Fanfiction - Bruce Wayne Doesn't Wear Glasses - Dale/Saul
Title: Bruce Wayne Doesn't Wear Glasses
Author: shadowpoet89
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing(s): Saul/Big Sexy With Glasses Dale
The first time Saul sees him in glasses Dale's standing at Saul's kitchen sink, rinsing his red eyes and honestly fearing that he will never see again. He's bent over the edge of the counter, cursing Acuvue as he half listens to Saul's voice straining over the sound of the faucet, going on about some video of an invisible octopus he saw on YouTube. Over the roar of the running water Dale can hear Saul throwing out theories about aliens and the possibility of the government using invisible sea creatures to spy on foreign shores.
When he's rinsed all he can rinse, he straightens up and pulls out the spare pair of glasses that he keeps in his jacket. The frames are square and black and made of plastic, and he's had them for so long that the lenses are scratched and seem permanently smudged. Saul looks up from the open fridge, carton of milk held up to his face as he sniffs. It crashes to the floor when he catches sight of Dale, however, and they both curse when milk spills everywhere.
"What the fuck, man?" Dale says, stepping back. Milk has splashed onto his shoes, and now that he looks at it there's some nasty ass lumps in it that look like half melted cottage cheese or something.
"Dude! You scared the shit out of me! I thought you were an intruder or something!" Saul says, a little breathless. His face is even a little red. He looks at Dale accusingly as he bends down and begins to dab ineffectually at the mess on the floor with the bottom of his shirt. "The fuck is on your face, anyway?"
"My glasses?" Dale says, in a purposefully slow and mocking tone.
"Since when do you wear glasses?"
"Oh, come on. You know I wear glasses sometimes."
"News to me," Saul says.
"What, really?"
"I would have remembered you being a secret nerd, Dale," Saul says. "God, you scared the bejesus outta me."
"I do not look that different with my glasses on, dude. Shit, I bet you can't tell the difference between Clark Kent and Superman, either."
"Clark Kent's the one with the sweet ass car, right? The batmobile or whatever?" Saul lifts up his shirt, smelling the bottom of it. It's damp with spilled milk.
"That's Batman, you 'tard. Oh my god." Dale says the last part in a kind of awed whisper. He wants to believe that Saul is just fucking with him but he honestly doesn't know sometimes. "Bruce Wayne doesn't wear glasses."
"Bruce Willis doesn't wear glasses?"
"What?"
"That asshole from the Die Hard movies," Saul says. "Or, no, you mean that skinny asian dude from Enter the Dragon?"
"What? No. What the fuck are you talking about?" Dale says. "Bruce Wayne. Batman's alter ego. Batman. Fictional character."
"Whatever, man. Some of us aren't experts in all that comic book shit." Saul stands up and begins to dab at the mess with his sock covered foot. Dale offers him the nearby roll of paper towels but he waves it away. Instead, he takes off one of his shirts and crouches down to wipe at the floor with it. Okay. Dale just looks at him for a moment before shaking his head and continuing with his previously derailed train of thought.
"It doesn't take an expert to know the difference between Superman and Batman," Dale says. "It takes, like, eyes. That's it. Didn't you read comics when you were a kid?"
"Shit, man, I didn't have time for all that noise," Saul says, sounding so aloof that Dale has to wonder if he's slipping into his 'persona' without realizing it. "I had a very busy social life. Bustling."
"Really," Dale says, completely unconvinced. "Bustling."
"Yeah, man. While you were jerking off in a sock to Wonder Woman some of us were actually out, you know, having a life. With real women involved."
Dale snorts loudly. "Oh yeah right. Like you got any action in high school."
"Fuck yeah I did," Saul says, sounding distracted. He holds up the soaked shirt and, very tentatively, licks it. He grimaces, as does Dale. "Definitely gone bad," Saul mutters. Dale watches in a kind of transfixed horror. Saul continues speaking, unfazed. "Yeah, I got all kinds of ass senior year."
"What, you made it that far?" Dale says, after the nastiness of Saul licking bad milk that's been on the floor and is now on what is probably an even dirtier shirt wears off. It's taking less and less time for that to happen, for Dale to shake off whatever weird ass shit Saul is doing and he doesn't know how he feels about all the things he's becoming used to.
