"I'm in a bad fucking mood today, Fenton," Dash had him pinned on the locker right before homeroom. Their faces were only a couple of inches apart. Danny's feet were off the ground and he felt the power that the other boy had over him.

"Well," Danny was trying to squirm his way out, "I'm sorry, but do you have to take it out on me?" He had the strength to push him off a thousand times over, but he could not risk blowing his identity. He had to keep up the pretense and struggle. He hated the squirming, but he hated the fact that he had a boner growing and throbbing in the tighty-whities that his mother insisted he wore. More on her neuroses later, back to the erection Danny was sporting. He was hoping with silent, robust pleas that Dash wouldn't notice.

"Well, who else Fen-toad? You're the only one who still tries to fight his way out." He spat the words at the smaller boy.

Danny wriggled a little.

"See, that, right there. You squirming under me makes it worth it."

Danny exhaled deeply, feeling conflicted, deeply conflicted about the words he's hearing. His logical half realized that there was a deep-seated problem in Dash. He, Dash Baxter, felt the need, and was quite driven to hunt down people who are weaker than him. Probably to cover up for some inadequacy.

The animal in Danny, that is to say, his baser instincts, loved the pursuit. Something in him wanted to be hunted and subdued. The boner in his pants at that moment proved unequivocally that he wanted to squirm under Dash.

It was terrible fucking catch-22. Danny was developing a craving for being close to Dash and enjoying that closeness, but in the achievement of that intimacy Danny's attraction could be exposed, forever cutting off his ability to get close in the first place.

Danny was wondering when he began getting so metaphysical when he was being manhandled. And where the fuck were Sam and Tucker? They were probably off making out or fucking someplace. The school was big and there were plenty places to hide. Danny had found that out with this whole fighting ghosts thing.

And a few words on that: He hated it.

And a few more: It was an awful life.

And what the hell a few paragraphs:

It truly had, over the many, many months, gotten so damn monotonous. Go to school, try to keep your head up in Mr. Lancer's boring math class, go home, but get stopped on the way by some threat to the city by some punk ghost, defeat the enemy/enemies. Then go home and finish the given homework burning the midnight oil while his mom and dad were sleeping, unaware that he was a host or that there were so many around. Then wake up exhausted, repeat. That was Danny's pattern Monday through Thursday. Unfortunately, the weekend offered no reprieve. The crimes started early on Friday evenings, afternoons, sometimes. 'Villains', as the papers called them, started to terrorize citizens from the earliest twilight to the latest dusk. Danny remembered, too vividly, being knocked out of the sky on to the dew sprinkled grass, as the sky started to lighten into sherbet shades (or as Madame Devereux would suggest, sorbet). He also recalled battling with an adversary during the day and ending with only the moon and the few stars one could view in the metropolis as very quiet company.

During the school year there was stress indescribable. Balancing school and justice was easily the worst thing he could imagine. Sometimes, if he was lucky, he would get one, or two, or (Hallelujah!) three hours of sleep on any given night. That was a good night. On a bad night, he'd have to come in after vanquishing whoever, transform back to Danny Fenton, Casper High student, and head out the door to school with Jazz and the risen sun as company. It's a wonder of the universe how he managed to pass any of his classes. At least the transformation back was like taking a long hot shower, brushing his teeth and getting dressed into cleaned and ironed clothes. There was no smell from the armpits or feet, no wrinkles on the jeans or shirt or the hoodie he stowed in his locker.

That may have been handy, but it did not make him feel rested. He would, just, fucking ache. His head would ache from the banging he got. His throat would be hoarse from not given his voice a rest. At least he did not have to run. His ability to fly made it easier, but his arms always hurt. The fisticuffs with everyone made his arms sore. The transformation did not erase the bruises.

Bruises… how he had to lie about all the fucking bruises. He had to become a good liar, and quickly. He didn't enjoy lying to his parents (who would?), but it was never an option to tell either of them the truth (Danny remembered what happened when his mom found out and he had to erase her memory). It wasn't thrilling for him to lie, but lie he had to. In the wintertime it was easy. Long sleeves cleverly concealed contusions. The feeling of fabric rubbing against one of the dark marks was, however a lot for him to deal with. It felt like thousands of tiny, hot needles were being pricked into him every time the fabric would move. An armband or a bit of gauze solved that, but it was hard to explain. He started wearing complete jogging suits as to not arouse suspicion from that hardass PE teacher. The only way to truly avoid any wariness was to avoid being hit so hard that vessels broke. He couldn't wear any padding, as it was impossible (you can trust that he tried). He couldn't flee, the city needed him. He just had to learn, the hard way, to be more agile. It sucked.

