Temporarily Gay pt.6
As promised, a doble chapter today! Im glad i was able to get it done this quickly
Pt. 5 Masterlist Pt.7
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The minutes until six o'clock seemed to stretch and contract with a cruel, elastic agony. Wes's stomach was a tangled mess of nerves, trying to tie itself into a knot that would impress even the world's greatest boy scout. This was it. The moment of truth.
He frantically straightened a cushion on the couch for the third time, his movements jerky with nervous energy. "Okay, remember," he hissed, more to himself than to Danny. "Library meet-cute. A year. You're patient and understanding and—"
"—and I love your passionate, investigative spirit, even if it means you leave highlighters all over our study," Danny finished, his voice a study in flat calm. He didn't look up from where he was meticulously aligning the coffee machine with the knife block. "We've been over this, Weston. I know how to keep a façade"
Wes glanced over at him. Danny leaned against the kitchen counter, looking infuriatingly relaxed, as if he didn't have a care in the world. How could he be so calm? Did he not understand the monumental weight of the lie they were about to live? The sheer number of ways this could catastrophically explode in their faces? Or was he just that good of a pretender? The thought was not comforting.
The sharp, deafeningly loud buzz of the doorbell from the front door shattered the tense silence like a physical blow.
They both froze.
Wes felt all the blood drain from his face. His eyes, wide with panic, shot to Danny.
Danny, however, simply took a slow, deep breath. The mask of casual indifference settled over his features so completely it was terrifying. He pushed off the doorframe and gave Wes a look that was both a question and a command.
Showtime.
Wes swallowed hard, his throat desert-dry, and moved to answer the door. His hand hovered over the knob. He pulled it open.
Wally West stood on the front mat, a brilliant, easy grin already spread across his face. He looked exactly like Wes remembered, only more—brighter, louder, a burst of kinetic energy contained in human form.
"Little bro!" Wally exclaimed, his voice booming with big-brother affection. He didn't hesitate, stepping forward and pulling a stiff Wes into a tight, back-thumping hug. "Thanks for letting us crash here. You're a lifesaver." He pulled back, his eyes already scanning the apartment behind Wes. "Where is he? I've been telling these guys about him for months!"
Before Wes could even stutter a response, Wally was already moving past him, a red-haired blur making a beeline for Danny, who had adopted a carefully crafted pose of casual welcome by the kitchen counter.
Wes's attention was pulled back to the doorway as the rest of Wally's friends filed in. They weren't a suspicious, intimidating unit that came in already noticing every little detail of them being a farce; they were… just a group of guys following their friend into his brother's apartment. It was kind of underwhelming to be honest, but that didn’t take Wes' nerves away, he was still halfway shitting his pants.
Trying to act normal, Wes turned to his brother's friends and put on a welcoming smile. A tall “I’m, uh, Wes, nice to finally meet you” He said still nervous but at least a bit more relaxed, taking in his brothers friends appearances.
First, a broad-shouldered man with a red bandana, who gave a short, friendly nod. "The name's Roy. Good to finally meet you, man. Wally wouldn't shut up about this trip." His glance around the room was casual, looking for a place to drop his gear, not scanning for Danny’s meticulously misplaced stuff, nor the highlathers, nor the trinkets. So far so good…
A young man with dark hair and intense eyes offered a silent, polite nod. He seemed quiet, reserved. Tim Drake's gaze was observant, but it lacked any overt suspicion. He was just taking in a new environment, just naturally analytical and passively taking in the room. Not cataloging every wrong angle in which Wes left Danny hoodie and spare keys on the coffee table.
Next was a guy with green hair and an easygoing grin. "Hey! Gar. The famous Wes! Dude, your brother’s stories are legendary." He seemed genuinely friendly and relaxed, stepping in like he’d been invited to a dozen such gatherings. Not sniffing out every surface to point out everything was just a couple of days old.
Last was a very large man who moved with a surprising quietness. He offered a small, kind smile. "Vic. Thanks for having us." His voice was a low, calm rumble. He seemed polite, almost gentle, the sheer size of him belying a calm demeanor. It was… kind of nice, helped him and his nerves to relax a bit more.
