'Five times Dan & Jones almost got caught (and one time they did)'

[fugaziclash]

Title: Five times Dan & Jones almost got caught (and one time they did)
Pairing: Dan/Jones (you'd never have guessed ;p)
Summary: Plot? What plot?  It does pretty much what it says  on the tin.
Word Count: 6830
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: There is porn..
Disclaimer: Dan, Jones, Claire, Pingu and the rest of the Nathan Barley gang are unfortunately not mine.
Author’s Notes: Well, a big thank you has to go to
planetbanjo, for being a truly fantabulous beta and for writing so many great Dan/Jones fics which both inspired and influenced this one. Cheers!

Five times Dan & Jones almost got caught (and one time they did)

Claire was finally going to get a decent night’s sleep.

It was for this reason that an uncharacteristic smile graced her features as she allowed her feet to lead her towards the House of Jones. After yawning her way through a night out, a friend had finally demanded that she stayed over for a couple of nights. Needless to say, it hadn’t taken much convincing to lure her away from the cacophony in which she presently inhabited.

Caught up in anticipation, Claire didn’t notice the Idiot thundering down the street towards her on an undersized bike until the last moment. She dodged out of the way, narrowly avoiding being hit, the biker himself losing control and smashing into a wheelie bin with a loud clatter, leaving rubbish strewn across the street. He then happily picked himself up, without a word to Claire, and set back off on his bike, as if nothing had happened.

“What did you think you were doing?!” Claire yelled after him as she retrieved the larger pieces of rubbish from the road and tossed them back into the wheelie bin, which now sported a large dent. “Idiot!”

Good mood destroyed, Claire trudged on. Strangely, the street was almost silent, lacking the techno beats usually emitted from the house she had, somewhat grudgingly, called home for the past few months. Claire wondered for a moment if something had happened to Jones, before coming to the conclusion that he was probably just at Stanley Knives or somewhere, inflicting his unique noise on unsuspecting ears.

Or….maybe not. As Claire neared the door she heard the sounds of frantic movement inside before the inescapable bang and clatter of Jones’ techno beats rose out of the silence with a vengeance. Just her luck. Knowing Jones, he had probably just taken a break in order to grab fifteen coffees and a bumper bag of Haribos in anticipation for another all-night mixing session. She swung the door open, and was hit by the full force of the racket, the harsh sounds assailing her ears.

Jones gave a “Hey” in greeting as she entered, sparing her a quick glance before quickly turning his focus back to his decks. Claire paused for a moment - Jones seemed……what? Embarrassed? Guilty? She doubted it was the latter anyway. Jones had always acted as though being constantly exposed to his ‘music’ was some kind of privilege, not understanding why she’d want to sleep through it - even if she could.

This thought caused her to glance rather enviously at her brother, who was sprawled under a blanket on the sofa, sound asleep and apparently oblivious to the noise around him. Claire didn’t know how he did it but she was almost certain that Dan could sleep though anything - a talent that came in handy living here.

She looked back up at Jones, who quickly averted his gaze away from the sofa, a slight blush colouring his cheeks. Claire gave him a slightly bemused look. Jones must have finally exceeded his maximum caffeine intake - she had never seen him so jumpy. She wondered if the constant barrage of sounds Jones subjected himself to had finally addled his brain, as the normally style-conscious DJ’s t-shirt was crumpled and back to front, and the headphones covering his ears weren’t connected to anything, the lead trailing on the ground forlornly. But then again, Claire had never considered Jones to be entirely sane in the first place.

“I’m just going to get my stuff!” she yelled over the din.

Jones removed a headphone from one ear. “What?!”

Claire shook her head, not having the patience to repeat herself the twenty times generally required when trying to hold a conversation with Jones. Instead, she went into her room, throwing clothes and other essentials into a rucksack. She pointed at the bag as she re-entered the lounge, mouthing ‘got my stuff’ at Jones, who gave a quick wave by show of understanding, his attention already diverted back to the pulsing beats emanating from the speakers.

“I’m going to a friend’s for a few nights” she called out as she opened the front door. Receiving no response, she sighed in resignation and left the house.

Upon hearing the snap of the door closing, Dan popped open one eye. “She gone?” he asked tentatively.