He snapped back to reality. The bell ringing always had that ability, especially on the first day of the year. Dash let him go, Danny fell straight down and stumbled forward a little. Dash laughed, a cruel laugh. "See you later, dweeb." as he walked off.

Danny got down and grabbed his backpack which had fallen in the scuffle and hurried off to his new homeroom, 214.

'Can't start the race late', as that principal would always say. So he went to his homeroom having a silent dread for not knowing who the teacher would be. Yes, the teachers rotated homeroom every year. Some unlucky bastards got Lancer all four years. Danny was just hoping that he skated him this year, like he did last year.

HE already knew that Sam and tucker were down the hall in 222 so he would be alone. He opened the door to his new homeroom and was greeted by no other than Mr. Lancer himself. "Good morning, Daniel, you're almost late, so find your seat before you get detention."

Danny didn't dignify that with a response, only looked for his name. There was something off about how everybody was seated. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it wasn't right. He was very pissed off to find that he would be sitting directly in front of Baxter the bully.

"There is no God," he muttered under his breath as he sat at the hard seat that was attached to the desk. Dash was staring laser beams through his scalp. The bell rang again and Lancer started talking.

"Some of you know me and some of you do not. For the benefit of those who don't my name is Mister Lancer," He wrote his name on the blackboard (yes in this school they were actually black, not that punk green shit, and smart boards, don't even go there). "I'm not Mister Lance, or Mister L, or 'Teach' or 'Yo Son'. I am a teacher and I will be respected as such. If you remember that we'll get on marvelously. You may be wondering about the seating arrangements and it is strange to me too. Our superintendent, Mrs. Briars is launching a new initiative to 'foster a greater sense of community between teaching staff and students, and among the student body'. Therefore, you are being seated alphabetically by first name. I know that it will be quite an adjustment, but we are being compelled to do this. So, you will be good students and do like you're told."

"You don't have to talk to us like toddlers," Danny thought.

"Now," Lancer was still lecturing, "Your homeroom is also your first period class. That has not changed. My method has not changed either. Homework is worth twenty-five percent of your grade…"

Danny tuned him out, he knew the whole spiel. He came back to his senses when Lancer put what looked like a Bible on his desk. Public School, so it wasn't of course. Danny examined it. "Please don't be Shakespeare. Please don't be Shakespeare. Please don't be Shakespeare."

He looked at the cover: King Lear by William Shakespeare.

Damn.

After English, Chemistry, Geometry and World History, came lunch. It looked as if Danny wouldn't have any classes with them, if the morning was anything to go by. At least he could manage to eat some mediocre Board of Ed. food with Tucker and Sam. Well, he was eating food and they were eating each other's faces.

"Is that all you two do?" Danny asked immediately regretting it and getting ready for the perv chills.

"No, not quite, there are other activities." Tucker said, with Samantha's blush being made manifest, though still clinging on to his bony arm.

"Don't even say another word." Danny felt a strange relief, "Let's just stop here."

"What's up with you today. New grade, new classes,"

Danny cut him off, "Same assholes."

"You can't be all bent out of shape already, dude. I mean, come on, it's only September 4th and you're acting all grouchy."

"I've been sitting in front of Dash in all my classes. This first name bullshit is not appreciated."

"Well, I've been sitting directly behind Sam and that's very appreciated."

She started blushing even harder.

"Somehow, I didn't see you being into emo chicks," Danny said.

"I'm not a chick," Same ol' Sam Manson.

"Sorry, all I meant is that I never saw this as happening." He replied.

"And we weren't expecting to catch you jac-" Tucker chimed in before our closeted hero.

"Yes, I was quite surprised," now it was Danny's turn to blush, "You shouldn't have just burst in like that."

"You should've locked your door."

"It's my house!' Danny stood up quite awkwardly and shouted those words. Some of the people at nearby tables (but not close enough to hear the conversation) heard the words and saw his stance, his finger pointed in the air like a teacher or Adolf Hitler. They turned back to their respective groups and started to laugh or jeer.

