fic: green is the new black (veep; amy/dan, r)
title: green is the new black
rating: r
characters: amy/dan
summary: It's probably the lamest thing he's ever said, and tomorrow she will never let him live this down; and tomorrow they probably will need to actually talk more instead of him finger fucking her against his door.
author's note: set post 2.06. I love these assholes so much.
For one second, Amy's worried that banging on his shitty apartment door in the middle of the night is going to end up with her on the front page of Politico or the Hill. She stares at the crooked number, courtesy of the heel of her fist, and thinks it over. After the disaster dinner at the restaurant where too much time had been spent confiscating phones from too stupid DC'rs, Dan had surfaced back through her mind. Dan and his actions all night. Dan and his stupid face. Dan and his death glare. Dan and his bottle of liquor. Also the image of what looked too much like the Veep and her ex making out on the street. But mostly Dan.
She squints at the black number, sneering at its half-cocknedness. Politico can go fuck themselves.
"Dan," she bangs her fist on the door again. "I know you're in there. I saw your dickface in the window from the street."
The door swings open and Dan glares down at her, flicking his eyes to the right and left to see if there's anyone else out. His jacket's gone, tie loose around his neck, and his eyes are red from the booze. "Stalking me now, Brookheimer?"
Amy doesn't wait for him to invite her in. She steps forward, pushing him to the side, speaking over her shoulder. "That's rich considering you pulled a Cullen tonight."
He kicks the door close with his heel, hand fumbling to turn the lock. It's a stupid thing he does, always wanting to lock his door. "Twilight reference?"
"You're the one who said it," She says back, biting off a sneer.
He makes a scoffing noise in his throat, tossing his chin up towards the ceiling, mouth dropping open for another retort. And she knows how this will go: another five rounds of drunk tinged barbs in front of the stupid fish hanging on the wall of his foyer, standing too close together.
She sighs, a punched out noise that seems to suck everything else out of the apartment. There's the noise from the street below, a drunken yell from an idiot and the ever resent sirens and bus engines. He's not even been home long to turn on all of the lights. "Dan," she starts, shifting her hands at her side and the weight of her legs. "What the hell was tonight?"
"Well the Vice President is going to have a shit storm to deal with tomorrow. Which means that we're going to have a shit storm to deal with-"
Amy makes a strangled noise in her throat, contemplating how satisfactory it would be to smash his face against the wall. "That's not what I meant." And he knows it judging by the minute shift of his eyes to the right. "What the hell is your problem?"
"What is your problem?" He retorts back, mouth twisting as another shout comes from down on the street.
She's somehow forgotten that Dan Egan, in addition to be a dick, is also a child. Thankfully, the dick likes to remind her every change he gets; aka when he opens his mouth and noise comes out, sometimes even with just the muscles of his face.
Shaking her head, she sucks her lip in between her teeth and lets it go. She clutches the strap of her bag closer, turning on her heels. "You know what, never mind. You can just go fuck yourself."
As she touches the doorknob, intent on turning it and leaving and maybe draining a bottle of wine to kill this night, Dan growls and reaches for the back of her elbow. Actual deep throated noise that she'd thought until now was only seen in trashy romance novels. "I hate that fucking prick you were with."
Turning around, his hand sliding down her forearm, she stares at him with her mouth open and eyebrows pinched. "What? You don't even know him."
"I fucking hate him." Dan takes another step closer to her and their knees knock, her heel scraping against his floor.
"Oh my god," she says, having to lean her head back to look up at him now that he's so close and she's still so short. "Are you jealous?"
He doesn't answer her. At least not with words, because he closes his one hand around her wrist and the other cups her jaw, and then he's sucking her bottom lip between his own, mouth firm and hard against hers. She doesn't complain, even though she probably should. The door presses against her back and they're touching front to front all over now, his belt digging into her stomach, her fingers winding around his loosened tie. She pulls him closer.
"Dan," she tries to say, but it comes out too much like a moan when he bites her jaw. She'll kill him for real if he leaves a hickey. She's not got concealer to cover it and she's not making a stop at CVS on the way into work tomorrow.
"I hate him," Dan repeats again, like a goddamn fucking broken record. But his fingers are already sliding under her panties, touching her just how she likes. Her hips rise off the door, pressing into him as his thumb nail scrapes across her clit. His breath tastes of the booze from earlier, and she remembers he probably drank an entire fifth himself. She kisses him anyway, uncaring of the noises she's making.
Amy shudders through her orgasm against his apartment door, her heel thumping against the wood loud and noisy as he doesn't let up on touching her. When he finally slides his fingers from her, his eyes are red but far too clear, and the kiss he gives her is way too gentle. He's not even hard against her leg where she's only being held up by his chest and the door.
"Dan," she exhales.
He swallows, his adam's apple moving in his throat, licking his upper lip. "I just… hate him." It's probably the lamest thing he's ever said, and tomorrow she will never let him live this down; and tomorrow they probably will need to actually talk more instead of him finger fucking her against his door.