Jones grinned in response, dumping his headphones and other gear in a heap as he moved towards the sofa. Dan returned a predatory grin as he rose to his feet, the blanket that had hidden his state of undress falling unnoticed to the floor. He captured Jones’ lips in a searing kiss, tongue invading the other mans mouth, before pulling back for air. He moved with urgency, fumbling with Jones’ haphazardly fastened buttons as he breathed hot words into his ear.

“Right….now, where were we?”

*  *  *  *  *

Dan slouched at his desk in the Sugar Ape offices, staring at his screen, which was currently filled with an assortment of exclamation marks and asterisks. With a bodily sigh, he heaved himself into a more animated position and clicked his mouse, deleting the entire contents of the page.

“Why Sugar Ape loves Stanley Knives,” he typed laboriously across the top of the screen. That done, he returned to staring blankly at the monitor, trying to prevent his fingers from forming the obvious conclusion of “because they’re idiots” on the keyboard. After about ten minutes of this, Dan was roused from his mental tirade against the uber-trendy - ha! more like uber-idiotic - hairdressers by the shrill bleeping of a mobile phone.

Raising his gaze in annoyance, he looked over to the assorted idiots that made up the staff of Sugar Ape, who were currently playing a game that involved projectile peanuts and a lost-looking rooster. Directing a glare at them, as if whoever it was had engineered the phone ringing just to put him off his work, he yelled over the hubbub of the office.

“Answer that bloody ph-”

Dan trailed off, suddenly realising two things. One, the ringtone that was cutting through the air was not one of the mutilations of chart hits that were the idiots’ current flavour of the month but a plain unadorned buzzing. Two, it was coming from his pocket.  Quickly making sure that none of the idiots in the office had actually taken any notice of his outburst, he slid the phone out of his pocket surreptitiously, glancing at the caller ID before jabbing the answer button with a thumb.

“Jones?”

“Dan,” the DJ began. “I’m bored.” He paused for a breath, and Dan could practically see the slight seductive smile curling his lover’s lips as he somehow turned the quite innocent statement into an invitation. “You busy?”

Dan glanced at his computer monitor, and the lonely looking six words that should have been a thousand word article. He then flicked his gaze over to the small clock on his desk. He had half an hour until his deadline and he really needed this money.

Oh…bugger it.

“I’m not doing anything.” He lied, a slight flush colouring his cheeks as he took one final guilty look at his uncompleted article before banishing it from his screen, and his conscience, with a quick tap of his mouse.

“Good…Follow my instructions.” Jones commanded, and Dan felt a slight thrill at the authority in his voice; the roles they usually played having been swapped around.

“...Okay,” he faltered.

“Stand up from your desk, and go through the door at the back of the room.”

Dan quickly rose from his seat, and walked as casually as possible towards the door so as not to attract the attention of any of the idiots, who would doubtlessly keep him there for the next hour, showing him the latest trash on Nathan Barley’s aptly named website. Luckily, he managed to get to the door without drawing any unwanted attention to himself.

He took one last glance over at the rest of the Sugar Ape staff, slightly shocked that they had not noticed his slightly odd behaviour. Usually Dan could count on them to catch on to anything that Dan didn’t want them knowing, their normally dozing brains stepping into gear at the slightest opportunity for Dan Ashcroft embarrassment. However, they were still seemingly enthralled by their game. He would be surprised if they had even noticed he was no longer at his desk. Convinced of the idiots’ obliviousness to the situation, he cupped the phone against his ear in a vague attempt at secrecy, speaking into it in a hushed tone.

“Right, I’m here.”

Jones’ voice sounded once again from the phone.

“Okay. Through the door on your left. I’m in the last cubicle.”  And with that, Jones ended the call, leaving static buzzing in Dan’s ear. He pocketed his own phone and headed through the door. Not stopping to look around the room, besides observing that it was a toilet (which puzzled him slightly, seeing as he hadn’t known that the Sugar Ape offices had toilets) he knocked on the door to the furthest cubicle. Immediately, the lock slid back and Dan was pulled bodily into the cubicle and pushed against the wall, Jones’ mouth attacking his own with frenzied kisses almost before he had heard the click of the lock sliding back into place.

Dan moaned into the Jones’ mouth, hands roaming frantically, one finding Jones’ pert arse and pulling him closer to him, the other entangling itself in his dirty blonde hair.

“Why…are…you…here?” Dan questioned in the gaps between open-mouthed kisses. Jones pulled back slightly, a moan escaping Dan at the sudden loss of contact. He looked up at Dan, his eyes darkened by desire.