They were just… Wally's friends. Here to see their friend's brother and his boyfriend. They had no reason to be suspicious. Wally had been selling this relationship to them for a year. They aren’t here to come and disprove it, just to get on some business and meet them.
"Uh. Yeah. Hi. Come in," Wes finally managed, his voice coming out still nervous but more firm than he expected. He awkwardly stepped aside on autopilot, his eyes darting back to the kitchen—the epicenter of his own personal anxiety.
There, Wally had already descended upon Danny.
"So you're the famous Danny!" Wally was saying, pulling Danny into a hearty hug. Danny accepted it with only a micro-second of stiffness that kind of impressed Wes. Not even him could take in Wally’s hugs so easily. "Man, I feel like I know you already! Wes would not stop talking about you. The patience of a saint, this one," he turned to say to his friends while pointing good naturally at Danny.
Danny extracted himself with smooth, practiced ease and offered Wally a small, genuine-looking smile. "Well, he's worth the effort. It's nice to finally put a face to all the stories, Wally. He talks about you all the time, too."
The lie was delivered so flawlessly, so warmly, that Wes felt a dizzying wave of relief. It's working. They're buying it.
Wally beamed, clapping Danny on the shoulder. "All good things, I hope!"
"Mostly," Danny said, the smile turning playful.
Wally laughed, a loud, happy sound that filled the apartment. "I like him!" he declared, turning to grin at Wes.
Across the room, Tim Drake’s eyes flickered between Wes's nervous dementor and Danny's perfectly calibrated calm. His head tilted a fraction. It was… a little odd. Most people were nervous meeting their partner's family, but Wes looked like he was awaiting a firing squad, while Danny seemed completely at ease. A slight mismatch. But not a red flag. Just a data point. He filed it away, his assumption leaning toward standard "meet the family" jitters, amplified by Wes's apparently dramatic personality. His attention soon drifted, taking in the apartment layout out of habit.
The door was closed. The guests were inside. The performance was underway.
And the audience wasn't just believing it—they were cheering for it. The only person, besides Danny, in the room who knew it was a performance was Wes, and he was terrified he'd forget his lines.
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Wally's grin felt like it was going to split his face. This was even better than he'd imagined.
Seeing his little brother all flustered and nervous was classic Wes, but seeing him settled? In a clean apartment? With a boyfriend who seemed, from five seconds of interaction, to be incredibly solid and patient? It was everything he'd hoped for when he'd hyped this visit up to the team.
He clapped Danny on the shoulder again, feeling a genuine warmth for the guy. "I like him!" he declared, turning to grin at Wes, who still looked like a deer in the headlights. Yep, classic Wes. Probably worried we're going to embarrass him. He made a mental note to tone down the brotherly teasing. A little. Maybe.
His eyes scanned the apartment as the rest of the Titans filed in. It was nice. Really nice. Clean, but actually lived-in. He saw the astronomy books mixed in with Wes's journalism texts on the shelf, the space-themed blanket tossed over the couch arm, the two coffee mugs on the counter. All the little signs of a shared life he’d been so hoping to see. A little thrill went through him. His notoriously obsessive, chaos-magnet little brother had built a home. He’d been bragging about it for a year, and it was actually true.
He watched as Roy gave Wes a friendly clap on the arm that nearly sent the poor guy stumbling, and as Garfield immediately started chatting his ear off about the coolest local spots for food. Wes looked overwhelmed, but in a good way. In a "my big brother's cool friends are visiting and I might implode from social anxiety" way that was just so Wes.
Then, his gaze drifted to Danny, who was now quietly asking Vic something about the drive. Danny was calm, steady. A good anchor for his high-strung brother. Wally felt a surge of gratitude. Wes had always been so intense, so laser-focused to the point of self-sabotage. To see him with someone so… unshakably calm was a revelation. This is good for him, Wally thought, his chest swelling with a protective, proud affection for both of them. This is really, really good for him.
