"Call" (Sports Night, Dan/Casey, PG)
Title: Call
Author: sparcck
Fandom: Sports Night
Pairing: Dan/Casey
Rating: PG
Summary: Dana made them come, promising it would hone their non-verbal communication skills, of which he was now more than positive he had none.
Disclaimer: They belong to the charmingly and brilliantly strung out Aaron Sorkin, and I'm still pulling for a comeback.
Note: Written in 45 minutes for the contrelamontre No Dialogue Challenge. Based on my addictive night out at the Quiet Party.
*
Call by sparcck
This is stupid.
Dan huffed out a huge breath and smiled at Dana, who did that eyebrows thing at him, stretching her eyelids in that freaky way. He knew this meant suck it up, Danny-boy.
He hated when she called him that. Even without really saying it, which, come to think of it, he thought actually made him hate it more.
This is stupid.
Casey was still on the other side of the room with that tall redhead, furiously scribbling on light blue index cards with a tiny golf pencil, and then holding them out for her to see. Her head went back with an exaggerated toss and she made a appropriate I-find-you-humorous face, without actually laughing.
He obviously was not getting Dan's telepathic messages that he was being a total asshole. Casey never really was very intuitive like that. Except that he was, with Dan anyway, until the Bad Thing happened, the Bad Kissing Thing, which had followed on the heels of the Very Drunk Thing, right after the Oh, Okay, Gay Thing. Except that now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure it was just a Oh, Okay, Casey Thing. Not that Casey drew much of a line there.
Quiet Parties, it seemed, were pretty good for two people who were not really on speaking terms, because, you know, the no talking. Dana made the rules include no written words for them, either, and Dan had always been really terrible at Pictionary.
He threw back the rest of his gin and tonic and caught Natalie's eye at the next table over, and she scowled pointedly first at him and then Casey before turning back to Jeremy with a series of efficient palm and elbow movements. Jeremy flushed bright red and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
At least someone was getting the hang of this no words thing. Because he and Casey were spectacularly bad at it.
Before joining the redhead, a block question mark seemed to be Casey's main method of communication, and Dan settled for shrugging.
Casey had frowned and raised his shoulders, palms flat in front of him. Typical beseeching Casey gesture. Dan never noticed that he always noticed Casey's hands, that he liked to talk with them a lot. Long, kind of bony fingers, and for all of Casey's physical awkwardness most of the time, he was very good at fine motor skills.
Dan felt a little burst of heat and shifted uncomfortably.
Casey shook his open palms and craned his neck forward.
Dan rolled his eyes and leaned back in the booth, scrubbing one hand over his eyes.
Casey smiled a little, his 'Come on' smile, and pointed at Dan and then at his own chest. Then he waved a hand a negligently.
Dan smiled tightly and nodded.
After which followed an excruciating five minutes while they twirled their golf pencils and tried to not-communicate silently - much more difficult than Dan would have thought. Then the redhead caught Casey's eye and he excused himself by knocking his knuckles on the table and raising one eyebrow. At least, it was the Casey McCall version of raising one eyebrow, which was actually more like raising both and tipping his head to one side to make it look like one was higher than the other.
Call, was what he was trying to say, a sharp, double rap on the table, and Dan folded, and swept his arm out expansively at the rest of the silent room.
Not the correct gesture for don't leave me here, asshole, but would he really have said that even if they were allowed?
Stupid, he projected again. Meaning she is stupid, this time, which might have been what he meant all the other times, except for when he really hated this party in general more than he hated anyone in particular.
Casey twitched his head towards him and Dan raised two fingers in salute. Casey smiled, safely on the other side of the room, and made an elaborate hand gesture at the woman, who not-laughed again and put one elegant hand on Casey's forearm, sliding her fingers around to his wrist.
Dan ground the edge of his pencil against the table.
Dana slapped her palm on the table and a bunch of people in their general vicinity looked up in surprise. One of them held up his index finger to her in mock-warning and she smiled sweetly and flipped him off.
Dan snorted. Dana flipped him off.
He signalled the waitress, not because she was standing in his line of sight to Casey, he told himself She moved towards him and, craning his neck to see around her, he couldn't find Casey anywhere. He strained his ears for some sort of Casey-noise, the change he deliberately put in his pocket before they left to piss off Dana, but there was nothing. The waitress smiled at him and he nudged his glass towards her. She picked it up, sniffed at it, scribbled something on her pad and mouthed something that Dan assumed was supposed to look like be right back. He hated mealy mouthed talkers.
He bet that redhead was a mealy mouthed talker. He bet Casey wouldn't care, not even a little bit, since he would probably never actually hear her speak.
A card was pushed across the table and he flipped it over. A question mark. He looked up and saw Casey sitting across from him, straddling a chair backwards.
Dan felt an uncomfortable pull in his chest and he hated feeling like this. Casey was probably the last person on the planet he actually felt comfortable with and now, staring at that question mark, he really hated him. He really hated Casey and that redhead and himself and that stupid question mark.
