A/N: A big thank you goes out to Book of Jude, for betaing this for me.
Part Three
Jesus. Daniel's surprised that he's still alive, narrowly missing two angina pectoris attacks in one day.
Inside the dressing room, Daniel doesn't find a blue shirt. There are three hanging on the rack: a brown one, a white one, and a multi-colored striped polo. He pulls off the one he's wearing and carelessly throws it to the ground. He's reminded of the way Elijah did that earlier today, just not as suave.
He proceeds to drown himself in nostalgia: Elijah, zipping his pants up -- that vanilla-white skin that practically blends right into his sclera -- the way his voice is sort of like a girl giving a throaty growl -- his hands wandering across his body in a subtle, yet suggestive way -- and speaking of wandering hands....
Daniel somehow manages to unzip his fly and tug his jeans halfway down his waist without really paying attention. He's always been a sensualist, so that isn't unusual. The feel and touch of things were always more important to him in the heat of the moment, then whether or not Albert Einstein would wack-off in clothes that didn't belong to him. He closes his eyes and leans into the wall blissfully, thinking of the sweet smell of coffee and cloves and the way they might greet that succulent mouth; all the while, his hand dips and caresses himself. He's getting frustrated with the restriction of his briefs and the incessant scratch that moves along his legs from those God-fuck stiff threads; just as he's kicking off those satanic pants and letting his fingers slide past the elastic -- there's a knock on the door.
"Fuck!" he bites the words before they get a chance to leave his mouth, but he thinks them so forcefully he gets the feeling that they might have been whispered out his ears. Snaking his hand out of his front and grabbing the next pair of --oh shit-- skin-tight pants, he calls, "Who is it?" in a voice that's a little too high and cracks in fear.
"Just me." Daniel's eyes bug and he kicks around in the black pants, attempting to pull them over his thighs that have always seemed small until that moment. "Can I come in?"
"Uh," he's gotten them up to his waist and now he's fighting to get the zipper up over that ungodly bulge. "Shit," he mutters, then adds quickly, "yeah, sure."
The doorknob clicks and as he watches the light spill past the wood frame, he feels as though he's just beaten a particularly hard video game boss, except that now his pulse is pounding harder as he's face to face with a new boss that is quite likely, harder than the last. He glances quickly in the mirror and swiftly gains a new appreciation for tight pants -- turning to Elijah, he finds that he's not alone in this discovery.
Elijah's attention snaps back to Daniel's face and he asks calmly: "What are you doing for lunch?"
