Disclaimer: I don't own anything, but Daniel. Oh, how pointless these things are…

Warnings: SLASH. Boy on Boy action. Don't like it? Turn back now. Oh, and a few naughty words.

A/N: Hello all! This a bit different from what I normally write, but I hope you guys like it just as much. And yes, I did steal Daniel from "The Girl Next Door", but please forget there's a Maddie if you're a fan of that story. This is set in a sort of alternate reality where she doesn't exist, but Daniel does. Are you following me? Good. I really do hope you like this, even if it's a bit of departure from my usual style. As always, Reviews are greatly appreciated! On with the story!

Risqué

I'm obsessed and stressed with this mess
I can't think of things
To write down
To type down
And these fingertips are moving faster than these lips
So you can only imagine how jealous my mouth is

- Cute Is What We Aim For

Jack first saw him in in the small crowd during one of his sets.

His distinctive unruly mop of red ringlets, and the way his emerald green eyes hardly left the stage set him apart, and made him stand out - even from his spot on the far wall of the club.

Daniel Ryan.

That's what he said his name was, scaring the shit out of Jack when he slid onto the bar stool next to his own, and starting to yak about something or other. Jack wasn't really paying attention, he was too distracted by the way the Irish lilt to his voice formed the words coming out of his mouth.

He only realized he was staring when Daniel held out his hand to shake, and offered to be friends. Jack shook his head of his earlier thought, filing them in the back of his mind, and took Daniel's pale hand in his own.

Friends.

The next time Jack saw Daniel, he was grabbing fistful of his worn Led Zeppelin concert t-shirt, and dragging him into the cloak room of the club.

They had kept close correspondence over the months Jack had been on the road with the band. There were countless letters and e-mails that Jack kept, and treasured quietly - even when faint memories of an Irish accent haunted his dreams.

He was back in Detroit now, and Daniel was here, pushing him against the burgundy upholstered walls of the cloak room.

"I'm not gay," Jack whispered before Daniel's mouth covered his, and his hands tangled in his mass of red hair.

After they pulled apart, both gasping for breath, they agreed to stay friends. This was just a one time thing. A moment of weakness or some other lame excuse Jack's brain couldn't help concocting because Jack liked girls.

Didn't he?

He thought so, even when he found himself in Daniel's bed a few months later, spent and his skin slick with perspiration, and Daniel's body curling and cuddling against his side.

How could he excuse that?

Soon he just couldn't justify why he knew the map of Daniel's freckled skin as well as his own scar ridden body, or how he knew there was a spot on Daniel's neck that if he touched it right, it would have him whimpering with pleasure.

Jack just couldn't escape what was happening every time he found himself alone with Daniel.

And he knew it the moment Daniel whispered, "I love you," with his Irish accent, and his freckled arm wrapped tightly around his bare chest.

He was a fairy, a faggot, and everything he was always teased about, and always denied - but he was also in love.