“Thought you could do with a distraction,” he replied, emphasising the last word with a thrust of his hips towards Dan, making the other man painfully aware of the hardness of his erection through the constrictive denim of his trousers. Dan grinned and captured Jones’ mouth once again, tongues swirling around each other passionately, before twisting both of them round, so that it was now Jones pressed against the wall of the cubicle.

“You teasing little minx,” he whispered into Jones ear, before biting down lightly on the lobe, causing Jones to emit a small whimpering sound. The DJ then proved Dan right, as one of his hands thrust itself underneath the waistband of his jeans, ensnaring the rigid heat in his palm and causing Dan to buck involuntarily against him before Jones skated his hand back up, where it danced tantalizingly across the skin above the top of Dan’s jeans.

Dan gave him a slightly exasperated look before Jones finally moved his hands to flick open the fastenings of Dan’s jeans, pulling them down and eliciting a sigh of relief and desire. Pressing hard kisses to the soft skin of Jones’ neck, Dan fumbled with the ludicrously complicated opening to the other man’s jeans, before Jones took pity on him and opened the row of buttons with one deft move, removing a small tube of lubricant from his pocket before kicking the jeans off his legs.

He pressed the tube into Dan’s palm, a lustful look in his eyes. “Fuck me. Here.”

Dan grinned hungrily. “Glad to.”

He quickly removed his bunched-up jeans from where they had pooled round his ankles, throwing them carelessly into a corner of the cubicle, where they were quickly joined by his boxers. Turning back round, he saw that Jones had turned himself so that he was facing the wall. Dan swallowed, the sight of Jones’ lithe, pale body spread up against the wall, awaiting debauchment, lending him an air of urgency as he prepared himself, before setting the tube of lubricant down on the toilet lid and moving over to cover Jones’ body with his own.

Slowly, he eased himself into Jones, causing the other man to gasp. After giving Jones a moment to adjust to the hard length of his cock inside him, Dan started to move his hips in hard, quick thrusts, pounding the two of them against the hard cubicle wall, one hand moving down to grasp Jones’ erection, the slick slide of his palm matching the frantic rhythm of his thrusts.

“Oh, God...” Jones breathed, arms shaking slightly as they supported him against the cool wall. Dan groaned in response, feeling each thrust bringing him closer to the release that he so desperately craved.

“Are you okay in there?” Sasha’s voice was audible from outside, proving an unwanted interruption to the groans and heavy breathing that filled the small cubicle.

Dan struggled to find sense in the words through the increasing waves of pleasure racketing through his body, realization finally hitting him as he reached the heights of his climax. He bit down on Jones’ shoulder so as not to cry out, this in turn sending the other man over the edge, his seed spilling into Dan’s palm at the same time as Dan’s other hand moved to cover Jones’ mouth, muffling the outcry of his name.

They remained like that for a moment, frantically trying to silence their heavy breathing before they finally heard the sound of heels exiting the toilets, followed by the swing of the door. Releasing a sigh of relief at their close escape, Dan withdrew from Jones, pulling him round for a soft kiss before drawing back slightly, a thought suddenly occurring to him.

“Jones…why are we in the girls’ toilet?”

*  *  *  *  *

“What’s this?”

Jones cast his gaze critically around the small booth, before directing his ire at the gangly youth beside him, who at least had the decency to look slightly flustered as he responded.

“The DJ booth. The decks are over there, music feeds right to the speakers-”

He was cut off, the tone of Jones voice making it clear that he thought the man to be a first-class idiot. “Never mind all that. Why the fuck are there no windows?”

“Oh,” the youth responded, looking around as if only just noticing the solid walls of the booth. “I think windows would have been more expensive.” he finally shrugged in response, sounding entirely nonplussed by the situation.

“What?! “ Jones said, exasperated, “But how am I meant to see the people I’m playing to?”

“Guess you won’t” came the oh-so-helpful reply. Then, noticing the look on the DJ’s face, the rather clueless employee began to look worried. “You are still going to play aren’t you?” he questioned, his words stumbling over each other in his sudden panic.

Jones took a deep breath. He really wished he could say no, because, let’s face it, this place was a joke. The best bit about DJ-ing was seeing the crowd’s reaction to your music, be it good or bad, and he felt slightly cheated having been robbed of this by some penny-pinching manager who had probably wanted to buy an extra strobe light.

