's sapphire irises land on Sam and Tucker, who are converged at the latter's locker—talking about something which sets Sam into a fit of disagreeableness. Laughing to himself he puts his eyes to the floor, but hears something that catches his full attention. Approaching the door to the locker room for Casper High's football team, louder than life yells and screams radiate from the doorway and into the openness of the hallway. Slightly intrigued by this, Danny's curiosity gets the better of him as he ventures closer towards the doorway and subsequently into the locker room.

Barraged by the smell of sweat and fungus, the black-haired boy musters all his courage not to bail on his ambitious adventure. Moving quietly towards the center part of the locker room, the screams and yells of anger are now filled with recognizable words.

"Dash, what the hell is the matter with you?" an older woman, who surprisingly carries a heavy voice, yells at Dash who's sitting on the skinny wooden bench. His palms smother his face as he takes the full brunt of the coach's words. Not saying a single word, the jock sits placidly awaiting whatever verbal punishment awaits him.

"You know you have to have to have passing grades in at least four of your classes to stay on the team right?" her words become less harsh, but the tangy residue of anger still resonates. "And now Mr. Lancer is telling me that you're failing his class?"

Silence fills up the sweat covered space, as no words are uttered from either person, Dash especially whose hands have not moved from their position.

Sighing loudly, the coach's fingers pinch the skin on the bridge of her nose, signaling her refusal to continue this argument of nonsense, "you know what, it's not my problem anymore Dash—either you pull up your grades, or you're off the team, it's as simple as that."

Her cleats tap swiftly away from the saddened blonde-haired jock, before her body swivels one last time towards him opening her mouth in the process, "I'm sorry Dash." And with that, her presence escapes out of the locker room leaving Danny sidled against the left side of the lockers, listening to Dash's quiet sobs.

Driven by his morality, Danny lets out a small curse as he can't help but go to the aid of his angry peer. Inching slowly away from his metallic safe haven, his presence worms out into the light of the room, alerting his essence to the blonde-haired jock.

"Fenton?" he whispers softly, lifting his face out of the palms of his hands revealing red skin soaked with drops of sadness. Puffy eyes lift their gaze into the azure-filled ones of Danny, whose thoughts are swirling with apprehensive thoughts. "What are you doing here?"

Suddenly his thoughts take a solid 180 degrees, taken aback by the brunt words of Dash. A perfect excuse, or a viable lie was all he needed to fake his presence in the musty smelling locker room.

"I…uhh…" the words cling to the back of his throat, ragged and informal, refusing to form coherently, "…uhh, I forgot my phone in my locker last period, heh heh." With a short timid laugh, Danny walks sheepishly around the center wooden bench and towards a small cramp square of metal—locker #282. Reaching a clammy hand inside the locker, he grabs a piece empty air in an attempt to conceal his true actions. Turning his body around, a small sigh escapes Danny's lips setting off Dash's mind that someone is still with him in this semi-spacious room.

"Did you, uh, find your phone?" barely able to make his words audible underneath his swelling throat, Dash moves his head to face the befuddled teen.

Taking more than enough time before answering, Danny opens his mouth slowly, "yeah, I did." Ending his sentence with another timid laugh, Dash's suspicious towards the blue-eyes teen grows more and more with each labored breath. The room's temperature swirls around patches of humidity, bouncing off the skin of the both teens filling the rest with stale awkwardness. Reaching his right hand behind his neck, Danny rubs his skin until it's red and lets out another much needed sigh. Pivoting his steps to face the door from where he entered, his movement is halted by Dash's words.

"Lancer's failing me," as monotone as can be, the words fall to the never-been-cleaned linoleum floor and lay there motionless. Dash's eyes stare straight ahead toward the lockers, locked on nothing in particular.

Picking up the sadness-stained words the muscular jock is letting out, Danny's entire frame is jolted backwards towards the empty spot next to the Dash. Sitting his tired body down on the bench, he rests his chin on his right hand, which he props squarely on his thigh. Cobalt cold eyes peer left as they land on the disgruntled jock, taking in his body before the words find their courage to leave his weak lips.

"What do you…mean? Danny asks unsurely, due to the true reality that without warning the blonde-haired jock's fists could easily break a few bones in his jaw. He cringes at the thought.

Letting air escape his lungs, Dash responds quickly, "you damn well know what it means, so don't play dumb with me Fenton." His words are coated with steel as his anger is funneled towards the smaller teen. His face returning back to it's usual bully-esque form before quickly regaining its sorrow soaked form.

Debating whether or not to hightail it straight out of the locker room, Danny's mind triggers a new motion, one where his right hand lands on Dash's toned shoulder. Finding it deep within himself he feels something resembling sympathy towards the jock, something he's never felt before. Coupled with a new emotion, a connection between the two polar opposites shifts something in Danny's nerves—sending shivers up his being.