He didn't see the undercurrent of sheer terror in Wes's eyes, only endearing nervousness. He didn't see Danny's calm as a meticulously constructed performance, but as innate stability. He saw the chore wheel on the fridge and thought, Aww, they have a system, not, This was fabricated six hours ago.
To Wally West, the scene was perfect. The story he'd been telling for a year was unfolding exactly as promised, and it was a better ending than he could have written for his brother himself. He was just happy to be here, to finally see it.
The only thing that gave him a tiny, fleeting pause was the way Tim was quietly observing everything, his head tilted like he was working on a particularly interesting puzzle. But that was just Tim. He probably already had the blueprints to the building memorized and was calculating the tensile strength of the couch springs. Wally shrugged it off. Detective mode was just his default setting. He was probably just impressed by the organization.
"Alright!" Wally announced, clapping his hands together and rubbing them with gusto. "Tour time! I want to see this famous study you two nerds work in. And then, we are ordering the entire menu from the best pizza place in Amity Park. My treat. You've been holding out on me, little bro!"
He slung an arm around Wes's shoulders, feeling him tense up like a drawn bowstring, and gave him a reassuring squeeze. "Relax," he murmured, just for his brother's ears. "They already love you. And I think he's great." He nodded toward Danny.
This was going to be a great visit.
"Alright!" Wally announced, clapping his hands together and rubbing them with gusto. "Tour time! I want to see this famous study you two nerds work in. And then, we are ordering the entire menu from the best pizza place in Amity Park. My treat. You've been holding out on me, little bro!"
He slung an arm around Wes's shoulders, feeling him tense up like a drawn bowstring, and gave him a reassuring squeeze. "Relax," he murmured, just for his brother's ears. "They already love you. And I think he's great." He nodded toward Danny.
This was going to be a great visit.
Wes's mind, however, was screaming. The tour. The study. The bed. He shot a panicked look at Danny, who met his gaze with a microscopic, almost imperceptible nod. I've got this.
"Right! The tour!" Wes said, his voice an octave too high. He gently extricated himself from Wally's arm. "Okay, so, this is the living room. Obviously." He gestured wildly around the space they were already in.
"Fascinating," Roy deadpanned, a smirk playing on his lips as he leaned against the doorframe.
Wes ignored him, moving down the hall like a man leading people away from a crime scene. "And this," he said, pushing open the door to the former guest room, "is our study."
The room was perfectly staged. Two desks were pushed together, one neat and organized (Wes's), the other looking like a paper-and-textbook avalanche had hit it (Danny's). Books on journalism and astrophysics were intermingled on the shelves. A half-finished mug of cold coffee sat beside a laptop covered in NASA stickers.
Wally whistled, impressed. "Look at you two. A regular power couple. And you've even got a nap station for all-nighters!" He pointed to the neatly made bed with the throw blanket.
Danny, who had followed the group silently, spoke up from the doorway, his voice smooth. "It comes in handy. Sometimes one of us gets too deep into research and just crashes here." He didn't look at Wes. The lie was delivered with such casual ease that it sounded utterly mundane.
"Or for, you know. Cuddle breaks," Garfield added with a waggle of his eyebrows.
Wes felt his face heat up. Danny just gave a small, noncommittal shrug and a faint smile that could be interpreted as modest agreement. Wes was suddenly, intensely grateful for the "no touching" rule.
Tim, who had been silently running his fingers over the spines of the books on the shelf, paused. His eyes lingered on a particular text: Theoretical Applications of Ecto-Energy in Modern Physics. It was one of Danny's, a dense, dry tome he used for cross-referencing his own ghostly abilities. It looked wildly out of place next to Wes's copy of Investigative Journalism for the Modern Era.
Tim's finger tapped the spine once, thoughtfully, but he said nothing.
Roy shifted the weight of his heavy duffel bag from one shoulder to the other. "Nice digs. Where's a good spot to dump this? That couch looks like it's seen some quality napping." He nodded toward the living room with a grin.