He stood suddenly, rocking the table and sending index cards scattering. He ripped the question mark in half and threw it on the table, where one side fluttered right side up, covering half of another card on which was written, in Natalie's bold scrawl, "Bathroom" and "Fuck".
Casey grabbed his arm.
Dan knocked him away.
Casey drew his eyebrows together and dug through the piles on the table, holding up the bottom half of the question mark. Dan ran his hands angrily through his hair, wishing he could just damn this stupid party and all of the stupid people in it and stupid Dana who had made them come promising it would hone their non-verbal communication skills, of which he was now more than positive he had none; he wanted to scream, he felt his heart pounding furiously in his throat, choking him.
He made a cut gesture across his throat and shook his head and tried to shuffle out of the booth, his thighs making the table sway precariously.
Casey grabbed him again, and damn, when had Casey gotten so touchy-feely. He never wanted to talk about his shit and suddenly because Dan had a problem that Casey could feel manly about they had to talk about it. Or not talk, and maybe that was the point. Well Dan didn't want anyone's pity. He shoved him back and Casey's knees caught on the edge of his chair, sending him into it sideways.
Dan held up a hand and made a slashing motion twice. Then he put a hand over his heart and backed away, turning and just barely missing running into the waitress. He steadied her, nodded towards the table, then continued on his way out.
He passed a sign that read Exiting the Quiet Zone and he thought he would feel some sort of relief, something that eased the lump in his throat. But he was standing outside in the freezing air, no jacket and no one to talk to now that he could. He closed his eyes and wished he had never looked at Casey that other night, laughing and drunk, water in his hair from running in out of the rain. He wished he hadn't suddenly seen and known what it was he felt all those other times he had looked at hit. Or if he had, that he had at least the self preservation to not do anything about it.
He felt a hand on his arm and he dropped his head. He knew it was Casey and he just couldn't face him.
Casey moved around in front of him and stood with his hand pressed over his own heart. Then he cupped both hands around Dan's head, palms pressed over his ears.
They stared at each other for half a minute, before Casey just leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Dan's, like the other night in reverse, except this time Casey's mouth was opening over his, and his tongue tasted like coke and nothing else.
Dan stood with his hands limply hanging at his sides when Casey drew back and knocked his knuckles gently to Dan's temple.
Call, he was saying, and his time Dan decided to show, and he put both hands on Casey's shoulders and pulled him back in, and it turned out Dana was right, but if it was a sharpening of non-verbal communication skills that were needed, Dan figured they could fumble through it together, just like everything else.
*
Author: sparcck
Fandom: Sports Night
Pairing: Dan/Casey
Rating: PG
Summary: Dana made them come, promising it would hone their non-verbal communication skills, of which he was now more than positive he had none.
Disclaimer: They belong to the charmingly and brilliantly strung out Aaron Sorkin, and I'm still pulling for a comeback.
Note: Written in 45 minutes for the contrelamontre No Dialogue Challenge. Based on my addictive night out at the Quiet Party.
*
Call by sparcck
This is stupid.
Dan huffed out a huge breath and smiled at Dana, who did that eyebrows thing at him, stretching her eyelids in that freaky way. He knew this meant suck it up, Danny-boy.
He hated when she called him that. Even without really saying it, which, come to think of it, he thought actually made him hate it more.
This is stupid.
Casey was still on the other side of the room with that tall redhead, furiously scribbling on light blue index cards with a tiny golf pencil, and then holding them out for her to see. Her head went back with an exaggerated toss and she made a appropriate I-find-you-humorous face, without actually laughing.
He obviously was not getting Dan's telepathic messages that he was being a total asshole. Casey never really was very intuitive like that. Except that he was, with Dan anyway, until the Bad Thing happened, the Bad Kissing Thing, which had followed on the heels of the Very Drunk Thing, right after the Oh, Okay, Gay Thing. Except that now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure it was just a Oh, Okay, Casey Thing. Not that Casey drew much of a line there.
Quiet Parties, it seemed, were pretty good for two people who were not really on speaking terms, because, you know, the no talking. Dana made the rules include no written words for them, either, and Dan had always been really terrible at Pictionary.
He threw back the rest of his gin and tonic and caught Natalie's eye at the next table over, and she scowled pointedly first at him and then Casey before turning back to Jeremy with a series of efficient palm and elbow movements. Jeremy flushed bright red and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
At least someone was getting the hang of this no words thing. Because he and Casey were spectacularly bad at it.
Before joining the redhead, a block question mark seemed to be Casey's main method of communication, and Dan settled for shrugging.
Casey had frowned and raised his shoulders, palms flat in front of him. Typical beseeching Casey gesture. Dan never noticed that he always noticed Casey's hands, that he liked to talk with them a lot. Long, kind of bony fingers, and for all of Casey's physical awkwardness most of the time, he was very good at fine motor skills.
Dan felt a little burst of heat and shifted uncomfortably.
Casey shook his open palms and craned his neck forward.
