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selvie-blue · 19 days

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Dirty Laundry

The second that Danny opens the door, he knows he’s down there. His voice wafts in on a thin trail of those fucking Camels he smokes. He freezes for the flash of a second as his hand takes a strong hold of the door, drowning out the skin tone of his knuckles in a white fire, burning tension in his fingers in all the rapid vastness of a momentary flinch. He swings the door forward while shifting his head in a wildly erratic backwards swoop. But, just before the door closes, he hears, “Hey, Danny!”

Just as he’s about to let go of the door, he catches it. His fingers in the space between the frame and the door. Then, he speaks again.

“Oh, Danny Boy!”

Danny knows he hates it when he says his name like that. Especially in the way he says boy. In that deeply Southern way. Plus, he knew it was always a vicious quip about the fact that Danny’s a redhead. That would usually be fine, but in the way he says it, it has this cruelly taunting tone.

“Oh, Daaaannny Boy!”

Danny seethes as his hand digs into the door, nearly making contact with his nails as the fingertips are squeezed up into the naturally white tips. This fucker.

“C’mon, Danny! We should have a little chat, anyway!”

While he’s talking, Danny can hear all of his cronies in the background with the cross chatter and that entertained laughter where you can picture a viciously relished look slicing into someone’s expression.

“Listen, man, I can legally be here for another month! So, why don’t you just come down? Or, ya know, if you don’t, I can make things…”

Danny swings the door open. Suddenly he sees him directly down the stairs. A cigarette pressed between his smiling lips.

“There he is!” He then holds up his cigarette while saying, “I’m putin’ it out, man, okay!? So, your laundry doesn’t smell! Isn’t that nice of me?” he says as he drops it on the concrete floor and stubs it out by smashing it with the back and forth motion of his foot.

“Or you’ll make things what, Cliff!?” Danny asks, holding the basket of clothes by his side as he stares at Cliff with this cold concentration, his eyes almost sneering.

Cliff has his hands to his hips, staring up at Danny with an open-mouthed expression and an inviting smile. While his eyes smoothly drift on the slow blink, he says, “Well we don’t need to worry about that now, do we?” in a tone that drifts on a lazily soft maliciousness. “Now that we’re friends and you’re gonna come down here and we’ll have a civilized talk… right?”

Danny arches his eyebrow and restlessly curves up his lips. “Right.” He then starts walking down the stairs, husking his body from left to right as he still holds the basket at his side. The flannel overshirt he’s got on over his plain, orange T-shirt sways as his shoes make these subtle thuds on the steps separated into wooden slats. Once Danny makes it down the stairs, he stops right in front of Cliff.

“Y’all want some alone time?” one of Cliff’s friends says followed by the others laughing.

“Nahhh,” Cliff says, not breaking eye contact with Danny. “Danny doesn’t mind…. Do you, Danny?”

Danny shrugs his head to the left. “Guess not.”

Cliff then steps to the side and bows while extending his hand to the washer and dryer which still have that white curtain over them from the renovations. “Go on, go ahead and do your laundry.”

Danny walks past Cliff as Danny stays in eye contact with him for a few more seconds before he shifts his gaze to the washer and dryer.

As Danny puts his basket of clothes down, he starts loading the washer with the laundry, Cliff says, “So, listen, man. I know what you think of me.”

“You’re saying it’s wrong? You’re saying you’ve changed, Cliff? Is this the part where you show you can actually be a good person?” Danny still loads the washer, his back to Cliff.

“Well, that word good is pretty complicated. Isn’t it, Danny?”

“It’s pretty simple to me.” He loads the detergent and fabric softener.

“Like, for instance. Was it good for you to go running around telling people about my personal business?”

“Oh, you mean the fact that you were cheating on Gale?” He closes the lid and starts up the washer, then turns to face Cliff, crossing his arms and resting his back against it. “And by ‘spreading your personal business’ are you referring to when the lawyer asked me and I was legally obligated to? The law’s pretty clear on that. You seem to have pretty loose definitions of these terms, Cliff.”

Cliff stares at Danny for a few seconds. Then looks down at the ground and laughs. He looks to all his friends and while shaking his head and pointing his thumb at Danny. “This guy.”