"I graduated, you asshole," Saul says.
"G.E.D.s don't count, man."
"Yeah, they do," Saul says. "That's why they're called equivalency tests. Because they're equal. And it doesn't matter because that's not even what I'm talking about. I did graduate. I was tenth in my class, fuck you very much."
Dale pauses at that. "Really?"
"Yeah, man. Don't sound so surprised," Saul says. "Just because I don't wear nerd glasses doesn't mean I'm not an intellectual."
"Uh, no," Dale says, grappling for the right words to say. "That's really cool, man."
"Thanks," Saul says, looking up at him briefly and smiling. Dale wonders, not for the first time, how the hell Saul came to be, well, Saul. He'd suggest the guy write a book one day but knowing him he'd just get frustrated and try to smoke the paper.
Saul holds up the soiled shirt. "Think I can still wear this?"
"You mean after you wash it?"
"Of course after I wash it. Why would I put on a milky shirt?"
"Stranger shit has happened," Dale says, because it's true.
"Like what?" Saul says, defensive.
Dale gives him a look that says 'do you really want me to go there, seriously, because I can.' He knows they're both probably thinking of that thing last week with the garden hose that Saul made him promise not to ever tell Red.
Saul rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to the floor, where he's still kneeling. When Dale sees him glance over at him, namely at his shoes, he fears for a moment that Saul is going to pull a Mary Magdalene or some weird shit like that and clean it for him. It takes Dale a minute to realize that he's just mentally compared himself to Jesus, complete with a split second mental image of Saul trying to use his greasy stoner hair to clean Dale's old Adidas.
What the fuck.
Shaking his head, Dale rips off a paper towel. He bends over so he can catch his foot in his hand and begins to wipe the top of his shoe.
After a few more swipes at the worn tile of the floor, Saul gets up to wring his shirt out over the sink. Dale is leaning against the counter, looking down at his shoe irritably as he shakes his foot in an effort to get rid of some of the milk still on it. When he looks up, Saul is staring at him.
"What?"
"Nothing," Saul says quickly. "That's a good look for you, that's all."
It takes Dale a moment to realize that he's probably talking about the glasses and not the milky shoes.
"You think so?" he says, distracted as he makes a face at his feet. He grabs another napkin and dabs at his shoes again. He hopes the smell will come out.
"Yeah," Saul says. "You look respectable and shit."
"Respectable," Dale repeats, not completely convinced.
"Yeah, respectable. Someone you don't want to fuck with. You know, like Samuel L. Jackson. Or Harry Potter."
Dale just looks at him.
"But also really handsome, too. Like, a clean shaven Johnny Depp. Or Tina Fey."
"Thanks," Dale says slowly, trying not to let his mind stall on the slightly wistful tone of voice Saul had used. "I don't think anyone has ever said I looked like Tina Fey before. Or a wizard. Or a black guy."
"I like to be creative with my compliments," Saul says. There's a small, proud smile on his face. Dale turns back to his shoe.
"I can see that," he says, feeling awkward. "That may be the weirdest compliment I've ever received, but thank you, I guess."
"You're welcome."
When Dale looks up again Saul is smiling at him, still. He starts to feel kinda weird because Saul is doing that thing he sometimes does where he looks at him for too long without saying anything. It reminds Dale of that weird pause and stare thing girls do when they want you to kiss them without having to say so. That'd be weird enough if Saul didn't also have a complete lack of self awareness when it comes to the personal space of others, or at least when it comes to Dale's, and it's just now that he realizes how close they are standing.
Clearing his throat, Dale pushes himself off of the edge of the counter and claps his hands together.
"So," he says, his voice coming out louder than he means it to. He clears his throat again and tries, this time, to speak at a volume that isn't near deafening. "That invisible octopus. Is that some crazy shit or what?"
"Nature," Saul says after a moment, as he slowly turns back to the sink. "You couldn't make that shit up."