"Hey, I call first dibs on the couch!" Wally said, though he didn't sound particularly serious, already heading back towards the living room. "Big brother privileges."
"You can have it, man," Vic rumbled, hefting his own bag. His tone was easy, accommodating. "I'm good with the floor. I've had worse." He offered a small, reassuring smile to Wes, as if to say don't worry about us.
Seeing the perfect opening, Danny stepped forward. "Actually, we thought the study might be best for Tim. It's quiet, has a desk." He directed this at Tim, his offer genuine and considerate. "Figured it might be better than the floor if you have work to do."
Tim looked from Danny to the desk, a flicker of genuine appreciation in his eyes. A quiet, private space was a rare luxury on team trips. "That would be... significantly better. Thank you." The offer seemed to slightly disarm his analytical intensity. A point in their favor.
"Awesome! Then it's settled!" Wally declared, clapping his hands together once from the hallway. "Roy, you can fight me for the couch later. Gar, you good with the rug? You always end up there anyway."
"Rug, floor, tree branch—you know I'm not picky," Gar said with an easy shrug, already following Wally out to sprawl on the living room floor and claim his spot.
"Perfect!" Wally beamed, his energy pulling everyone back toward the heart of the apartment. "Now that the domestic logistics are handled... Pizza. Now. I'm starving. Wes, you're on phone duty. Danny, you're on recommendation duty. What's the best place in town?"
The focus shifted, the tension in Wes's shoulders easing slightly as the immediate danger of the tour passed. They moved back into the living room, the group settling into a loose circle as Wes pulled out his phone. The first hurdle was cleared.
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The pizza boxes piled high on the coffee table, the room filled with the comfortable chaos of overlapping conversations and the smell of pepperoni.
Somewhere between arguing over the best Star Trek captain and explaining the planetarium's new projector system to a genuinely interested Vic, Wes felt his nerves finally, truly unwind. Wally was telling some exaggerated story from their childhood, and for the first time in years, Wes wasn't cringing with embarrassment—he was laughing, adding his own corrections, feeling the simple, easy joy of having his brother back.
Danny, to his surprise, fit into the rhythm of the group effortlessly, his dry wit chiming in on jokes and his knowledge of astrophysics making Gar’s questions about black holes actually comprehensible. They’d ended up seated together on the couch, Danny’s leg a warm, solid line against his from knee to ankle, a modest but convincing point of contact. When Roy made a joke about newlyweds, Wes, feeling bold and flushed with camaraderie, nudged Danny’s shoulder and said, “Don’t mind him, he’s just low on PDA. Gets shy in front of company.”
Danny didn’t miss a beat. He turned to the group with a perfectly straight face and said, "Shy?" Danny repeated, a mischievous glint in his eye. He turned to the group with a perfectly straight face. "Last week I found a half-written poem on his desk comparing my eyes to... what was it?" He tapped his chin, pretending to think. "Ah, right. 'Two lonely event horizons, pulling him inexorably toward his doom.' He'd scribbled 'too dramatic?' in the margin."
The room burst into good-natured laughter. Wes let out a strangled groan, the memory of his overly earnest, abandoned attempt at poetry making his ears burn. He buried his face in his hands, but his shoulders were shaking with helpless laughter. It was the most embarrassed he’d ever been, and yet, surrounded by the sound of his brother’s booming laugh and the team's good-natured chuckles, he’d never felt more at ease.
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The evening wound down with yawns and stretches. The easy camaraderie of pizza and jokes settled into a contented quiet.
"Alright, I'm calling it," Roy announced, cracking his neck. "That couch is calling my name."
"Don't let it snore too loud," Gar quipped, already arranging a nest of blankets and pillows on the rug with practiced ease.
Vic gave a small, polite nod. "I'll take first shift on the floor. Goodnight, everyone. And thank you again for your hospitality." His gratitude was sincere, directed at both Wes and Danny.
Tim, already looking more at home surrounded by the quiet of the study, offered a quiet, "Night," before softly closing the door.
Wally pulled Wes into one final, crushing hug. "This was great, little bro. Really great." He sounded genuinely happy and a little sleepy. "See you in the morning."
