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"...and so over the course of the day the Sandford Police Department apprehended twenty-six suspects. After due care was taken..."
Danny sighed as he pretended not to listen to Nicholas talking to the bloke from London. In the week since Danny had returned to work after being released from hospital, Nicholas had been interviewed by what seemed like an endless stream of reporters about the Neighbourhood Watch arrests, and every time Danny was disappointed by how boring the story sounded. Which really, it shouldn't have been, because it was easily the most exciting thing to have happened to Sandford since the Norman Conquest.
The problem was, Nicholas left out all the best bits, like the shootings and the car chases and Skinner skewering himself on the cathedral spire of the Model Village. Worst of all, he skipped the part where he'd ridden into town like Clint Eastwood, looking all – hero-ish. Danny thought he liked that bit best of all, and even after almost two months he still liked to replay it in his head now and then. It had helped him when he'd been lying in hospital, wondering if it wouldn't be easier to just stop fighting and let the pain end. He'd think about Nicholas sliding off that horse and chucking him the shotgun, and he'd decide he could keep fighting a little longer.
When he'd finally woken up, the first thing he'd seen had been Nicholas' face hovering over him, eyes puffy and red-rimmed and smile so wide and happy it made Danny ache in a way that had nothing to do with being shot and blown up. Danny hadn't been sure what to make of that feeling – to be fair, he'd been pretty out of it at the time – so he'd stopped thinking about it, the way he did with most things that confused him. Life was too short to clog up your days with a lot of thinking, he'd always believed.
The interviewer laughed then, and Danny shifted his attention back to the conversation over in the corner. The temporary police station was in the pub, since Roy and Mary were in jail and there was no one else to run it at the moment. While it was fine to have a roof over their heads, there wasn't a lot of privacy to be had. Luckily, there'd been only one arrest since the explosion, and the swan hadn't exactly needed the typical prison accommodations, though Danny personally thought locking it in the storage closet had been too good for it, especially when it shredded fourteen rolls of toilet paper trying to build itself a nest.
"You know, you're charmingly modest," the interviewer said, "for a hero." He was leaning close to Nicholas, and Danny frowned. There had been a lady from the Echo a couple of days ago who'd leaned close to him like that and played with her hair, and it had been pretty clear she'd wanted in his pants. But this couldn't be the same kind of –
Nicholas ducked his head and said something too low for Danny to hear, and the reporter laughed again and laid a hand on his arm.
Oh, buggering hell. Perhaps it could be the same kind of thing, at that.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"So what was all that about?" Danny asked him later, when they were making their rounds of the high street.
"What was all what about?" Nicholas asked. He smiled at Mrs. Carstairs as they walked past her bakery. She was new to the village, a widow with three kids from Devon whose husband had been killed in a freak accident with a threshing machine, and lately she'd been looking at Nicholas like he was a particularly yummy chocolate eclair. Danny would have to warn him about that one.
"The interviewer today." Danny opened his mouth to elaborate, but he didn't quite know how to start.
"You mean Geoffrey?"
Danny turned to stare at Nicholas, who was looking straight ahead as they walked, though his ears seemed to be pinker than before.
"Yeah, Geoffrey," Danny said, and his voice sounded odd even to his own ears. He bit his tongue to keep from saying anything else; Nicholas had taught him to let silences work for him when interrogating a suspect, and never to reveal as much as you knew.
"Well," Nicholas said after a few moments, "it was an interview like all the others, I suppose."
"Bit friendly, wasn't he?" Danny blurted, and shit, apparently he still needed to work on keeping his bloody mouth shut.
Nicholas pursed his lips. "I don't know what you mean," he said tightly.
Danny sighed; he hated making Nicholas upset after everything they'd been through. "Never mind," he muttered. "It's not important. Look, you want to go to the pub later?"
Nicholas' steps faltered a little. "Not tonight, Danny, alright?"
"What, you got a hot date or something?" Danny asked, poking him with an elbow. When Nicholas didn't answer right away, Danny glanced over to see that his ears were now redder than a fire engine.
"Right, well," Danny muttered, "guess I'm better at police investigations than I thought."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
He knew this was probably wrong, but he didn't care.
Unfortunately, it was also bloody cold, standing round for hours inside Mrs. Sheffield's lilac bush in the dark, waiting for Nicholas to return from his date. Not to mention all the spiders and beetles and things he had to let crawl on him. He tried not to think about it, telling himself this was what real police work was like: unpleasant and difficult and yet vitally necessary for the smooth functioning of society.
Besides, if he'd sat around in his car, Nicholas would've spotted him in an instant.
