Adult-FanFiction.org : Cartoons

Jumping
By : LadyKannah3695
Category: +1 through F > Dan Vs
Views: 1529 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dan Vs and I make no money from this fanfiction.
Chapter List
- 1-Jumping
- 1
SUMMARY: Chris contemplates his lover’s feelings for him. Chris’ POV. One-Shot. Established Relationship. [Dan/Chris]
WARNINGS: M/M, Yaoi, UST, Oral, Anal, Finger, Adultery, ETC.
AUTHOR’S NOTES: I am absolutely in love with this show. I am a big Curtis Armstrong fan and I have been since Revenge of the Nerds. I absolutely adored his voice. If I could, I would copy the Family Guy cut-away gag and swap his voice for my boyfriend’s voice. Hee hee. Now, I want everyone to know that I do NOT condone cheating/adultery in real-life and this is purely fiction. This story is really a contemplation of what is to be with a distant or angry lover and wonder how they feel about you more than it is about the strains of cheating, anyway. I realize this is probably written more “intelligently” than many see Chris, but I wanted it to feel spiritual and I think he is gullible, but a lot smarter than people think, especially his wife. Though, Chris is of course submissive! He is Dan’s bitch and everyone knows it! It’s part of the reason I love his character. Now, I like both the Chris/Elise and Dan/Hortense pairings but this pairing touches me in ways I cannot describe. This story is more angsty than I usually write, because I really dislike non-fluffy endings. The title is inspired by the line in Dan Vs. New Mexico where Elise asks Chris, “If Dan jumped off a cliff, would you?” and Chris being unable to answer.
“Jumping”

Sometimes I wonder if he really loves me at all.
We are lying in his bed in the middle of his shithole of an apartment. He has cleared his bed. I suppose this is a loving gesture, even if “clearing” means simply kicking the trash to the floor so that we don’t accidentally stab ourselves on plastic silverware or roll into a molding burger. His bed has no frame and no sheets. It is simply a stained queen-size mattress on the floor in the middle of his bedroom. I don’t ask what the stains are, I don’t really want to know anyway. He has thrown a threadbare blanket over our bodies. My feet stick out the bottom.
His fingers trail down the middle of my chest lazily. They are calloused and dirty. He doesn’t even bother to wash his hands for me. I know this. I don’t care. He doesn’t look at me. I can only see the top of his tousled raven hair and feel the brush of his goatee on my chest.
He is smaller than my wife. His compact body fits into my side. My arm is slung around his shoulder. It is moments like this that I long to wrap both my arms around him and pull him into me, squeezing him tightly. I fight the urge because I know if I show too much affection he will push me away and glare at me. His emerald eyes filling with instant fury, flashing at me beneath thick brows. I love his eyes. They are always passionate, filled with fire. He may be a pessimistic person consumed with revenge and anger, but his passion ignites mine. I think this may be why I have yet to leave him…
Suddenly, he pushes against me. Disentangling himself from my arm, he hoists himself up and looks me directly in the eyes. “Go home to your wife, Chris.” He says. His voice is a monotone. His eyes are dead. I wonder if he is hurt. I wonder if he hates to send me back home. He never lets me know his real emotions. I nod wordlessly and heave myself up from the mattress. He watches me dress in silence. We do not kiss goodbye.
I wish, just once, he asked me to stay.
“If Dan jumped off a cliff, would you?” Elise’s looks skeptical. A second ago, I was thinking about milkshakes and peanut brittle. I was upset that I was going to be eating leafy greens instead of burgers, and now I couldn’t get her words out of my head. Her perfectly plucked plum brows knit as she observes me. I stare blankly.
“Uhh,” the beginning of words form on my lips as I picture it. I am not picturing running to a cliff’s edge and grabbing Dan’s hand, hopping off of it into oblivion in a kind of fucked up Romeo and Juliet kind of way. I am imagining what I would do if Dan asked me to leave Elise. Really, leave her. Not one of his passive aggressive comments about her appearance or intelligence or the fact I never should have gotten married, but really asked me to be with him. I find myself at a loss for words.
