Greta Van Fleet // Oneshots

Teach Me // Danny Wagner *SMUT*

Warnings: hand stuff; unprotected sex; it's smut, folks. 18+ read at your own discretion.

Apparently Danny is always teaching or being taught in my oneshots and, quite frankly, I'm on board with that (god I wish that were me). 

Thank you anon for this (or idea, perhaps), I'm always here to add more Danny content to the fandom. It's just as much for all of you as it is for me. I hope y'all enjoy.

—

"I think this cue is bent," you said, turning it over in your hand and inspecting it as Danny bent over the pool table, readying himself in front of the white cue ball, looking like he was aiming for the blue number 2. "Or compromised somehow."

"It's not, you're just not using it right," he replied, not taking his eyes off the ball.

You scoffed. "I'm the one who taught you how to play pool, Danny."

He snickered but didn't say anything, then thrust the cue and tapped the ball, knocking it into the left corner. "Damn," he hissed. "So close."

"Mmhm, we'll see," you taunted, taking your own position over the table, aiming for the orange number 5, though the cue ball really wasn't set in your favor. Normally you almost always beat Danny in pool but you were floundering a bit today–maybe it really was the cue.

You groaned and cursed quietly when you missed your shot, knocking Danny's number 2 into the left pocket.

He laughed and placed his hand on your shoulder. "Good try, Y/N. Maybe you're not the master after all."

"Watch it, Danny," you retorted, actually becoming heated. You wanted to win–you couldn't lose your streak, and certainly not to your very own protege.

"Ooh, I like when you get angry," Danny teased back, raising his eyebrows at you. "It really gets me going."

You rolled your eyes. "Just shoot your shot, Wagner."

He snickered again and leaned over the table; when he hit the cue ball, the green 6 and the 8 ball went into the right corner pocket, and he stood triumphantly, silent as he looked to you with a smug look on his face.

Instead of throwing the pool cue like you wanted to, you calmly laid it across the pool table and started to gather the balls, cradling them in your arms, refusing to acknowledge his win. You wanted another game–Danny would give you another game, and you would win.

As you laid the rack over the balls, you felt his arms around you, turning you around; before you could protest and go back to your fuming, his mouth was on yours, impatient and rushed, and there was no time to think.

You dragged your hands through his hair, holding him in front of you as your sloppy kisses grew even more heated, your tongues meeting and retreating over and over, gently gliding your teeth along his bottom lip before you slid your tongue back into his mouth. He was holding your left cheek with one hand, his right on your waist, and he slid it up under your shirt.

Danny laughed quietly and pulled back from your mouth after you bit into his bottom lip again. "Such a sore loser," he said and slid his left hand between your legs, running the side of his fingers over you through your pants.

You did the same, running your palm over his crotch, then undoing his fly and reaching your hand underneath his boxers, stroking him, half-hard already. "Not a sore loser," you protested against the side of his neck. "I'm the one who taught you."

Danny ran his hand through your hair and urged you back, kissing you again. "What else can you teach me?"

"What do you want to learn?" you asked, nervousness and excitement dancing inside you. You'd never seen Danny like this–it must have been that the competition had stirred up flaming feelings within him too.