Like it or not, Jones needed the money. He gave a reluctant nod and the youth grinned, having not embraced the idea of having to explain to the manager why they were one DJ short on their opening night.

“Right then. Your set starts in five.” And with that, he disappeared out the door, not taking the chance that Jones might change his mind.

As the door to the glorified cardboard box slammed shut, Jones let out one final sigh of resignation, before moving to the mixing desk, using his five minutes to acquaint himself with the set-up, muttering various expletives under his breath as he did so. Then, a glance at the clock telling him that it had reached the time for his set, he slipped on the headphones and slid a few dials, starting up a rhythmic pulse. Despite his best efforts to retain his annoyance at being separated from the teeming dancefloor he knew was on the other side of the thin walls, he soon found himself lost in the intersecting rhythms and beats, the time flying by in a clatter of sounds, his concentration only marginally broken by Dan slipping in quietly through the door of the booth.

He quickly shot Dan a slightly manic grin, before turning off the small microphone attached to his headphones, even as his other hand remained mixing yet more beats into the melange of sounds.

“Alright Dan?” he yelled over the din, smiling and nodding along with the music.

When Dan didn’t respond, Jones spared another glance away from the mixing table, his breath hitching in his throat when he saw that Dan was observing him with that look on his face. Jones knew very well what that look meant, and it sent a shock of anticipation running through him. He suddenly wished that the ten minutes remaining of his set would just be over with, so that he could act on the lust that suffused his body, rather than making a futile attempt to immerse himself back into his music whilst Dan’s heated gaze burned into his back.

Suddenly he felt Dan press up against him, causing a harsh inhalation of breath. He swallowed, just barely managing to keep at least a small section of his mind on the music and not on Dan’s body heat or the tantalising press of Dan’s burgeoning erection against the small of his back.

“I’ll be done in ten minutes Dan. I-”

Jones’ eyes widened in surprise as Dan’s hands moved round him to undo the buckle of his belt, and he froze completely when his trousers were pulled down and he felt the enveloping warmth of Dan’s hand on his own traitorously erect cock.

“W-what are you doing?” he breathed, hands forgetting to manipulate the decks as Dan’s touch chased away all rational thought.

Dan gave an evil laugh at Jones’ reaction. “Keep DJ-ing.” He commanded, even as his hand began to pump up and down the length of Jones’ erection. “You don’t want anybody thinking something’s wrong and coming to check, do you?”

Jones took a deep breath, which came out more like a whine, and tried to once again get his brain to focus on the music, to little avail, as his brain was infinitely more concerned with the movement of Dan’s hand, the pleasure forming an all consuming distraction. However, he did manage to hit a couple of keys on the mixing desk, layering some samples on top of one another. Whether they actually sounded good he didn’t know, and to be honest, at the moment, he didn’t really care. His mind suddenly flicked back to the other day, when he had been proudly informing Dan that music was the most important thing in his life, and he wondered for a moment if this was Dan’s way of showing him just how incorrect that statement had in fact been.

The light for the club intercom flashed on, and Dan’s eyes glanced at the receiver, then back to Jones. Guessing what he was up to, Jones shook his head.

“No Dan” he protested, cursing himself as it came out pathetically close to a moan. He could tell that Dan was drawing this out on purpose, the slow, tantalising slide of his hand enough to bring Jones agonisingly close to the brink, making him yearn for the release that seemed just out of reach.

Luckily, Dan seemed to take pity on Jones, and his hand stilled. “Answer it.” he commanded, gruffly.

Jones took a couple of deep calming breaths, before reaching a trembling hand towards the intercom receiver, trying to ignore the still-present hand curled around his cock. He lifted the receiver to one ear, removing his headphones and allowing them to fall haphazardly onto the mixing desk.

“Hello?”

“Er…hi,” Oh god, it was the dunderhead from earlier. Jones felt like hitting his head against the desk, but stopped himself, reckoning that he would want to be conscious for whatever Dan was planning next. “Just telling you that that’s your set done.” He continued, “You’ve got around ten minutes to get your stuff sorted before the next DJ’s set.”

Jones didn’t reply, as Dan at that moment shot him a glance laced with mischievous promise which completely diverted Jones’ attention away from the intercom. He mouthed ‘You wouldn’t’ at Dan, eyebrows raised, which was met with a slow grin that informed him that Dan most certainly would.

