Sometimes when Dan is on a job the mark gets a Bad Feeling. Not that they ever see Dan coming until it’s too late; he’s too slick, too well-oiled for that.
(“Again!” Peter slides fluidly out of reach while Dan lands a hook on thin air, trips over his own feet trying to follow Peter’s movement.
"Again!" Peter pops out from behind a wall, pops Dan a jab in the nose that makes him see little birdies.
And Dan gets sleeker in his body, gets faster with his furor, manages to land a punch or two on Peter amdist the frustrated flurries, gets the muzzle of his gun right against Peter’s skull.
Smirks up at Peter’s calm face.
"Again!" Peter smiles.)
But sometimes intuition works against Dan so that he has to hang back and blend in, move laterally, drag out the kill until the mark’s ears stop twitching and their neck bends to graze on the grass.
This time the fucking guy is all eyes, head swiveling like a nervous deer’s. The man holds his shopping bag like a shield, as if Dan couldn’t just shoot right through it, stumbles around the throng of desperate last-minute shoppers outside of the toy store.
Dan is right in the guy’s line of sight, but the man has tunnel vision, senses the threat so sharply that he’s in panic mode, knocking into people, mumbling distracted apologies on his way to his car.
It takes the guy an hour to reassure himself he’s not being followed. An hour of doubling back and zigzagging across streets and by the time he reaches his car Dan would have killed him for free.
That’s the magic moment: Dan stumbles. Pins the asshole against his car door. Mumbles, “Excuse me.” Watches the relief pour out of the guy’s startled eyes; he’s safe, he’ll make it back alive to check in on his needy mistress, buy a fur coat and diamond necklace to pacify his nagging wife, watch the kids unwrap their expensive presents.
Dan shoots him in the guts for fun, then shoots him neatly in the forehead.
He does a little last minute shopping after he scrapes the blood and brain matter off his shoes. Doesn’t hurry because big guys like him never hurry, they eat up the sidewalk with their long legs and big feet and people move aside but never really remember Dan’s face.
He buys more ornaments for the tree, because he likes to see Pana on his toes hanging them up higher than he can reach. Eggnog, which he hates but Pana is insistent on having in the house from the day after Thanksgiving until New Years.
When he gets back to their rented place it’s all dark except for the tree weighed down with pounds and pounds of lights, the tinsel and ornaments glowing and shimmering.
Beneath the tree there’s a big pile of wrapped boxes. The things he gives to Pana over and over, the things Pana can’t keep - not the way they live, moving from place to place, chasing the marks and leaving it all behind every time.
The things Pana gives him - nothing Dan would ever buy for himself: A gadget for cooking eggs in exactly one way. A clear toaster that lets him see the toast burning while he gets distracted eating Pana’s ass. Super! Magic! Scratch Remover! that will surely put extra scratches on everything Dan owns.
The things that Dan wishes he could keep forever - but he’s too busy grabbing Pana when the bullets fly into their front door, when the call comes to hop on a plane or go underground for a while.
Pana, who knocks the rust off Dan’s heart and makes him light up as ridiculous as the Christmas tree in front of him. Who makes Dan not think of Ande’s last moment for days at a time, who takes Dan’s love and gives it back, gives it up, writhing and moaning, sucking and slurping.
Pana who lies naked and snoring on the soft throw rug in front of the tree, wrapped in a giant red bow.
Dan quietly shrugs out of his clothes, puts away his shopping before he kneels to watch Pana’s soft face, hear his breath, see his small barrel chest rise and fall. Those long lashes flutter, eyelids slowly opening.
"Dan?" Pana sits up, stretches his back in an exaggerated arch that makes his half-hard dick bounce against his rounded stomach. Pana smiles, moves into Dan’s arms as if he had always been there leaning over him. "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas." Dan wraps his arms around Pana, settles them down in front of the tree and pulls Pana up to straddle his lap.
He gives Pana slow wet kisses for Christmas, slides his hands down Pana’s back to palm his ass. Pulls away to dip his head lower, but Pana pushes against his head.
"What?" Dan ticks off the things that could possibly be stopping him from getting some post-murder ass. He’s showered, he’s shaved, he’s spent ten thousand fucking dollars on one of Pana’s gifts, and that isn’t even the good gift…
"It’s eleven in the morning," Pana informs him with a raised eyebrow.
Dan processes that information and quickly discards the nonsensical aspects. Which is all of it. “That’s nice. Let me fuck you on the rug.”
"Dan." Pana wriggles out of his arms, stands in front of the tree with folded arms and a hurt expression. "I was under the tree at six."
Dan unfolds himself to loom over Pana. “I’m here now, Pana.”
Pana holds himself away and Dan grasps his arm, pulls Pana’s face into his shoulder. “You didn’t have to take a job today,” Pana snits.
Dan blinks. He takes the job when the call comes. “I take the job when the call comes,” he says slowly. It’s not more complicated than that.