Looking sheepishly to his left, Dash's eyes make contact with the sole hand of the azure colored eyes of Danny—whose expression matches the former's confusion perfectly. Not knowing how to react to the sudden introduction of empathy, Dash's face begins to redden out of embarrassment. Sensing the uncomfortable ness in the older boy's cheeks, Danny releases his frail grip on the jocks' shoulder, feeling the clamminess of his pores on his every finger.

"Sorry," is all that escapes Danny's mouth as he lowers his hand back on his knee as slow as the clock on the wall wants to tick, making his time sitting next to Dash seem like an eternity. Sitting in silence, bobbing his legs up and down like a excited child, the blue-eyed boy opens his mouth once more, "and if it makes you feel better…I didn't do so well on that test today either,"

Without turning his head to face the other boy's words, Dash's lips release an emotionless barrage, "what makes you think I didn't do well." His words sting like venom. "Are you trying to say that I'm a dumbass Fenton?"

At a loss for words, the only sounds that come out of Danny's mouth are stuttered syllables and muffled pleas for mercy—which only aggravate Dash further.

"Look dude," his voice raises in intensity and he firmly ascends from the wooden bench, that has proved to be his haven, and stands adjacent from where the young boy is still sitting. "you think you can just come in here all on your own and try and get in on my own business, thinking you can do some fancy miracles or some shit?"

His eyes widen with fear at the approaching maelstrom, and Danny's forced to slide down the bench farther and farther, trying desperately to make his voice audible.

"N-n-no! N-not at all!" Danny's throat closes slightly, an involuntary reflex to Dash's increasing aggression. By this point, Dash's muscles are bulging underneath his white and ruby varsity jacket, begging to be free to unleash his built up fury. Finding the lockers behind him, his shaky palms feel up the cold metallic—Danny's eyes start to dart in every which way of Sunday to try and predict the jock's next move.

Backing Danny up solely with his words, the larger boy's whole body overpowers the frail frame of the younger boy, covering his line of sight with his shear mass. Blocking out his means of escape along with the brightness of the fluorescent lights overheard, he readies his face for the impending doom. Reaching out to the left of the azure-eyed boy, Dash's sleeved arm plants itself on the locker; palm sprawled out across the metal.

"You think you know me? the jock's voice radiates through the empty locker room, his low tone seemingly like a dull whisper. His mess of blonde hair slicked back, with a few strands coming loose, falling on his forehead covering his stress-filled skin.

Not wanting to answer that question, let alone open his eyes to see Dash's fist collide with his skull, he subconsciously agrees to glue his eyes permanently shut. With his sight cut off, his nose begins to pick up the subtleties of the room aroma—most of which are radiating from the muscled jock. A faint smell of cologne mixed with locker room shampoo fill his nostrils, something he's grown to notice sitting behind him in class for almost a semester now. But something else filled the space between them, an unfamiliar scent that to the young boy vaguely had no name—but seemed to be named all on its own. Faced with no other option or intelligence guesses, the quivering boy opens his eyes one eyelid at a time.

Facing his own lay Dash, staring intently into Danny's with irises stained with lavender. His expression turned to something more civil now that his temper has subsided, and now his face seems calmer, lacking a certain shade of brutality that the blue-eyed boy seemed to always see in the hallways.

"Well," he starts to repeat his previous statement over, lowering his volume now that his recipient is staring his square between the eyes, "do you know me Fenton?"

Processing the answer in his head for longer than the time allotted to please the jock, the already cramped space between the two boys shortens as Dash's face moves towards Danny's. Sweat droplets form on the bridge of his nose, small pools of anxiety that the younger boy's emotions force onto the surface. The wafting aroma of Astroturf barrages his senses quicker than the soft touch of the jock's lips, which surprisingly are inviting.

Met with a chaotic amount of fluttering new feelings, the cobalt-eyes boy's eyes dizzily close allowing his mind to explore the new desires his mind is pondering in semi-solitude. With their heavy breathing in synch, Dash's unattended right arm reaches around Danny's slim back and his hand lands on his hip, thrusting his entire body into the muscled jock. Met with no apprehension from the latter, the blonde-haired jock continues his exploration inside Danny's mouth. Begging the younger boy's lips to pry open, the older boy's tongue lurches in and out of Danny, lost without direction but also found with a new lust in mind. Finally submitting to Dash's wishes, the blue-eyed boy opens his tired mouth and welcomes all that is Dash. Everything about him rushes into his senses and Dash was a welcome taste.

The heat inside the locker room was like a radiator with the two boys serving as its primary source as the threads of their shirts soon became damp with testosterone-induced sweat. Squirming and writhing with unbearable heat, Dash's hands leave their solid post and end up on the brim of his varsity jacket. Making short work of his heavy high school memorabilia, his clammy hands move to his t-shirt which he grips at the neckline and lifts it up over his blonde streaked hair. Messy pieces of hair fall out of place and land haphazardly on the jock's head, making him seem more ravaged by lust. This gets Danny's attention.