Danny sat down, "Besides, Mom, Dad, and Jazz were out of town so there was no need to lock my bedroom door. And you shouldn't have been picking my lock. I mean how do you open a house lock?" He was slightly flustered.

"I just want to know how you could get your legs over your head like that." Tucker remembered how Danny was flat on his back, on the bed, going to town. Let's just say that Danny didn't have to explain that he was gay to either of them. Especially with the 'movie' he was watching on his laptop. In real terms, Tucker saw his opportunity to 'pounce' and used Sam's new found ambivalence towards Danny as a gateway. At first he felt like the rebound, but soon enough, through a somewhat unhealthy combination of trickery and earnest affection had cultivated a 'meaningful' relationship. He snapped back as he realized Danny was actually giving an answer.

"I got very flexible with the ghost powers. I don't know. And do we have to discuss the details of that 'event' again? Am I ever going to live that down?"

"Not as long as I'm alive." Tucker retorted.

"Is that all. I could kill you pretty easy." Danny joked, then he got serious "That is if Sam's dad doesn't do it first. You two need to be careful."

"Thanks, Dad." Tucker said.

Last period was gym. Now most kids would like that and all the others in the class did, but Danny knew that he was going to be assigned a gym partner. Gym Partners were usually the person who was next to you in the alphabet, that first name crap was coming back to bite. You guessed it. That Tetslaff creature shouted, "Baxter, Fenton pair up!"

Danny tried, "But-"

"But nothing." She said.

"He's-" He tried again.

"Your partner."

"Yes, ma'am." She walked away.

"Nice try, Fen-dunce." That was a weaker one from Dashiell.

"You know, one day, and I think it's gonna be sooner rather than later, I'm going to get fed up with you." Danny gritted his teeth.

"And what are you gonna do? Cry?" Dash whispered back, seeming to like this too much.

"You'll see." That's all Danny could come up with.

"Try me."

There was a note and a few of hundreds left on the table when Danny got home.

Sorry, forgot to tell you, Ghost Convention in Duluth. Will be back on the 15th. Don't waste this money and don't burn the house down.

-Love, Mom, Dad, and Jazz

P.S. Replace the emergency ham. It has spoiled.

Oh yeah, Jazz had gotten into the ghost stuff after she went through her 'psychoanalyst' phase. She gets these click obsessions. They come on really strong and she commits herself into the 'projects' and drops them like they're bad habits.

Well, an empty house meant that Danny could jack off in peace. He dropped his bag and went upstairs to his room. He grabbed his phone from his pocket to see if it had connected with the wifi. It had.

He checked because was one time when he was quite excited and his boner was ruined. His father had borrowed a cable for some machine. Only it wasn't just some cable. It connected the modem to the router, so Danny was forced to use that tiny smartphone screen and that wasn't going to do not today. He felt particularly pent up.

"There is no God," Danny had muttered to himself again. If there was and He was the loving sort then why would everything he had to do now have to spend every second with a dude who made his skin crawl? And why did the very dude who made his skin crawl make him so fucking horny and frustrating. Seriously, rubbing one out to your bully was pretty pathetic, but everything was pathetic if it was really thought through.

At least that was Danny's point of view as he walked into the bathroom and mulled over what his choice of lube would be today. Some people swore by conditioner, others vaseline. He usually would have used the last of the three, but he felt particularly pent up. He wanted to go rough on himself the same way he wanted Dash to go rough on him (in the bedroom, that is).

So, he decided he was going to go dry the afternoon.

Danny was finally in rhythm using his right hand. It was not on, unplugged in fact, to keep Vlad or Technus from spying on him. He was using the inexplicable power of the male ability to fantasize. In this particular vision, Dash was on his knees sucking, no, not exactly. Danny was facefucking him, and Dash wasn't able to handle it, gagging on his cock. The fantasy was not totally unfounded. Jack Fenton had passed down an impressive package, if nothing else. His cock eas long and sufficiently thick , though he wasn't setting any records for girth. He was eight inches, cut, no curve or deviation, thick head, not veiny, and he oozed precum like a leaky faucet. He was thinking about shaving, but there was no one to impress, yet. He knew that he didn't do to badly for someone of his frame and height.

"FUCK!" He shouted, "All I wanted to do was cum!"

He pulled up his pants and underwear from around his ankles and with regret, and a shrinking boner he changed into his ghost form. He didn't even do his pathetic battle cry.