He looks back to Danny. There’s no longer a friendly expression. It’s dropped to a stare attempting intimidation. But Danny’s not giving in.

“Gee, Cliff. Thought you were trying to be a ‘good’ person.”

Cliff nods his head. “I, ugh, I am. And I’m gonna do you a favor, Danny.”

“What’s that?”

“I know that you aired some of my dirty laundry and all. But, I don’t want you to suffer the same fate.”

“Oh, really? How nice of you.”

Cliff curves this sly smile. His friends are now directing their attention on Danny. “I’m gonna help you with getting all of your laundry clean. Because, ugh, you’re lookin’ pretty dirty there, Danny.”

“Yeah, man, you are,” one of his friends chimes in.

“I feel pretty clean,” Danny says. “I’m not the one that has to put his conscience in the spin cycle.”

“Huh, that’s pretty funny, man,” Cliff says. “Like I said, you know I’m here for another month, right? And how that month goes depends on you.”

Danny arches his eyebrow.

“I know that you have this bad-ass confidence, which is fantastic. Really, it is,” Cliff says. “But, can that confidence carry over into moments when you’re not here? After all, you’ve got your own life. Gale may be one of your close friends, but even you can’t be available 24-7. So,” he sarcastically puts his hands up in a prayer position, “do this for me, huh?”

Danny sighs. “What is it you want me to do?” in a way that he just wants to get this over with.

“Well, ugh,” Cliff rubs his hands together while hanging his mouth open, “let’s start with your socks.”

“My socks?”

“Yeah, man. Like I said, you’re a dirty boy. You need to get clean. So why don’t you kick off those shoes and socks and put ‘em in the washer?”

Dany purses his lips. He bends down. His nostrils flare out. His eyes stay in line with Cliff. Severing this cold line of bitter silence as he unties his shoes and kicks them off. He then slides his socks off his feet. Then gets up, slides the curtain up on the washer, opens the lid and raises up his hand holding the socks and then just drops them in as if to say happy? He’s about to close the lid again when Cliff puts his hand up. “Now, now hold on there, Danny.”

Danny can feel quickfire heat thrusting through his entire body, collapsing his nerves into a forest fire. His heart flutters up for a second, as if doing a single jumping jack beneath his ribcage. He doesn’t mean to show it, but a nervous gulp of air manages to toggle his adam's apple. He tries to keep it subtle, but the lighting and lack of shadow all but put a spotlight on it. He passes it off with a genuine disguise of anger.

“You’re still kinda dirty, there,” one of his friends says.

“My point exactly, “ Cliff says, pointing to him, then looks back at Danny. His eyes move downward and starts this invasive stare that sifts back and forth on Danny’s overshirt. “You know, that flannel shirt, I’m sure, is carrying some bacteria or somethin’. There’s a lot of things floating in the air, Danny. All it takes is even a moment. I think you should throw that flannel shirt and that orange shirt in.”

Danny sighs again. He could go up there and punch Cliff right in his smug face. But, he’d rather “play nice”. Even though he doesn’t entirely trust Cliff, he does have a point in being able to use this one remaining month as leverage. So, Danny pulls down on his flannel shirt as it deepens wrinkles in the orange. One at a time, the shirt slides open on his shoulders, leaving the orange shirt left with no covering as it comes falling down his arms. He lets go of the shirt and drops it in the washer. While still coldly looking at Cliff, he inhales deeply, curving his back into it, as he lifts up his head while criss-crossing his hands, taking handfuls of his shirt, his skin is becoming exposed to the open air as it lifts up his chest. The soft muscles in his arms tensing as his nipples residing in the territories of his pectorals crop dusted with a light mist of hair coming out from the orange shadow of his shirt. The lip of the rounded collar caresses his face. It slides up one arm and as he puts his arms down, it escapes down to his other hand and he drops it in. He wants to immediately put his hands to his chest. In fact, his arms and hands feel as if they’re pre-programmed with this motion from his nerves sinking into his flesh and wanting to hide. But he doesn’t want to give them the satisfaction. He just throws his hands up, as if saying, that it?

