Wisdom of the Fool // Jake & Danny

Chapter XI

Warnings: suggestiveness; drinking; always 18+ only!

Poor Jake is just fretting! I really do enjoy working with his character's introspection...this may not be a very sexy chapter, but I hope you enjoy ~

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They were almost out of the woods. Two more shows and the tour would be over and they would be free to fly into fall however they wished. There was still no definitive plan–or agreement–as to where they would all end up going. Jake knew that Danny had talked to Sam more about LA–as had he himself, as had Josh–but so far Sam's response to even the slightest whisper of their future move was him huffing and shutting it down. Maybe, Jake thought, if he hadn't gone off with Sam's best friend, he would be more inclined to stick together as a group, as a family. He felt like he might have damaged that.

He felt like he might have damaged Danny too, since the boy had started a sudden habit of unnecessarily berating himself after the past few shows. He'd slide offstage behind the curtain and into the dark and hang his head, muttering to himself. Jake didn't get it. Danny wasn't actually fucking up at all–they were all still jamming, doing their thing, and he looked like he was having fun up there, so why all the self-flagellation after it was over?

Between Sam's childish huffing and eye-rolling, Danny's shattered self-esteem and Josh's sudden and uncharacteristic refusal to address either one, Jake had just about had it. He grabbed the drummer's arm after the latest adrenaline-pumping, sweat-dripping show, the third to last, and yanked him off to the side to an even darker space, a wooden beam clunking behind his back as he banged himself against it.

"Danny, what the hell?" he choked out, voice hoarse not from singing but from the previous night's activities, which involved him sucking Danny down as far as he could for as long as he could while the drummer groaned and cursed so loud that he probably woke up whoever was sleeping in the hotel room next to them.

Danny looked like Jake had just smacked him. "What?" he bleated, tugging his arm out of his grasp then, apparently thinking better of it, he reached down and gently clasped their hands together.

Jake's heart was still racing from the show, his blood pumping hot and wild. He let out a heavy sigh and squeezed Danny's hand. "I can't take it anymore, man. Stop beating yourself up for nothing. What the hell do you think you did out there?"

"During 'Safari–'"

"I was watching–and listening–during 'Safari.' You did not."

Danny pouted but his body relaxed a bit, as did his shadowed face. "I thought–"

For the love of God, Jake thought, and lunged forward to plant a sweaty, mismatched kiss on Danny's mouth. It was brief, just long enough for both of them to listen to the still-clamoring crowd beyond the curtains and the stage and for Danny to give a pleased hum against Jake's lips.

"You're so fucking good. Do you even know how good you are?" Jake asked, peeling himself away from Danny's sweaty, bare front. He laughed a little then, shaking his head. "No, clearly not. I'm going to have to remind you, I suppose." Suddenly serious as he remembered that Danny's insecurities must be at least partially his doing somehow, he added, "I don't want you to suddenly start doubting yourself. You're in this for the long haul, Danny. We all are. And you–" he pressed two fingertips against the drummer's chest. "Are not going anywhere. Okay?"

Danny seemed, unfortunately and surprisingly, unfazed by Jake's attempt at reassurance. "Time's running out. What are we going to do when we go back home?"

"Figure it out," Jake replied, willing himself to believe it as much as he could will Danny to as well. He was starting to wonder why it was such a big deal anyway–they might as well stay in fucking Frankenmuth at this rate.