"On fuckin *Christmas*?" Pana insists. He tries to pull away but that’s never happening as long as Dan can tug him back with one hand.
Dan groans with frustration because Not This Again. ”My job is my job. Wanna fuck you n-“
"Jesus *Christ*," Pana hisses, wriggling out of Dan’s grasp somehow. Dan is left holding a big red bow while Pana kicks the presents under the tree, rips off a handful of ornaments and lobs them at Dan’s head.
Dan stands there metaphorically holding his dick while glass ornaments literally shatter against his forehead. It’s mostly the shock of discovering too late that Pana is a fucking lunatic that has him standing there allowing himself to get smacked in the face with tinsel and angels and the sharp end of a candy cane that almost gets him in the cornea.
Dan snaps out of it when the actual presents start flying.
Pana tries to make a run for it, but Dan’s legs are longer.
Dan ends up spanking Pana until his hand stings, Pana’s ass is a mess of big bright overlapping handprints and Pana is slumped sobbing on the floor between Dan’s knees.
"I’m sorry," Pana hiccups with his head resting on Dan’s lap. "But I waited for you for eight hours."
Dan feels like the math doesn’t really add up here, still feels sorry for poor Pana lying beneath the tree unopened. ”Shhh,” Dan tells Pana, petting his hair. “Don’t cry. It’s Christmas.”
"And my Daddy still took a job," Pana sniffs under his breath. "On *Christmas*."
Dan briefly considers spanking Pana some more to shut him up. Decides Pana would be too sore to fuck. “Don’t you like having a new laptop every time you fuck yours up downloading porn? Pana. Your hair products alone cost me -“
"I wanted a car…" Pana sighs. "Maybe if I was getting a car I wouldn’t be upset."
Dan presses his fingers against Pana’s mouth. ”You’re not getting a car.”
Pana’s tongue darts out, licks Dan’s fingertips. ”Still not getting one.”
"That’s O.K. Still have you." Pana hollows his cheeks, sucks Dan’s fingers in so that Dan taps his tonsils with his middle finger.
And the next thing Dan knows he’s on the floor, his spit-wet fingers thrusting up into Pana’s hot tight hole. ”So good. So good for me,” Dan tells him. ”Mine, mine, mine.” Three fingers inside Pana’s un-lubed hole and Pana’s keening and wincing when Dan presses his luck by pressing in four.
"Lube," Dan remembers. He can’t stop pumping his hand in and out though, can’t stop watching Pana throw his head back and bare his throat and nearly fall backwards if it weren’t for Dan’s arm around his waist.
Pana swallows, plucks a wrapped box from one of the scattered and smashed piles of presents on the floor.
Dan grabs it from him, tears it open with one hand and his teeth. Gets a big dollop of lube in his mouth opening the cap and spits it into his free hand, slaps it onto the skin around Pana’s hole and eases his fingers out one by one to stuff the mess of spit and lube inside him.
Pana scratches Dan’s back, locks his knees tight around Dan’s torso while Dan licks into Pana’s big open mouth. He pries Pana’s thighs open wider with his knees and now it’s four fingers bunched up inside Pana, then the tip of Dan’s thumb is almost…
"Let me…Shh. Pana, I’m here. I’m here. Let me just…"
The wide part of Dan’s hand finally presses inside. Pana screams in the staccato breathy way he does when something’s bordering on being too much..
"Fuck. Fuck. *Daddy*." Pana’s back is arched back so hard his forehead is pressed against the rug, his fingernails raking stinging trails down Dan’s hips.
Then it’s in, his whole fucking hand, Pana’s asshole dilating and pulsating and hot against his knuckles, wrapping him in satin and fucking *clinging* to his wrist like a bespoke glove. ”Fuck. Mine.”
Pana’s eye gloss over and roll back, his mouth opens slackly, spilling out incomplete little shrieks while Dan carefully makes a fist inside him. Two or three careful pumps and Pana sprays cum all over his own stomach and chest and chin, all over Dan’s face bent to kiss the skin above Pana’s heart.
Dan rides the waves of Pana’s orgasm, feels Pana’s spasming, the rolling of Pana’s walls around his hand, up his arm, through his body and Dan only has to stroke his own cock a few times before he’s coming all over Pana’s cock and stomach and face.
"Merry Christmas," Pana pants after Dan eases his hand out, falls forward onto his elbows, caging Pana in, squelching cum between their bodies.
"Merry Christmas," Dan laughs.
Pana looks away. “I know you don’t care about today. Not like I do.”
Dan hates Pana not looking at him, turns Pana’s head so they’re face to face. Kisses away the pout below him, drops kisses all over Pana’s face until his spoiled boy finally smiles for him. “I care about what you need.”
"Just need you," Pana repeats. "I broke most of the presents, anyway."
Dan shrugs. He’s already opened the only gift that counts.