Sensing his own body temperature rise several degrees, his soft hands go for his own shirt but are pushed away from the commanding palms of Dash.

"Let, me," he grunts out, almost in a caveman sort of language, which at first startles the blue-eyes boy but moments later makes his lips pray for his once more. Strong, firm hands find their way underneath Danny's loosely fitting shirt, worming their way upwards towards his chest—rippling goosebumps faster than he can reach them. Without much of a defense, Danny's arm fly upwards signaling for Dash to fully unclothe his top half—exposing a chest full of toned muscles and a defined six pack of abdominals.

"Geeze Fenton, who knew you were…" without having the energy or need to finish his statement, Dash's lips fly towards the blue-eyed boy's chest, making short work of his apprehensions and fears. Slight moans escape from Danny's lips giving the jock more reason to continue his efforts. Feeling the moist presence of Dash's tongue sliding in and out of the crevices of his stomach sends a feeling up and down his back that can only be described as bliss. Feeling guilty, Danny reels away from the hungry jock and eyes him directly. Confused purple irises collide with oceanic ones, and a silent dialogue transpires.

Lunging forward in a flash of time, Danny grabs hold of Dash's shoulders and swings him around a full hundred and eighty degrees so that his muscled back is helplessly held up against the lockers.

"Fenton…I-I," blonde streaks of hair mesh with dark black strands as the two boys faces are once again melded together. Their lips locking and unlocking in a sea of sweat and essence, sending sounds of passion in and around the vacant space. Moving his lips farther down his chin, Danny's mouth leaves its mark on the boys skin, imprinting his being onto his body—an ownership and a memory.

"Ooo, Danny…" Dash mumbles softly, his throat vibrating from the low words.

Danny, the younger boy thought, since when did he actually know my first name.

Unrepentantly, and without much evidence, something primal escapes from within Danny—and an urge to dominant comes out. Sliding his tongue down the jock's chest, shivers of delight and ecstasy writhe throw Dash's body, welcoming the unfamiliar action. Making his way happily to Dash's pants, and with much thought, the young boy's teeth find themselves encircled around the brass button holding the fabric together.

"Fenton, woah there dude…take it—" Dash's hands move from his side and onto Danny's head, bringing his hungry cobalt eyes upwards towards the ceiling.

Held captive with no other form of actionable release, Danny's spare arm reaches for Dash's hold on his hair and quickly unattaches his grasp. Reaching upward towards the presence of Dash, the young boy's hold takes the larger framed boy helplessly downward onto the wooden bench once more—with his chest facing the ceiling tiles. Landing on top of the glistening jock, Danny's body straddles the panting blonde—eyeing him once more in a battle of stares. Resuming his work before any more protests could be made audible, Danny's teeth begin to work at the button once more.

Moving his hands cascading across his physique, Danny's hungry palms take care to Dash's every rigid muscles and every toned section of skin. Words boil up to the surface, as vibrations can be felt down Dash's stomach and his mouth opens to release and storm of language.

"Danny…you gotta slow down, what if somebody walks…i-i-i-i-n," cut off by the sudden feeling of the younger boys lips on his hardened member, his thoughts turn to blankness as all he can think about his Danny's moist mouth caressing his manhood with his tongue.

Regaining a sense of control over his body, Dash's emotions bubble back to the surface and his thoughts finish his sentence for him, "seriously D-Danny…you have to—"

Fed up with the constant groaning and bitching, Danny's hand reaches up to the blonde-haired boy's mouth and inserts his index finger deep into mouth hoping to silence whatever words and actions the older boy had in mind. Sucking on his finger, Dash's eyes flutter closed as his mind finally turns to blackness. Figuring this was as good a time as ever, Danny's work continues on Dash's member and his mouth moves up and down in solid rhythms. Quickening his pace to match the growing urges and jerks into his throat, Danny's lips sense that the blonde is almost near his climax. With an explosion of passion and hot liquid, what seemed like gallons of cum splattered against the back of the blue-eyed boy's throat causing him to choke slightly at the barrage of liquid.

Keeping his finger firmly in Dash's mouth, the older boy's teeth bite down playfully on his finger in an effort to control his jerking limbs and twitching muscles. Swallowing the whole load in a few gulps, Danny's upper torso moves seductively to Dash's face revealing a smile and a look of confusion.

"Man Fenton," he starts out, having to catch his breath quickly before restarting his sentence, "when the fuck did you get so hot?"

Answering with but a smile and sharp eyebrow raise, Danny's lips find themselves once again on the jock's, this time with no chance in ever parting.