Cliff has got his arms crossed while curving his body to one side, looking at Danny with superiority while nodding his head in approval of what he’s made Danny do. Like he’s proud of himself. Danny’s not surprised as he’s always gotten some kind of sick pleasure out of hurting or angering people. Same goes for his friends.

“I don’t know, Danny Boy. You still look a little dirty to me.”

Cliff then flashes Danny this knowing smile. What he wants Danny to do next is plainly written all over Cliff’s face. Right down to the devilish glint in his down-turned eyes as he looks at Danny with these selfish daggers.

Danny arches up his eyebrow, again. Which only expands his one eye open as both plainly look at Cliff with a kind of numbness that creates this open barrier of the appearance of steely nerves. Danny’s beefy chest moves to one side, stretching one of his pectorals. He digs his fingers into the button of his jeans until he can slip through the slit. The top of his jeans open up like small, little curtains atop the band of his underwear. The head of that zipper is brought up between his thumb and pinkie and slides it down with this deliberate motion of comfort. Almost as if he’s presenting out of rebellion. Is this what you wanna see?

The now parted open jeans are given no choice but to take modesty away from his last layer of clothing before they are made to let go of his decency as they descend. The front pouch rises up out of the jeans like a blue sunrise. One leg at a time, he steps out of them and then drops them in. This time, he catches himself actually trying to cover his front. But then he sways his arms a few times back and forth, trying to find balance in the surface of a deadened nonchalance to his body being shown like this. He clears his throat, plainly letting go of his visible nervousness as he tucks it back in the fleshed white smoothness of his very exposed skin.

Danny’s mind is projecting forward on Cliff’s still self-satisfied face. Actually imagining a movie camera that’s slowly and menacingly panning in on his expression. His friends cut the silence: “I don’t know, Cliff. Thinkin’ he’s still dirty.”

“Yeah, Cliff. You did say all of his laundry. And he’s still got one little piece of dirty clothing left.”

Danny careens his eyes as he slowly blinks, averting his gaze over to his friends, making his eyes cool and unbothered like they’re demanding territory in the slow crawl of a drive-by. But, inside, he’s trying to stare his friends down, wanting to turn his eye sockets into shotgun barrels. Really wanting to say We don’t need your input. But he remains silent. He looks back over to Cliff, still with that same dead stare. The words, though, are struggling to swim beneath his tongue: Please, Cliff. Leave it at this. You really don’t wanna see my dick swingin’, do you?

Cliff lifts up his head and purses his lips, like he’s thinking about it. Giving it consideration.

One droplet of sweat manages to accumulate at the top left of Danny’s fore-head and gains enough weight to start pacing down the side of his face. No gulps of air. No shaking. No nervously rapid eye movements. Just one drop of sweat running to hide in obliteration so it doesn’t have to stay and witness the humiliation.

“Yuuup,” Cliff says, really dragging out that word. “I think they’re right, Danny.” His friends laugh behind him while Cliff starts expanding the real estate of his smile, proclaiming a perverse pride that’s entertained by even a hint of Danny’s embarrassment. “You gotta get clean, man. Why don’t you let, ugh,” Cliff throws out a singular chuckle, “let little Danny breathe and throw those in the washer?”

His friends start wildly laughing at this. Danny digs his thumbs into the band and, still staring Cliff down, he pushes. His underwear helplessly slinks away from safety, leaving his remaining skin with nowhere to hide. The crevice between his butt cheeks surfaces, first, followed by the triangular depth between his legs, pointing an arrow to the rounded flesh of his cock. Even before his penis is fully exposed, it tumbles from beneath the lip of his underwear until it has to let go of the head. The bulbous shape of the pale redness swings like a ceiling lamp slit open in the middle. He steps out of his underwear and then drops them in. He closes the lid and slides the curtain back down on it. He then takes a few steps over to the dryer, letting his dick swing as its side profile flops upward from the side of his legs. He leans back on the dryer and puts his hands on either side of him, refusing to show weakness in modesty.

“Great job, Danny. Now, let’s continue our chat… with you standing there.. just… like… that.”

Another nervous gulp sneaks past his throat as the realization dawns on him: he’s gonna be standing here for however long this takes to wash and dry, in front of Cliff and his friends, with absolutely no clothes on, his manhood literally swinging in the wind. Just fuckin’ great.

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