“Chris!” her voice is shrill. I snap back to reality. I am with my wife in a gas station convenient store on our way to New Mexico to help her and my crazy best friend take revenge on the entire state. He is currently moping in the car, waiting for us to return like a small puppy with the window cracked.
“I—I mean it depends!” I stutter, trying to cover for myself. I look around, unable to meet her eyes. I just wanted to come in here and get a myriad of road trip snacks and now I feel like my life is unwinding. I feel like she can see through me. All I wanted was a milk shake, dammit!
“Don’t jump off a cliff.” Elise demands. I jump at the forcefulness of her voice. She is ordering me to stay put, telling me not to leave her. I bite my lip and try in vain to stamp down whatever mushy feelings that were rising to the surface. I want to return to car with a straight face and continue this trip as if nothing happened. I am so tired.
“I wasn’t planning on it.” I am reassuring myself more than her. I love this woman, I really do. She is beautiful and kind. She takes care of me. I know she thinks the world of me and I appreciate it more than I could ever put into words. So why can’t I get the tiny man who degrades, uses, and abuses me out of my head? Why can’t I disentangle myself from the web of fury and hatred that is Dan?
“But if Dan jumped off a cliff, you would?”
I didn’t know.
We are sitting on his couch eating burgers and watching television. I polish off my fourth double third-pounder with cheese and take a sip from my chocolate milkshake. I crumple up the wrapper and toss it on the floor into my growing pile of fast food wrappers. He doesn’t mention the mess, I doubt he would care if my trash grew into a living creature and proceeded to dance around his apartment. Actually, that would probably piss him off but only because “dancing food” is on his list of things he can’t stand.
He shoots me a furtive glance. Before I know what is happening, he is on top of me, lips crashing into mine. His initial kisses are never sweet or languid, always rough and demanding. He bites my bottom lip and I pray Elise won’t notice the bruise. His tongue runs across my lips and he forces it into my mouth, pushing between the gap in my teeth. It makes a whistling sound when he exhales and I giggle like a schoolgirl.
He ceases kissing me to shake his head, dismissively. I see the ghost of smile playing around his lips underneath his eternal frown. It is rare for him to speak when we are intimate. I wonder if it is because he doesn’t want to remind himself he is with a man. Perhaps, it is because he doesn’t want to remind himself he is with me. Or maybe, it is because he doesn’t want to remind himself that after we have sex, I will have to leave and return to my heteronormative life, leaving him alone to wallow in his perpetual hatred.
I wonder if I can make him happy.
“Dan—” I am cut off by another angry kiss. He grips my head in his hands and tips it upwards, jamming his tongue so far into my mouth I feel as if he is licking my esophagus. He straddles my lap and I feel his arousal pressing against me through his jeans. It ignites my own lust and I grip his waist. I want him so bad it hurts. I wish I knew he wanted me for more than sex and free food. I wish I knew if he loved me. He breaks the kiss momentarily to look me in the eye. It only lasts a moment and leaves me with no answers, yet I am satisfied. I feel my thoughts drift into silence as I become lost in his gaze. Once again, I am quieted by his powerful silence, merely putty in his hands.
He kisses down the line of my jaw and cements his lips to my neck, biting the soft skin. Another whistle as I exhale between the gap in my teeth. His facial hair scratches against my shoulder through the thin fabric of my shirt and his hands busy themselves with my cargo shorts. He clumsily undoes the buttons and quickly slides one hand beneath the waistband to grip my length. My eyes clench shut and I feel my pulse begin to quicken.
I feel him mouth a word into my neck. I can swear it is mine.
Elise is a capable lover. She is sweet and being with her is fun, but I always feel as if she is holding something back. Whenever we fuck, it’s always me who is taking the lead and something feels inherently wrong. It is not only that I wish it was Dan with me; it’s that I feel as if she is granting me the dominant role simply because of my gender, when it is contrary to her nature. I feel like she is itching to take control. I honestly wish she would, it might make things easier.
Dan gives me no such latitude. I have always allowed him to walk all over me and the bedroom is no different. His small stature has never dampened his ability to take control of a situation and let everyone around him know precisely what his is feeling at any given moment. He is larger than life, a towering inferno that engulfs everything around him in his bluster and rage. I am consumed by him.