Dan rolled his eyes and leaned back in the booth, scrubbing one hand over his eyes.
Casey smiled a little, his 'Come on' smile, and pointed at Dan and then at his own chest. Then he waved a hand a negligently.
Dan smiled tightly and nodded.
After which followed an excruciating five minutes while they twirled their golf pencils and tried to not-communicate silently - much more difficult than Dan would have thought. Then the redhead caught Casey's eye and he excused himself by knocking his knuckles on the table and raising one eyebrow. At least, it was the Casey McCall version of raising one eyebrow, which was actually more like raising both and tipping his head to one side to make it look like one was higher than the other.
Call, was what he was trying to say, a sharp, double rap on the table, and Dan folded, and swept his arm out expansively at the rest of the silent room.
Not the correct gesture for don't leave me here, asshole, but would he really have said that even if they were allowed?
Stupid, he projected again. Meaning she is stupid, this time, which might have been what he meant all the other times, except for when he really hated this party in general more than he hated anyone in particular.
Casey twitched his head towards him and Dan raised two fingers in salute. Casey smiled, safely on the other side of the room, and made an elaborate hand gesture at the woman, who not-laughed again and put one elegant hand on Casey's forearm, sliding her fingers around to his wrist.
Dan ground the edge of his pencil against the table.
Dana slapped her palm on the table and a bunch of people in their general vicinity looked up in surprise. One of them held up his index finger to her in mock-warning and she smiled sweetly and flipped him off.
Dan snorted. Dana flipped him off.
He signalled the waitress, not because she was standing in his line of sight to Casey, he told himself She moved towards him and, craning his neck to see around her, he couldn't find Casey anywhere. He strained his ears for some sort of Casey-noise, the change he deliberately put in his pocket before they left to piss off Dana, but there was nothing. The waitress smiled at him and he nudged his glass towards her. She picked it up, sniffed at it, scribbled something on her pad and mouthed something that Dan assumed was supposed to look like be right back. He hated mealy mouthed talkers.
He bet that redhead was a mealy mouthed talker. He bet Casey wouldn't care, not even a little bit, since he would probably never actually hear her speak.
A card was pushed across the table and he flipped it over. A question mark. He looked up and saw Casey sitting across from him, straddling a chair backwards.
Dan felt an uncomfortable pull in his chest and he hated feeling like this. Casey was probably the last person on the planet he actually felt comfortable with and now, staring at that question mark, he really hated him. He really hated Casey and that redhead and himself and that stupid question mark.
He stood suddenly, rocking the table and sending index cards scattering. He ripped the question mark in half and threw it on the table, where one side fluttered right side up, covering half of another card on which was written, in Natalie's bold scrawl, "Bathroom" and "Fuck".
Casey grabbed his arm.
Dan knocked him away.
Casey drew his eyebrows together and dug through the piles on the table, holding up the bottom half of the question mark. Dan ran his hands angrily through his hair, wishing he could just damn this stupid party and all of the stupid people in it and stupid Dana who had made them come promising it would hone their non-verbal communication skills, of which he was now more than positive he had none; he wanted to scream, he felt his heart pounding furiously in his throat, choking him.
He made a cut gesture across his throat and shook his head and tried to shuffle out of the booth, his thighs making the table sway precariously.
Casey grabbed him again, and damn, when had Casey gotten so touchy-feely. He never wanted to talk about his shit and suddenly because Dan had a problem that Casey could feel manly about they had to talk about it. Or not talk, and maybe that was the point. Well Dan didn't want anyone's pity. He shoved him back and Casey's knees caught on the edge of his chair, sending him into it sideways.
Dan held up a hand and made a slashing motion twice. Then he put a hand over his heart and backed away, turning and just barely missing running into the waitress. He steadied her, nodded towards the table, then continued on his way out.
He passed a sign that read Exiting the Quiet Zone and he thought he would feel some sort of relief, something that eased the lump in his throat. But he was standing outside in the freezing air, no jacket and no one to talk to now that he could. He closed his eyes and wished he had never looked at Casey that other night, laughing and drunk, water in his hair from running in out of the rain. He wished he hadn't suddenly seen and known what it was he felt all those other times he had looked at hit. Or if he had, that he had at least the self preservation to not do anything about it.
He felt a hand on his arm and he dropped his head. He knew it was Casey and he just couldn't face him.
Casey moved around in front of him and stood with his hand pressed over his own heart. Then he cupped both hands around Dan's head, palms pressed over his ears.
They stared at each other for half a minute, before Casey just leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Dan's, like the other night in reverse, except this time Casey's mouth was opening over his, and his tongue tasted like coke and nothing else.
Dan stood with his hands limply hanging at his sides when Casey drew back and knocked his knuckles gently to Dan's temple.
Call, he was saying, and his time Dan decided to show, and he put both hands on Casey's shoulders and pulled him back in, and it turned out Dana was right, but if it was a sharpening of non-verbal communication skills that were needed, Dan figured they could fumble through it together, just like everything else.
*