"G'night, Wally," Wes said, his voice muffled by his brother's shirt. He felt a pang of something warm and complicated—affection, guilt, relief.
Danny offered a general, "Goodnight, everyone," to the room, receiving a chorus of tired replies in return.
Then, it was just the two of them, standing in the hallway outside Wes's bedroom door. The echo of laughter and the warmth of the group vanished, leaving a vacuum of silence that felt thick and suffocating. The curtain had fallen. The applause had faded. Now they were just two exhausted stagehands, left alone in the empty theater to stare at the props of their elaborate play.
Wes pushed the door open, and the sight that greeted them was a bizarre collision of two separate worlds. His room—once a sanctuary of his own controlled chaos—had been invaded. There, in his corner, was Danny's worn duffel bag, a dark, foreign lump on the floor. Draped over his desk chair was the familiar NASA hoodie, but it was Danny's. The air itself felt different, charged with a new, unsettling energy. The reality of their arrangement didn't just crash down on them; it settled over the room like a fine dust, altering everything.
The air between them became a tangible thing, thick and profoundly awkward. It was the silence of a truce that had not yet become peace.
Danny didn't step fully into the room. He hovered at the threshold, a ghost in his own borrowed life, his arms crossed tightly over his chest in a defensive line. His eyes performed a frantic, silent inventory of the space—the pattern on the rug, the titles on the bookshelf, the crack in the ceiling—anything to avoid landing on Wes or the singular, daunting bed.
"Right. So," Wes said, the words sounding stupid and hollow in the heavy quiet. He gestured vaguely toward the far wall like he was pointing out a landmark in a foreign country. "Bathroom's, uh, through there. If you need it. You can... go first."
"Thanks." The word was clipped, a door slammed shut on further conversation. Danny moved with a stiff efficiency to his duffel bag. He unzipped it and pulled out a pair of soft sleep pants and—Wes noticed with a sudden, arresting clarity—a thin, grey short-sleeved t-shirt. He clutched the small bundle of fabric to his chest not like pajamas, but like a shield.
An offer died on Wes's tongue. You can change in here, I don't mind. But he did mind. Or rather, he knew Danny would mind. The rigid line of Danny's shoulders, the way he was pointedly not looking at him—it was a clear boundary. Wes had agreed to respect those.
Danny hesitated for another second before turning abruptly and disappearing into the connected bathroom, closing the door with a soft but definitive click. The sound of the lock engaging was barely audible, but Wes heard it.
Now, alone, he stood there, rooted in the center of his own bedroom, listening to the faint, muffled sounds of movement from the other side of the door. He hadn't truly considered this part—the quiet, grinding intimacy of it. The logistics of undressing. The mere feet of space that would separate their sleeping bodies. The performance was one thing; this domestic vulnerability was another.
He realized, with a sudden clarity, that he'd never seen Danny in anything but long sleeves. Even now, in the comfort of what was supposed to be his own home, Danny had grabbed a t-shirt, not a tank top. It was a small, meaningless detail, but it felt significant. Another one of Danny's unspoken rules.
Wes changed quickly into his own sleep clothes, his back to the bathroom door, giving the illusion of privacy neither of them truly had. By the time the lock clicked again and Danny emerged, Wes was already under the covers on his side of the bed, pretending to be very interested in his phone.
Danny's footsteps were quiet. The bed dipped as he climbed in on the other side, keeping to the very edge. He was wearing the t-shirt. Wes didn't look, but he could see it in his periphery.
The lights were off. The darkness was absolute and smothering, a blanket over the two of them. The only sound was the syncopated rhythm of their breathing, two separate melodies failing to find a harmony.
"Night, Wes," Danny murmured into the void. His voice was quiet, a thread of sound spun from pure exhaustion.
"Night, Danny," Wes replied, his own voice barely a whisper.
They lay there in the profound silence, two strangers, each painfully aware of the other's wakefulness and staring into the darkness of the room waiting for a sleep that just, didn’t seem like it would come.