“Hello? Is that okay?” the voice on the other end of the line prompted, sounding slightly worried due to the lack of response.

“Yeah.” Jones stated quickly, not wanting the kid to feel the need to come down and check on him. “That’s fine” he assured. However, Dan had chosen this moment to make his move, running his thumb quickly over the head of Jones’ swollen erection, transforming the ‘fine’ into a high-pitched squeak.

There was a slight pause on the other end of the line, and Dan used this time to restart the movement of his hand on Jones’ cock, abandoning the slow, teasing strokes of earlier in favour of a fast rhythm which quickly sent waves of pleasure spiralling through Jones, who hung up the receiver with a quick “Everythingisokay-bye”, before collapsing backwards into Dan as his orgasm hit him.

He felt the soft brush of Dan’s lips against his forehead, stubble tingling slightly, before the older man stepped away, leaving him to clumsily refasten his jeans. Dan wiped the mixing table with a jacket that Jones was fairly sure had been left there by the young club employee.

He grinned at Dan as the other man threw the jacket into a corner carelessly, pressing a kiss to his lips as he approached, before they both exited the room, passing the confused looking youth in the corridor.

“You know…perhaps having a DJ’s booth with no windows isn’t such a bad thing after all...”

*  *  *  *  *

The squat was crawling with Idiots.

It seemed as if a swarm of them had descended upon the House of Jones, and if Dan had been a religious man, he might have got down on his knees and prayed for their departure. Instead, he sat on the sofa, speeding his way through a packet of Marlboros with an air of malevolence and glaring at any idiot who strayed too near.

He should have known that Jones volunteering to host the Stanley Knives end of year party was never going to have a positive outcome. Well….for him anyway. Jones seemed to be in his element, and had been chatting away to some DJ friend of his for the last hour, and even Claire was having an in-depth, if rather one-sided, conversation about London’s trampled underclasses with a nervous looking Pingu. Dan however had sent the few idiots stupid enough to try and raise their street-cred by conversing with the ‘Preacher Man’ packing with a mixture of biting sarcasm and blunt insults, meaning that Dan now sat in solitude, the idiots keeping a safe distance away, occasionally glancing over as you might expect them to peer at an untrained animal likely to strike at any moment.

Dan breathed out, watching the smoke fill the air with feigned interest, before finally heaving himself to his feet with a world-weary sigh. Pushing his way through the weave of idiots, most of whom darted quickly out of his path, he reached the bedroom door and slipped through it. When his flick of the light switch had confirmed that he was blissfully alone, he sunk happily against the door, pushing it shut and blocking out the sights and sounds of the party.

However, he had barely sat down and lit another of his rapidly dwindling cigarettes, when a quiet knock sounded on the bedroom door. Determined not to be disturbed from  his solitude, Dan ignored the sound in favour of taking a deep drag from his cigarette, tipping the grey ashes into the pot of a neglected looking plant that Claire had recently bought for his room. Of course, Dan firmly believed that the only reason she had bought the thing was to have some form of evidence that he didn’t care about anything other than himself, allowing her to rant at him on an even more regular basis.

Unfortunately, whoever was at the door was not planning on just giving up and the handle turned round despite Dan’s weight holding the door firmly in place. Dan glared at the handle as if it itself was responsible for the terrible night he was having and, as if in response to his glare, the handle abruptly stopped moving. However, before Dan could breathe a sigh of relief and go back to imagining inventive deaths for Nathan Barley and his cohorts, a pleading voice sounded through the door.

“Dan?” came Jones’ voice through the wood. “Come on, let me in.”

Dan heaved himself to his feet, still somewhat grudgingly, as he hadn’t forgotten that this party had been Jones’ idea, and swung open the door.

A small smile played around the corners of Jones’ mouth as he practically bounced into the room.

“Needed to escape. This guy’s been following me around all night - and he’s boring as hell.”

His eyes glittered with amusement; amusement which Dan would have usually shared, perhaps pointing out to Jones dryly that hell was hardly likely to be boring, but tonight he remained stoic, gazing balefully at the pattern on the wall. Jones furrowed his brow, biting his bottom lip as he looked at Dan with concern.

“You alright?”

Dan glared at Jones, mistaking the other mans concern for sympathy, his pride causing him to lash out, acidic words leaving his tongue without thought.