"Okay," she says instead, and doesn't move at all.
rating: r
characters: amy/dan
summary: It's probably the lamest thing he's ever said, and tomorrow she will never let him live this down; and tomorrow they probably will need to actually talk more instead of him finger fucking her against his door.
author's note: set post 2.06. I love these assholes so much.
For one second, Amy's worried that banging on his shitty apartment door in the middle of the night is going to end up with her on the front page of Politico or the Hill. She stares at the crooked number, courtesy of the heel of her fist, and thinks it over. After the disaster dinner at the restaurant where too much time had been spent confiscating phones from too stupid DC'rs, Dan had surfaced back through her mind. Dan and his actions all night. Dan and his stupid face. Dan and his death glare. Dan and his bottle of liquor. Also the image of what looked too much like the Veep and her ex making out on the street. But mostly Dan.
She squints at the black number, sneering at its half-cocknedness. Politico can go fuck themselves.
"Dan," she bangs her fist on the door again. "I know you're in there. I saw your dickface in the window from the street."
The door swings open and Dan glares down at her, flicking his eyes to the right and left to see if there's anyone else out. His jacket's gone, tie loose around his neck, and his eyes are red from the booze. "Stalking me now, Brookheimer?"
Amy doesn't wait for him to invite her in. She steps forward, pushing him to the side, speaking over her shoulder. "That's rich considering you pulled a Cullen tonight."
He kicks the door close with his heel, hand fumbling to turn the lock. It's a stupid thing he does, always wanting to lock his door. "Twilight reference?"
"You're the one who said it," She says back, biting off a sneer.
He makes a scoffing noise in his throat, tossing his chin up towards the ceiling, mouth dropping open for another retort. And she knows how this will go: another five rounds of drunk tinged barbs in front of the stupid fish hanging on the wall of his foyer, standing too close together.
She sighs, a punched out noise that seems to suck everything else out of the apartment. There's the noise from the street below, a drunken yell from an idiot and the ever resent sirens and bus engines. He's not even been home long to turn on all of the lights. "Dan," she starts, shifting her hands at her side and the weight of her legs. "What the hell was tonight?"
"Well the Vice President is going to have a shit storm to deal with tomorrow. Which means that we're going to have a shit storm to deal with-"
Amy makes a strangled noise in her throat, contemplating how satisfactory it would be to smash his face against the wall. "That's not what I meant." And he knows it judging by the minute shift of his eyes to the right. "What the hell is your problem?"
"What is your problem?" He retorts back, mouth twisting as another shout comes from down on the street.
She's somehow forgotten that Dan Egan, in addition to be a dick, is also a child. Thankfully, the dick likes to remind her every change he gets; aka when he opens his mouth and noise comes out, sometimes even with just the muscles of his face.
Shaking her head, she sucks her lip in between her teeth and lets it go. She clutches the strap of her bag closer, turning on her heels. "You know what, never mind. You can just go fuck yourself."
As she touches the doorknob, intent on turning it and leaving and maybe draining a bottle of wine to kill this night, Dan growls and reaches for the back of her elbow. Actual deep throated noise that she'd thought until now was only seen in trashy romance novels. "I hate that fucking prick you were with."
Turning around, his hand sliding down her forearm, she stares at him with her mouth open and eyebrows pinched. "What? You don't even know him."
"I fucking hate him." Dan takes another step closer to her and their knees knock, her heel scraping against his floor.
"Oh my god," she says, having to lean her head back to look up at him now that he's so close and she's still so short. "Are you jealous?"
He doesn't answer her. At least not with words, because he closes his one hand around her wrist and the other cups her jaw, and then he's sucking her bottom lip between his own, mouth firm and hard against hers. She doesn't complain, even though she probably should. The door presses against her back and they're touching front to front all over now, his belt digging into her stomach, her fingers winding around his loosened tie. She pulls him closer.
"Dan," she tries to say, but it comes out too much like a moan when he bites her jaw. She'll kill him for real if he leaves a hickey. She's not got concealer to cover it and she's not making a stop at CVS on the way into work tomorrow.
"I hate him," Dan repeats again, like a goddamn fucking broken record. But his fingers are already sliding under her panties, touching her just how she likes. Her hips rise off the door, pressing into him as his thumb nail scrapes across her clit. His breath tastes of the booze from earlier, and she remembers he probably drank an entire fifth himself. She kisses him anyway, uncaring of the noises she's making.
Amy shudders through her orgasm against his apartment door, her heel thumping against the wood loud and noisy as he doesn't let up on touching her. When he finally slides his fingers from her, his eyes are red but far too clear, and the kiss he gives her is way too gentle. He's not even hard against her leg where she's only being held up by his chest and the door.
"Dan," she exhales.
He swallows, his adam's apple moving in his throat, licking his upper lip. "I just… hate him." It's probably the lamest thing he's ever said, and tomorrow she will never let him live this down; and tomorrow they probably will need to actually talk more instead of him finger fucking her against his door.
"Okay," she says instead, and doesn't move at all.