It was after ten when a car drove up the street and parked outside of Nicholas' cottage. It was unfamiliar and flashy, which meant it certainly could belong to Geoffrey. Danny squinted, trying to get a better look at what was going on inside, but it was too dark.
And then a light came on – someone was opening the passenger door. Nicholas. As Danny watched, he stopped and turned back toward the driver. There was a pause as he seemed to be listening to the other person, and then he shook his head and turned away again.
Nicholas closed the door, and the car sped off into the night. Danny let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding as Nicholas watched it go.
And then he realised he hadn't even clapped eyes on the driver because he'd been too busy staring at Nicholas. Bugger. That was shoddy police work, that was.
Suddenly, Nicholas jerked his head up and narrowed his eyes, his gaze zeroing in on the exact place where Danny was hiding in the bush. Danny went stock-still and looked away. Nicholas had told him it wasn't true that people could tell when you were watching them, but he didn't want to take any chances.
When Danny finally risked a glance in Nicholas' direction, he was gone.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Over the next few hours, Danny did a great deal of thinking, more than he had in the past few years. He tried to piece together the evidence carefully, methodically, the way Nicholas had taught him. By three in the morning, he had arrived at the following conclusions:
1. Nicholas was a giant pouf.
2. There were very few poufs in Sandford. In fact, there was only one pouf in Sandford that Danny knew of, Roger Dalton. Roger was fit and all, but he was seventy-three, and Danny wasn't sure if Nicholas was his type. Roger was pretty choosy.
3. Danny wanted Nicholas to stay in Sandford. He really, really, really wanted him to stay.
4. If Nicholas was a pouf (see point 1) and there were no eligible poufs in Sandford (see point 2), eventually point 3 would be moot, because Nicholas would move away in search of love and a proper buggering.
Danny studied his conclusions carefully, and after a couple more hours of exploring all alternatives, came up with two further points:
5. Danny already loved Nicholas.
6. It couldn't be that hard to figure out the shagging part.
Danny was pleased with his reasoning, which he felt was sound. He slept well that night, what little was left of it, and rose with firm resolve and unshakable determination.
All he had to do was become gay. Well, and it probably wouldn't hurt to become brilliant at gay sex. He'd make Nicholas so crazy for his cock he'd never want to leave Sandford, or take up with wankers named Geoffrey.
Really, for being as rusty as he was, he had this thinking thing beat.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Danny wasted no time putting his plan into action. The next day, he spent his whole lunch hour studying his new sexual orientation on the internet, and Christ, there was a bloody pile to read, and even more pictures. A lot of it didn't have much to do with what he wanted to know – he wasn't all that interested in which Hollywood star was queer, or what John Barrowman thought of – well, anything, really. But he did find enough to be going on with, and while some of it worried him – for example, blow jobs sounded a lot harder than he'd thought they were – he was determined to follow through with his plan.
As for Nicholas, he behaved oddly all day. He wasn't cold, exactly, but he was more like he'd been that first week in Sandford – far too by-the-book and officious. It was as though he'd forgotten they were mates, and that made Danny resolve to redouble his efforts.
"You lads going to the pub tonight?" Doris asked at the end of their shift.
Danny cast a glance at Nicholas, who was watching him from under his eyelashes. He felt a strange twinge in his belly before Nicholas looked away.
"I'd like to," Danny said, "but I've got – erm, something to do tonight." He glanced at Nicholas again, but Nicholas was busy rummaging in his locker.
"Oh, yeah, I just bet you do," Doris said, making a wanking motion with her right arm while elbowing Danny with the left. "Right, Sergeant Angel?"
Nicholas whirled on her, his blue eyes flashing, and Danny might have had a brief moment where he pictured him naked and looking at Danny that way. "That is a completely unprofessional comment, PC Thatcher. I'm disappointed in you." He slammed his locker shut and stormed out, leaving Danny staring after him.
"Bloody hell," Doris said, fanning herself. "I wouldn't kick him out of my bed for eating ginger nuts, that's all I can say."
"Me neither," Danny said dazedly, earning a gapemouthed stare from Doris before he turned and headed out the door.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
After another long night, this one spent on his computer reading everything he could find on gay shagging, Danny drove to Cardiff on his day off with another list stuffed in his pocket. He had a hell of a time locating the place he was looking for; jammed in between pubs and restaurants near the train station, its frosted glass window gave no indication of what was inside.
He strode into the cluttered shop projecting far more confidence than he was feeling – another tactic he'd learned from Nicholas – and plunked his list in front of the skinny lad standing behind the counter. The git frowned at him, then peered down at the paper.