“What do you think?” he snarled, a sneer twisting his mouth. “I’m stuck in a house filled with talentless, image-centred twats.” He gave the word ‘talentless’ bitter emphasis, knowing it was the barb most likely to hit home and stared Jones directly in the eyes, making it clear that the comment was directed at him.

Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth though he wished he had not said them. Words were Dan’s greatest ally, but also his fiercest enemy, due to his bad habit of using them to push people away. And he didn’t want to push Jones away, not when the DJ was one of the few things keeping him sane in the fad-crazed whirl that was Shoreditch. However, Dan had far too much pride to apologise, despite the remorse already clawing at his gut.

Jones looked at him, anger flashing in his eyes, and for a moment Dan hoped that he would yell and scream, throw insults at him that would replace his overwhelming guilt with a far preferable anger. But Jones said nothing, which was so much worse. The anger disappeared, but the pain that dulled his spark-blue eyes was like a punch to the gut and worse than that was the disappointment that chased it, as if Jones had finally realized that he was wrong to place his feelings in the care of someone so unfit.

“Oh.” Jones quickly darted his gaze away from Dan’s to rest on the floor and swallowed audibly. “Guess I’ll just…” he trailed off, wringing his hands together in front of his chest, displaying the body language of a kicked puppy. He turned, and moved towards the door. His fingers closed around the door handle, before his flight from the room was halted by Dan’s grip on his forearm.

“Don’t” Dan spoke softly. “You’re not….like them. I..,” Dan swallowed before a final admission passed his lips. “I need you.”

He looked over at Jones, and saw that the other mans gaze was locked fixedly on the hand on his arm, hand still on the door handle but his grip on the metal slightly slackened.

“Jones...”

Jones slowly raised his gaze to meet Dan’s, uncertainty dancing in his blue eyes. Dan moved towards him, hand not releasing its grip on Jones arm, and he captured the other mans mouth softly, the gentle kiss trying to convey the apology that he could not put into words. He felt Jones tense against him, lips unyielding, and for a moment he anticipated Jones pushing him away and disappearing out the door. But, after what seemed like an age, Jones returned the kiss, moving his hands from the door handle to rest on Dan’s hip, causing Dan to grin against the other man’s mouth.

He drew back for a second, and looked at Jones questioningly. Jones graced him with a tentative smile in response and nervously reached one hand up to trace against Dan’s stubbled cheek. Dan pressed his lips to the palm of Jones’ hand gratefully, before tugging him towards him, away from the door. He softly backed Jones up against the wall, small light kisses ghosting their way across Jones’ lips, neck, eyelids.

Jones emitted a small moan of pleasure, biting softly into his bottom lip, leaving Dan to capture the indented lip with his own, his tender kiss gradually transforming into one of subtle intensity as Jones’ hands pulled him closer, tracing patterns over his shirt. Dan slid the fingers of one hand through Jones’ hair and they curled gently through the strands, the other hand moving to cup Jones’ cheek as the kiss grew in fervour, leaving his nerve ends tingling.

Suddenly, the door was thrown open, thudding against the wall mere inches away from Dan and Jones. Dan quickly drew back, placing a finger against Jones’ swollen lips as he listened for the intruder, breath stilling in his chest. He heard someone rustling about by the door to the room.

“I know my jacket’s here somewhere.” came the mumbling from barely a metre away in what was unmistakably Ned’s voice. Bloody hell, Dan didn’t even like seeing him at the Sugar Ape offices and he was infinitely less optimistic about his present interruption. Dan silently motioned to Jones that they should try and move out of their slightly compromising position, but, as he did so his foot came into contact with the edge of the door and he automatically let out a string of curses.

“Preacher Man? That you, Dan?”

Shit.

“Eh…yeah.”

“Can you help me find my jacket, I can’t see a fucking thing. It’s totally immense.” Ned turned towards where Dan and Jones were frozen by the door and Dan could see that the lenses of his glasses had been replaced with a large pair of googly eyes. Relief causing the tension to fade from his body, Dan stepped away from Jones and quickly grabbed Ned’s jacket from the floor, handing it to him and then practically shoving the idiot back into the living room.

Dan returned his gaze to Jones and moved back over towards him. But not before he had closed the door. And locked it.