“Married? You’re getting married?” his voice is incredulous. He glares at me, eyes flashing. Dan clenches his fists and grinds his teeth. I have seen him angry nearly every second of every day since I have known him, but never have I seen him like this. He is furious.
“Well,” I reason, “it’s about time I settle down, Dan.” I know that I am simply repeating the words my parents have been feeding me for the last five years, parroting them to make myself feel better. I have spent my entire life being what everyone has expected of me. The dumb jock. Since my youth, I have painstakingly placed every piece in the wall of personal façade with the utmost diligence. It was almost over, I had the final piece. The wife.
I have been dating girls on and off since I was fourteen. It was also around that same age that I kissed my best friend for the first time. I never told him how kissing him felt right. I never told him how much more I enjoyed my time with him than any of my ill-advised attempts at spin-the-bottle or any other childish kissing games. To this day, I doubt Dan knows how much I treasured my first kiss.
At sixteen, he took my virginity. It was awkward, that strange moment where kissing crosses into groping and a flurry of hormones overtake both parties beyond the point of no return. I was taken from behind in the handicap stall of a Burgerphile bathroom. It smelled like shit and burger grease and I couldn’t have been happier. I still never told him I loved him.
We continued the relationship through college. It wasn’t even a secret, really, it was almost as if it even didn’t exist at all. I dated girls, so did he (though admittedly fewer). Neither of us acknowledged what we did. We never put a name on it. We never even spoke of it. We never mentioned fidelity or relationships. I figured Dan considered me a friend with benefits, at best. Someone to use as a pawn in his nefarious schemes, buy him food, drive him around, and occasionally get his rocks off with when he really needed too. I guess I didn’t really care. I was just happy to be around him, no matter how crazy that made me.
“What’s her name?” he asks me. His eyes look through me. I couldn’t really understand his reaction. It felt like the fire inside him was dying. Usually, he was filled to the brim with the constant furl of flames swirling in an endless blaze. The man standing before me now stared at me with dead eyes, yet I could feel the emotion burning deep inside him, bubbling like lava. It was different than anger. It was pain. He was in pain. I feel my heart flutter, but I stamp it down. This was not the time to feel any feelings.
“Elise.”
Dan pulls his notebook from his back pocket and flips it open. He angrily scribbles down a few words in his atrocious handwriting. I crane my neck to see what exactly he had written about my future bride, only catching the letters “U-N-T” before he flips it closed and tucks it back in his pocket. He nods an affirmative and says matter-of-factly, “I suppose you will want me to be your best man, then?” he spits out the words with such venom I almost swallow my request.
“Y—yes. I did…” I manage to stutter. He was scaring me. In all the years I had known him, Dan had never been so compliant. So quiet. I bite my lip and wait for him to answer. He doesn’t speak and instead nods again. I want to reach out and touch him, but suddenly my phone begins to vibrate and I jump. I fish around in the many pockets of my cargo pants and extract it, flipping it open. A text from Elise greets me. I open it and scan it quickly. She needs me to come meet her to help her with some wedding preparation I could really care less about. “I am so sorry, I have to go.” I tell him. He nods without any protests. It was so unlike him I nearly texted her back that I had to stay because my best friend was deathly ill. I bite my lip and nod, heading for the door.
“Goodbye, Chris.” He whispers the words. I wasn’t sure if they were to me or to himself. I peer over my shoulder as I am leaving. Dan studies his feet. He refuses to look at me as the door clicks shut behind me.
I wish he had stopped me.
Dan is nearly always talking. Ranting is probably the better word. Yet, when he and I are fucking, he barely utters a sound. Somehow, the silence that I would usually treasure drives me to insanity. I suddenly begin to long for the voice that would usually grate on my eardrums. Soon I find myself willing to do nearly anything to earn an approving word from the smaller man sitting before me now.
In spite of that, it is in this surly silence that I find Dan most majestic.