"I'd like everything on that list, please," Danny said, as the salesman studied it.
"Condoms," the bloke began.
"Extra large," Danny said, pointing to the paper, "and none of that glow in the dark bollocks." He paused. "Flavours might be nice, though. If you have, say, sticky toffee pudding. Or custard cream."
"Right," the salesman said. He continued to read. "Lube."
"I'll need a couple of pints."
The salesman's head whipped up.
"At least," Danny said.
The bloke nodded. "'Anal beads, cock ring, dildos – vibrating and not – and a butt –"
"Look," Danny said, squirming, "d'you suppose I could just buy it and not – talk about it?"
The lad looked at him, then smiled. "We can do that."
"Erm," Danny said. He leaned across the counter and beckoned at the salesman, who leaned closer as well, his eyebrows raised.
"Does, erm," Danny whispered, "does any of it come with an instruction manual?"
The bloke stared at him. "Well, not exactly," he said, just as quietly. "But we do have what you might call how-to videos."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Bugger," Danny sighed, sagging back on the couch as the credits rolled on video number three.
Over the last two hours, Danny had certainly received an advanced education in the practical application of his various purchases. Unfortunately, he was even less confident than before that he could be a convert to gay shagging.
First of all, it seemed like having sex with another bloke meant you had to fuck in four different positions just to get off once, which seemed to be a good way to make your prick fall off within a year's time. Second, Danny wasn't too keen on the thought of shaving off every hair on his body, or on making those ridiculous moaning and grunting noises. Worse, the whole idea of pulling out and coming all over someone's chest or arse just wasn't on. Danny couldn't figure out why that was a requirement, but it had happened in every single film he'd watched so far.
That wasn't the bit that worried him the most, though. The worst was that he'd watched nearly two hours of gay sex, and Little Danny hadn't shown one ounce of interest in the proceedings. He was starting to think he just wasn't cut out for this, and that meant he was going to lose Nicholas forever.
Sighing, he picked up the last video and popped it in the machine, then pressed play.
And then he sat up and stared.
This video was different. First of all, one of the men looked like a normal bloke – hairy, not terribly fit, over thirty. And the second was – well, he wasn't the spitting image of Nicholas, but he was blond and had those same piercing eyes. As they started in on undressing one another, Danny couldn't help but notice the blond bloke kept staring at the other man, his gaze nearly as intense as Nicholas' yesterday in the locker room.
When they were down to their pants, they started kissing, and that was another revelation. There had been kissing in the other videos, but it hadn't been any more convincing than the fucking; neither party seemed to enjoy it much. These two acted as though they really liked kissing one another, as though they liked each other, and it was – erm, it was –
Still staring at the screen, Danny wondered what it would be like to kiss Nicholas. Of course Nicholas would be good at it – he was good at everything – but how would he kiss? Desperately, like he'd been thinking about it for a long time, or gently, the way he'd touched Danny in the hospital, holding his hand when he thought Danny was asleep? Would he get dirty after a while, lose a little bit of that iron control when Danny stroked his tongue into his mouth and hauled him in with two firm hands on his –
"By the power of Greyskull," Danny breathed, palming himself through his trousers. He was starting to get hard.
On the screen, the blond bloke took the other bloke's cock into his mouth and started sucking. He groaned around it, like it was delicious, like he couldn't get enough of it. His light blue eyes rose to the other man's face, and the man being sucked reached a hand down and caressed the blond man's cheek.
"Jesus," Danny said, tearing open his trousers and reaching a hand in to pull himself out. He closed trembling fingers around his own cock and started to stroke, imagining Nicholas looking up at him like that, like he couldn't get enough, like he'd never get enough. It took him a handful of rough, jerking pulls to come all over himself.
Panting, Danny leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes.
Change of sexual orientation sorted, he thought, feeling quietly chuffed at his achievement.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Only one problem remained: Danny had to figure out a way to spend some time alone with Nicholas and explain his plan. However, Nicholas had been so fidgety and out of sorts lately, Danny wasn't sure if he'd accept any invitations.
"Look," he said one night, after about a week of wanking and using the various toys on himself until he got hard just thinking about Nicholas, "I got the latest Fast and Furious film. What do you say we get a curry tonight and watch it?"
Nicholas shot him a glance. "I, erm, that sounds like fun, Danny, only I –"
"You what? What's your excuse this time?" Danny demanded. Sometimes the best defence truly is a good offence, he thought, which was another of Nicholas' sayings.