*  *  *  *  *

Jones laughed at Dan as he skulked towards the ‘trashbat headquarters’ like he fully expected it to contain some form of terrible disease. Idiotophobia maybe? Nah, Dan already had that if it existed. More likely he was just shifty due to the likelihood of bumping into Mr Trashbat himself. Yeah, that was it, Jones decided as he saw Dan’s eyes scrutinising the surroundings with care, like a spy or someone, staking out the area for possible danger. Jones giggled to himself at the thought of Dan clean-shaven and wearing a tux, perhaps stylishly sipping a martini…, Ashcroft, Dan Ashcroft. Licence to kill Idiots.

Real-life Dan turned to look at him as they walked through the door of trashbat, raising an eyebrow, enquiringly.

“What are you giggling at, you daft tart?”

Jones grinned at the affection in Dan’s voice, and cast his gaze over his delightfully scruffy-looking lover, deciding abruptly that he didn’t ever want Dan to go for the James Bond look, good as he might look in a tux. He was about to tell Dan just that, but at that moment his attention was caught by what looked to be a cot leant up against one of the walls.

“Why’s that there?”

Dan looked up, having just placed the laptop they had been instructed to return by Claire onto a table filled with bright yellow flyers for the latest trashbat party. Seeing what Jones was pointing to, his brow furrowed slightly in thought.

“Oh yeah. Barley got it to impress some coke-head teen. Made a song about monkeys or something.” He paused for a moment, a look of vague distaste passing over his face. “I think he got a blowjob from her. He was boasting to all the idiots about how she was only thirteen.”

An array of different emotions crossed Jones’ face as he absorbed this information. Confusion, as to why a girl would be impressed by a man with a cot, then disgust, before an idea occurred to him and a suggestive smile curled the edges of his mouth before it was quickly hidden as he plastered on a look of utmost concern. Dan didn’t seem convinced though, and gave him a slightly suspicious look as he began to speak.

“You know, it seems terrible that this place should be associated with that.” he began, moving towards Dan. “Seems like…we should do something. To wipe out the memory.”

He looked up at Dan, who looked slightly confused for a second before Jones’ meaning dawned on him and a slow smile claimed his lips. He nodded slowly, swallowing.

“It would seem like the best thing to do.”

Jones grinned and moved the last step towards Dan, pressing an incendiary kiss to his lips before moving across his whiskered cheeks and down across the soft skin of his neck. Dan’s hands moved to press against him, bringing Jones back up to capture his mouth, flicking his tongue past Jones’ lips to swirl round the dark confines of his mouth as Jones’ hands moved in tantalizing patterns down Dan’s body, finally reaching his belt and opening the buckle. He pulled away from Dan’s questing lips with a grin and sank down to his knees in front of the other man, tugging Dan’s jeans down to his knees. He eyed the throbbing erection appraisingly before pulling his tongue slowly along its full length, enjoying the sharp intake of breath the action provoked from Dan.

Jones then looked up through the strands of his fringe, lust-filled eyes meeting Dan’s as he moved to engulf Dan’s cock in one fluid movement. One of Dan’s hands blindly found the edge of the table behind him, whilst the other curled into Jones’ hair as he moved his hot mouth up and down his length, teeth occasionally grazing lightly against the delicate skin, sending waves of pleasure coursing through Dan’s body.

Jones’ eyes again fixed on Dan, the rapture on his lovers face causing him to moan around Dan’s cock, speeding up his rhythm until Dan came hard into Jones’ throat with a yell. Dan sucked in a breath of air, his knuckles white as he gripped hard onto the table ledge to support his weight. He pulled Jones up after he had delicately refastened his jeans, tasting himself as he gently probed Jones’ mouth with his tongue.

Suddenly, Dan drew back.

“Oh God….Pingu.”

Jones’ looked at him disbelievingly, his eyes narrowed.

“What?!”

“Not that, you twerp. He’s right behind you.”

“Oh.” Jones sounded slightly relieved for a moment, then the realization of Dan’s words hit him and he turned slowly. Right enough, Pingu was sat there, his back to them, but still, they hadn’t exactly been quiet. He couldn’t possibly not have heard. Or on second thoughts…., as unlikely as it sounded, perhaps he hadn’t. His eyes were fixed on the computer screen in front of him, large headphones covering his ears. Jones had watched enough of Nathan Barley’s pranks on his unfortunate workmate to discern that Pingu was pretty much oblivious to the outside world when hooked up to his computer.

Jones let out a sigh of relief.

“I think we’re alright.” He assured Dan, pointing out the headphones and computer. Dan nodded.