Dan pulls my button-down shirt down my arms and forcibly tugs my tee shirt over my head. He throws it aside without ceremony. His fingernails press into my chest, raking down the soft flesh. His nails are chewed to bits, yet I can still feel sharpness as he drags the bloody stubs down my stomach. I let out a hiss. He grinds his pelvis into mine and a sigh passes between my lips. He cuts off the airflow with a fevered kiss, his tongue searching desperately in my mouth for something he cannot find.
He breaks the kiss and his shirt is off in seconds. He leans into me, pressing his chest against mine. I feel his heartbeat. His skin is hot, like handling live flame. My fingers dance over the scorching flesh, unable to stay in the same place for too long, lest I be burned. I wind my fingers in his shaggy hair. It feels soft for someone who showers so little. Dan rarely smells of anything pleasant, usually some combination of bar smoke, caffeine, and garbage. Yet, it is in moments like these that I never want to let him go.
He releases me and stands up, motioning for me to lift my legs. He tugs my pants off in one swift movement. I sit before him, naked and vulnerable and watch a grin play on his lips as he studies me. Dan knows my body well. He has felt every change it has experienced since puberty first hand. He never comments on it, positive or negative. He doesn’t have to. Dropping to his knees, Dan leans forwards and playfully squeezes the love handles that have accumulated around my hips since college. I push his hands away, blushing furiously. Even without words, he manages to make me feel insignificant and self-conscious. He pushes my legs apart and observes my cock wordlessly.
When Dan takes me into his mouth, I can no longer process thought. He enjoys teasing me. Dan knows he is capable with his tongue and he loves to use it to his advantage. In the wake of my actions, when my mind is cleared of its raging lust and I find time to reflect, I am ashamed of my weakness. I become annoyed at his games, but the moment his tongue begins its wonderful ministrations, I forget my protestations and long for him to make me his. Forever…
My hips lurch forward, attempting to feel even a bit more of his gratuitous tongue. He pushes them back down with one hand, humming his disproval. The vibrations of his mouth send a whole new wave of sensations through my body and I moan. He looks up at me through shaggy bangs, his eyes unreadable. One hand grips my shaft, pumping it roughly. Dan has never been very gentle with his affections. He is rough, hard, and fast. Yet, I can’t get enough. My body bucks upward again, begging for more. Dan pushes me back down for the second time, tsking. The soft clucking of his tongue against the head of my cock is enough to make me squeal with pleasure.
Dan’s free hand travels lower. His fingers begin pushing at the tight pucker of my anus. He is toying with me, reminding me that he is going to take me soon. His middle finger makes circles around the little hole, I shiver at the sensation. He prods my anus again slightly and I try to wiggle away from him. Dan nips the head of my cock, another wordless reminder to stay still. I wonder momentarily how he can still manage to control me even when he doesn’t speak. How, after so many years, am I still under his thumb?
Another push and I can feel the rough pads of his finger inside me. It is a strange sensation, a combination of pleasure and pain, rough and soft. I bear down to admit him a bit easier and he presses his finger entirely inside me. Dan makes circles with his tongue around the head of my cock while pumping his middle finger inside of me. I bite my lip and exhale shallowly. The pitch of air through teeth is high and piercing, like a piccolo.
I feel another finger at my entrance. I do not try to twist away from this one and instead I take a deep breath as Dan pushes it into me. He barely allows a few seconds for me to adjust to the difference in size before he increases the pace of his strokes, matching it with the speed of his tongue. I am lost in the sensation. My hands shoot forward. Controlling the urge to push him downward, I settle for wrapping my fingers in his hair, simply satisfied with being able to hold on to him. I am almost afraid I will float away.
“Dan, I—” I start to choke out the warning. He opens his eyes and looks up at me. A small, curt nod lets me know that it’s alright for me to give myself over completely to the sensation. I clench my eyes shut and feel the beginnings of my orgasm. Dan intensifies the pressure and rapidity of his fingers as I begin to cum. The feeling of pleasure quickly becomes unbearable and I can’t control the volume of my voice. I cry out his names out countless times, tugging at his hair. He grunts quietly, barely noticing the pain as he patiently rides out my release.