It worked. Nicholas stared at him for a moment, gaping like a fish, and then smiled for what seemed like the first time in ages. "I – no, certainly, I can make it. What time?"
This time it was Danny's turn to flounder about, because Nicholas' smile was – holy fuck, how had he never noticed how beautiful it was? "Erm," he managed after a few moments. "Seven?"
"Sure," Nicholas said. "I'll be there." He laid his hand on Danny's shoulder, just for a second, then let go and headed out to the car.
Danny managed two steps before he whirled about and headed for the toilet. In under a minute he had his trousers round his knees and was wanking into a piece of loo paper, fist jammed into his mouth to quiet the desperate sounds he was making.
"Christ," Danny muttered, when it was over about thirty seconds later. "This being gay thing is mental."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
By the time Nicholas arrived that evening, Danny had spent the last two hours running about like a headless chicken making everything just so. He ran out and bought Nicholas' favourite beer, only to get back and find he already had six cans. He checked the DVD five times to ensure it would play properly. When he found himself standing in front of his mirror, wondering which shirt Nicholas would like best on him and whether he'd have time to dust before he got there, he knew he was completely off his chump.
When Nicholas stepped into the house, Danny frowned at him as he walked past. "You look different."
Nicholas glanced back at him. "Oh, well, I – stopped at the barber's after work. It was time for a trim."
Danny felt his heart thud against his ribs. This gay business might not be so bad after all, he thought; after all, no bird had ever gotten her hair done before going on a date with him.
After a couple of awkward moments where they simply stood round and looked at one another, Danny pointed toward the kitchen. "Want a lager?"
"No, thank you," Nicholas said, and there was that prim and proper again. "Since you're not drinking, I really –"
"Who said I'm not drinking?" Nicholas demanded.
"Didn't the doctor tell you you should avoid alcohol while you're convalescing?"
"But I'm not convawhatevering, am I?" Danny shot back, grinning. "I'm back on active duty. Fit as a fiddle and ready for love."
Nicholas stared at him. Danny stared back.
"Why don't I just get those beers, then?" Danny muttered, turning on his heel.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"So what'd you think?" Danny asked as the credits rolled. "As good as the original?"
"Mmmm, I don't know," Nicholas said, turning toward him. "I think Vin Diesel's acting may have actually deteriorated over the years."
"But at least they still love each other," Danny said, absently. Nicholas had a spot of vindaloo sauce at the corner of his mouth, and Danny couldn't seem to stop staring at it.
"I – erm, what?" Nicholas asked, frowning. "Who still loves each other?"
Danny rolled his eyes. "Brian and Dom, of course, you numpty."
Nicholas shook his head slowly. "Were we even watching the same film?"
But Danny was warming to the topic; he'd been giving it a fair amount of thought lately, just like everything else, and while he ended up with the occasional headache, he had to say he was rather starting to enjoy thinking. "Granted, they don't love each other as much as Keanu Reeves and Patrick Swayze in Point Break, but they come bloody close."
Nicholas only stared at him. Danny took a deep breath and plunged ahead.
"Think about it. Pretend Paul Walker's a bird." Nicholas' eyes widened. "No, really. Picture him with a lovely pair of knockers, and then think about the film again. You could picture them shagging, couldn't you?"
Nicholas' eyes seemed to glaze over a little. Danny wasn't sure if this meant he was picturing it or not, so he kept on.
"Now imagine yourself as a woman," he murmured, leaning a couple of inches closer to Nicholas on the couch. "What d'you think they'd be saying about us?"
Nicholas shifted, still wide-eyed, his gaze locked on Danny's face. "That my partner needed to get out more and watch fewer crap American films?" he asked weakly.
Danny sighed. "You're usually a lot smarter than this. Guess it's up to me to do the thinking this time," he said, and took Nicholas' chin in his hand and kissed him.
"Danny!" Nicholas protested, but Danny could tell it was half-hearted. He leaned in for another kiss, and just managed to taste the vindaloo before Nicholas shoved him away.
"What – where the bloody hell did that come from?" Nicholas demanded.
"I don't want you to go back to London just for a shag," Danny explained patiently, "so I changed."
Nicholas looked at him like he'd just sprouted an extra head. "You – changed."
Danny shrugged. "I'm gay now. Or, well, probably bisexual, because I still fancy women as well, but that's alright, isn't it? I mean, I want to be with you, and I believe in being faithful, so – "
"God, Danny," Nicholas said, running a swift hand through his short hair, "you can't just – change your sexual orientation."
"Sure you can. I can wank thinking about blokes now. Well, mainly when I'm thinking about you, but I suppose that's because I l –"
Nicholas shook his head violently. "What – look, would you start from the beginning? What set this off?"