“We done here?”

“Yeah.”

And with that, they escaped into the cool evening air, leaving behind the trashbat office and the oblivious Pingu, who emerged into reality an hour later, slightly bemused by the appearance of a laptop on the table which was now bereft of flyers, their yellow colour spread over the floor.

*  *  *  *  *

“Whoah! Sorry, sweet cheeks!” Nathan Barley grinned as he reached a hand down to the respectable-looking business women he had just knocked to the ground. He pointed at the contraptions on his feet.

“Bounce-o-matics. They’re well massive in Berlin. You can race on them and everything, in fact, there’s this well fucking amazing clip on my website, that’s trashbat.co.ck, of a ten-year old boy with a pair of these on being chased by a herd of wildebeest.”

Nathan paused, misinterpreting the baffled look on the woman’s face for one of amazement. Still holding on to her arm where he had helped her back to her feet, he began to remove the small springs from his boots.

“Tell you what, I’ve got a ton of these back at trashbat HQ. You have this pair. Spread the word, yeah?”

With that, Nathan quickly fastened the springs to the woman’s less than suitable high heels, before running off, leaving her to wobble her way down the street with difficulty.

Rather breathlessly, Nathan skidded round a corner ten minutes later, coming to an abrupt halt in front of the door of the ‘House of Jones’.  He rapped on the door in what he thought constituted a rhythm, waiting for about two seconds before pushing the unlocked door open and striding inside.

“Claire, you up for the ‘Place’ closing down party tonight?” he called into the house, looking around for any signs of life. He wandered a bit further in. “I think it’s - holy elephant’s shit-crack!”

Nathan stepped back slightly, then moved forward again, to make sure his eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on him. But no, fast asleep on the sofa were Dan Ashcroft and his housemate, the one that sometimes DJ’d at Stanley Knives, tangled together in an array of limbs. What’s more, as he moved closer to the sofa, it became clear to him that, under the threadbare blanket draped haphazardly over them, they were completely nude.

For a long moment, Nathan stood there, mouth hanging open. Dan Ashcroft, the Preacher Man, was a poof? He couldn’t believe it. He had always thought that Ashcroft had a thing for whatsername, the receptionist at Sugar Ape? Plus, if Ashcroft was batting for the other side, surely he would have hit on him.

His mind struggled to comprehend the homosexual sight in front of him for several long minutes before a truly terrific thought occurred to him. Smiling, he removed his Wasp T12 from his pocket.

The next day…

Dan Ashcroft sat at his desk, alternating between staring blankly at his computer screen and shooting suspicious glances over at the rest of the Sugar Ape staff, who were all crowded round the computer at Rufus’ desk. Dan wondered for a moment what had managed to catch all of their attention, before snorting with disdain, estimating it to be some twat-hole prank on Nathan Barley’s oasis of idiocy.

He went back to the article, but it wasn’t long before Jonatton came strolling up to his desk, hovering annoyingly over Dan’s shoulder.

“I can write this one.” Dan affirmed, glancing up at his annoyingly blasé boss.

“Yeah.” Jonatton nodded with a barely discernable motion of his head. “Just thought you might want to check out Barley’s site?” He studied the ends of his fingers before continuing in the same bland tone. “Might be things of interest, etc?”

Dan looked at him with an expression of bewilderment, as was so often the case when talking to Yeah?.

“What?”

Jonatton just gave him a long look before striding away.

“Just check it out, Danbo.”

As Yeah? returned to his office, Dan gazed in confusion for a few moments at the back of his striped blazer. He exhaled and reluctantly took Yeah?’s advice, entering ‘trashbat.co.ck’ into the internet address bar. He sat, drumming his fingers on the side of the desk as the page loaded, then jumped backwards in his seat as Barley’s latest ‘ident’ popped up on screen.

It was….him…and Jones. Nathan Barley’s insufferable voice twattled along in the background, but Dan didn’t even register what he was saying. He winced as Barley propped up a large piece of card with TRASHBAT.CO.CK scrawled across it against Dan and Jones’ sleeping forms.

Dan groaned, letting his head hit the table top, the King-Idiot’s bibble filling his ears.

“I’ll keep you posted if Preach gets any gayer. This is Nathan Barley a.k.a trashbat. Peace an-”

Dan hit the power switch on his computer, cutting Barley off in mid-twitter.

Bloody Idiot…