When I finally finish spurting into his mouth, he slides my cock from wet lips and pulls his fingers out of my rosebud. I feel like I am made of jelly. My body is a mess of nerves, trembling and sweating on a filthy couch. The lights on the television are blurry and out of focus, dancing in front of my eyes as I come down off my personal high. My chest heaves as I breathe deeply, drawing air into burning lungs. I will myself to be able to move again.
I feel Dan climbing up my body. He grips my face roughly and slams his lips into mine. Pushing his tongue back into my mouth he winds it around mine. I am assaulted with the taste of my own cum. At first, I baulk when I realize he is placing the gobs of my own lust right back into my mouth, but the grip on my chin makes it impossible for me to break the kiss. Instead, I am forced to accept the salty kiss and soon I find myself enjoying it. I am unsure if he is rejecting my taste or sharing it with me. I choose to believe the latter. His caresses become gentle, almost tender, and for a moment it feels like we are a real couple. Until he abruptly breaks the kiss and climbs off me…
Dan unzips his jeans and pushes them only slightly down his hips. He tugs his cock out and looks at me, expectantly. He is rather handsome in his own way. Pallid skin, nearly luminescent in its paleness, stretched over small, corded muscles toned from years of his terrorism. He is circumcised and rather large for someone so small, a thick seven inches sprouting from a dark, curly bush of raven pubic hair.
He motions for me to flip over. I push myself up off the couch and turn to face it. The sight of this couch is familiar to me now. I know everything about it. From the dirty, mauve fabric to the sizeable rip in the right cushion, the yellowing pillow peeking out. I know each and every stain that covers its surface. I have faced this couch many times over the years. I have gripped this grimy fabric in my hands more times than I care to remember. I look at this couch because Dan doesn’t like to look at my face when he is inside me.
I hate this fucking couch.
The rough sensation of denim on my bare thighs is slightly uncomfortable. He steers himself into me with no warning and no preparation. If I wasn’t so used to it, I would probably pull away from the pain. His hands dig possessively into my hips as he begins his thrusts. At first they are slow and powerful, leaving me worried he has punctured a hole in my bowels. They quickly become fevered and rough, haphazard and needy in their hurriedness. I clench my eyes shut. He is so hot, like taking an iron poker inside you, but I long for more.
He leans on my back. I can feel his breath as he pants, hot and quick. My erection springs back to life. Unexpectedly, I find myself wanting to cry. He is inside of me yet he feels like he is a million miles away. My body is screaming for him, but my heart is screaming louder. I know this relationship is no good for me. I know that I am driving myself insane, but when I am filled with his cock I could really care less if they lock me up in a mental ward for life it means one more second of this bliss.
I can feel Dan as he reaches the pinnacle. He becomes brutal in his thrusts, tearing his nails into my hips and ripping his teeth into my neck. So much for getting through this with no bruises. I suppose I could tell Elise I was mugged. I feel the fiery hot spurts of his seed deep within my bowels and hear, muffled against my back, his voice. It is low. Breathless and ragged, like he has not spoken in thousands of years but I feel as if I have just heard a choir of angels. He murmurs, it is indistinct but I hear it…
“Chris”
Dan hums quietly, lacing his fingers together. He places his hands behind his head and leans back against the windshield of my car, looking up at the stars. It is a chilly night, for California at least, and he is dressed in his usual tee shirt and jeans paired with a worn khaki jacket. There is soot smeared on his cheek. He smells like tacos and gasoline.
We just finished up another one of his schemes and decided to go for Mexican. I paid of course. He insisted that we didn’t eat in the restaurant, since he hated the color of the plastic seats. It was a nice night, and despite the slight chill in the air Dan insisted we pull over by the woods and eat under the stars.
It was one of those times his impulsiveness is enjoyable. I oblige him and we eat our food on the hood of my car. I can’t help but smile as he talks animatedly about the supermarket we just broke into. Despite having committed a crime myself and being worried about it, I like seeing him happy like this. He laughs when he recalls how he set fire to the food sample lady’s cart. I was sad to see the cart go, but he had given me some of those tiny sausages she was giving out before turning the whole thing into kindling. He doesn’t close his mouth while he eats, and teeny pieces of his taco spew past his lips. No cheese. Meat and shell. Naked.