"Well, I suppose I started thinking about it when you went out with Geoffrey," he said. When Nicholas frowned in obvious confusion, he added, "you remember, that git from the city."
"What made you think I went out with him?"
"I saw him drive you home," Danny said, lifting his chin. When Nicholas narrowed his eyes at him, he said, "Well, alright, maybe I didn't positively identify him."
"No, you didn't," Nicholas sighed, "because it wasn't him."
Danny blinked. "What?"
"It wasn't him," Nicholas repeated, his voice lowering, and fuck, Danny should not find that so hot; he needed his wits about him. "I did not go out with Geoffrey, or shag him, nor did I want to shag him."
"But he wanted to, didn't he?" Danny pressed.
Muttering an oath, Nicholas sprang to his feet. "Yes, alright, yes. He asked me out; I turned him down. That has nothing to do with us, or you losing your bloody mind."
Danny stood, feeling that he was losing control of the situation but unsure how to get it back. "Well, who did drive you home that night?"
Nicholas opened his mouth, closed it again. "Brenda Carstairs," he said finally.
"Brenda Carstairs?" Danny demanded, gobsmacked. "You're shagging Brenda Carstairs, the baker?"
"No, I'm not shagging – for Christ's sake, Danny," Nicholas said, exasperated. His lips were red and a bit swollen, so Danny had a hard time concentrating on what he was saying. "Listen, alright, I'm tutoring her eldest son, Terrence. She doesn't want anyone to know he's a bit slow in maths. She trusts me to be discreet."
"She wants in your pants, you know," Danny muttered.
"Danny," Nicholas said, placing his hands on Danny's shoulders and shaking him gently, "please tell me what's going on here."
Danny frowned and looked away. "You're gonna leave Sandford because you're gay, and there's nobody here you can shag."
Nicholas closed his eyes briefly. "Listen to me. I'm not – "
"And I figured since I already love you, it wouldn't be that much to go from that to – everything." He dared a look at Nicholas, who was staring at him, slack-jawed. "I mean, I'd already die for you. And I think sex is a lot more fun than being shot and blown up."
"Danny," Nicholas said, a little desperately, Danny thought, "I'm not gay."
"It's easier than you think," Danny whispered, leaning in again. "Let me show you."
"You –" and that was the last thing Nicholas said for a while. Danny had always fancied himself a good kisser, and Nicholas seemed to agree, because by the time they came up for air Nicholas was latched onto Danny's shoulders like they were in the middle of the Channel and Danny was the only thing keeping him from drowning.
"This is completely mad," Nicholas panted. "We can't just –"
On a hunch, Danny reached down and placed his hand over Nicholas' cock, which was clearly on board with the whole turning gay thing. Nicholas groaned and pressed his flushed face into Danny's neck. Danny felt him shiver all over, and wrapped an arm around his back to support him.
"See?" Danny said, brushing his lips over Nicholas' freshly-cut hair, "told you. Easy peasy."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A short time later, Danny and Nick were lying in Danny's bed, stark bollocks naked, staring up at the ceiling in silence.
"How'd you get it all the way up there?" Danny asked, awed.
"Technically, that's your fault," Nicholas drawled.
"Hm, I suppose it is," Danny allowed. He rolled over onto his side and looked down at Nicholas, who turned his head toward him. Danny thought he looked befuddled but tentatively happy as well, not to mention a bit fucked out. It was a good look for him, he decided.
"So what do you think?" he asked, pretending to be casual but doubtless failing miserably. He'd never been all that good at pretending.
"I think you just made me come so hard I hit the ceiling," Nicholas said, and bugger, hearing Nicholas Angel say sex words was ten times more filthy than hearing a porn star say them. "It's pretty bloody hard to argue with that."
"Good," Danny said, kissing him soundly, "because I have another five quarts of lube and no one else I'd rather use it on."
Nicholas' eyes nearly popped out of his head.
"But first," Danny said, holding up a finger, "I'd really like to give you a blow job."
Nicholas flushed all over, and he bit his lip and shut his eyes as Danny ran a hand down his chest. "Yeah, I – that would be – brilliant," he managed, and then his eyes opened. "Hang on. Have you ever given one before?"
"Of course not," Danny said. Nicholas' expression turned worried.
"It's alright," Danny reassured him, kneeing his way between Nicholas' legs and leaning down to kiss the freckles at his hip, looking up to watch Nicholas' eyelids flutter closed again as he nuzzled his way across. "I'm a really quick study."