I find myself entranced by his face. I love the way the muscles in his jaw move when he speak, the way each word forms on his lips. Without considering what I am doing, I reach out and brush the soot from his cheek. He stops speaking abruptly and looks at me awkwardly, his face an odd shade of crimson. “What was that?” he asks. I am thrown back to reality like a comet to earth. Lost in my personal reverie again, I treated Dan more romantically than I should have. I bite my lip and try to explain myself.
“Y—you had soot on your face.” I stutter uneasily, showing him the evidence on my fingers. He glances at it and nods his understanding. He turns back to his food without further protest. A relieved sigh escapes me.
We continue eating in a slightly awkward silence. When he finishes his food, he slides back against the windshield of the car. Dan stares at the night sky, un-obscured by the city lights and hums. It isn’t a tune, just an indistinct noise, a combination of air and sound. I chew my third burrito slowly and look at him, “What are you looking for?” I ask, cautiously.
“Shooting stars.” He says matter-of-factly. He glances at me and flashes me a crooked smile.
“Oh yeah?” I question, watching his gaze as it travels back up the horizon. He hums again, another low rumble of noise without any distinct meaning, “What are you going to wish for?” I prod him, wondering what he wants from the sky. Wondering what I really want him to tell me he wants, “Are you going to wish for all of your plans to work? Or maybe everything that pisses you off to just vanish?” I giggle to myself at the thought of Dan without anything to be angry over. Certainly, that would end up aggravating him too.
He looks back at me for a long moment. His gaze catches mine and I find myself unable to swallow properly, my burrito sticking in my throat uncomfortably. He smiles at me, a soft sad smile I have never seen him wear. He shakes his head, dismissing me.
“No,” he replies, “something more important.”
After he finishes, Dan pulls himself out of me and we clean up without speaking. He flops back on the couch without bothering to put his shirt back on. I smirk to myself, typical. I gather my clothing from around the messy apartment and proceed to get dressed. I can feel his eyes on me, watching me intensely.
I flatten out my tee shirt with a quick movement of my hand over my stomach. I really need to lose weight. He still has not stopped looking at me. I bite my lip and smile at him awkwardly. I always hate this moment. I hate saying goodbye.
I break the silence, “Well, I think I should head home.” I slip on my flip-flops and start towards the door. I feel the crippling sadness of loss begin to overtake me when suddenly, something is pulling me back. I stop in my tacks. I look down to find Dan gripping my wrist tightly. He looks up at me, saying nothing. He glares, emerald eyes glittering. Suddenly, it feels like every question I had ever asked myself has finally been answered.
“If Dan jumped off a cliff, would you?” Elise’s looks skeptical. A second ago, I was thinking about milkshakes and peanut brittle. I was upset that I was going to be eating leafy greens instead of burgers, and now I couldn’t get her words out of my head. Her perfectly plucked plum brows knit as she observes me. I stare blankly.
“Uhh,” the beginning of words form on my lips as I picture it. I am not picturing running to a cliff’s edge and grabbing Dan’s hand, hopping off of it into oblivion in a kind of fucked up Romeo and Juliet kind of way. I am imagining what I would do if Dan asked me to leave Elise. Really, leave her. Not one of his passive aggressive comments about her appearance or intelligence or the fact I never should have gotten married, but really asked me to be with him. I find myself at a loss for words.
I look back down at the shirtless man sitting on the couch, his fingers wrapped around my wrist tightly. He is an angry man with no career and no girlfriend. He lives in a shithole apartment and spends his days trapped in a cycle of insanity fueled by anger and apathy. He will surely watch the world burn someday. But I love him. I am so uncontrollably in love with this man I must be out of my mind too. I can’t imagine a day without his instability, his ranting, his crazy schemes. I meet his gaze, blinking once.
“Would you jump?”
Yes.

END
- 1
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Jumping	By : LadyKannah3695 Category: +1 through F > Dan Vs Views: 1529 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dan Vs and I make no money from this fanfiction.

Jumping