Author: shadowpoet89
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing(s): Saul/Big Sexy With Glasses Dale
The first time Saul sees him in glasses Dale's standing at Saul's kitchen sink, rinsing his red eyes and honestly fearing that he will never see again. He's bent over the edge of the counter, cursing Acuvue as he half listens to Saul's voice straining over the sound of the faucet, going on about some video of an invisible octopus he saw on YouTube. Over the roar of the running water Dale can hear Saul throwing out theories about aliens and the possibility of the government using invisible sea creatures to spy on foreign shores.
When he's rinsed all he can rinse, he straightens up and pulls out the spare pair of glasses that he keeps in his jacket. The frames are square and black and made of plastic, and he's had them for so long that the lenses are scratched and seem permanently smudged. Saul looks up from the open fridge, carton of milk held up to his face as he sniffs. It crashes to the floor when he catches sight of Dale, however, and they both curse when milk spills everywhere.
"What the fuck, man?" Dale says, stepping back. Milk has splashed onto his shoes, and now that he looks at it there's some nasty ass lumps in it that look like half melted cottage cheese or something.
"Dude! You scared the shit out of me! I thought you were an intruder or something!" Saul says, a little breathless. His face is even a little red. He looks at Dale accusingly as he bends down and begins to dab ineffectually at the mess on the floor with the bottom of his shirt. "The fuck is on your face, anyway?"
"My glasses?" Dale says, in a purposefully slow and mocking tone.
"Since when do you wear glasses?"
"Oh, come on. You know I wear glasses sometimes."
"News to me," Saul says.
"What, really?"
"I would have remembered you being a secret nerd, Dale," Saul says. "God, you scared the bejesus outta me."
"I do not look that different with my glasses on, dude. Shit, I bet you can't tell the difference between Clark Kent and Superman, either."
"Clark Kent's the one with the sweet ass car, right? The batmobile or whatever?" Saul lifts up his shirt, smelling the bottom of it. It's damp with spilled milk.
"That's Batman, you 'tard. Oh my god." Dale says the last part in a kind of awed whisper. He wants to believe that Saul is just fucking with him but he honestly doesn't know sometimes. "Bruce Wayne doesn't wear glasses."
"Bruce Willis doesn't wear glasses?"
"What?"
"That asshole from the Die Hard movies," Saul says. "Or, no, you mean that skinny asian dude from Enter the Dragon?"
"What? No. What the fuck are you talking about?" Dale says. "Bruce Wayne. Batman's alter ego. Batman. Fictional character."
"Whatever, man. Some of us aren't experts in all that comic book shit." Saul stands up and begins to dab at the mess with his sock covered foot. Dale offers him the nearby roll of paper towels but he waves it away. Instead, he takes off one of his shirts and crouches down to wipe at the floor with it. Okay. Dale just looks at him for a moment before shaking his head and continuing with his previously derailed train of thought.
"It doesn't take an expert to know the difference between Superman and Batman," Dale says. "It takes, like, eyes. That's it. Didn't you read comics when you were a kid?"
"Shit, man, I didn't have time for all that noise," Saul says, sounding so aloof that Dale has to wonder if he's slipping into his 'persona' without realizing it. "I had a very busy social life. Bustling."
"Really," Dale says, completely unconvinced. "Bustling."
"Yeah, man. While you were jerking off in a sock to Wonder Woman some of us were actually out, you know, having a life. With real women involved."
Dale snorts loudly. "Oh yeah right. Like you got any action in high school."
"Fuck yeah I did," Saul says, sounding distracted. He holds up the soaked shirt and, very tentatively, licks it. He grimaces, as does Dale. "Definitely gone bad," Saul mutters. Dale watches in a kind of transfixed horror. Saul continues speaking, unfazed. "Yeah, I got all kinds of ass senior year."
"What, you made it that far?" Dale says, after the nastiness of Saul licking bad milk that's been on the floor and is now on what is probably an even dirtier shirt wears off. It's taking less and less time for that to happen, for Dale to shake off whatever weird ass shit Saul is doing and he doesn't know how he feels about all the things he's becoming used to.
"I graduated, you asshole," Saul says.
"G.E.D.s don't count, man."
"Yeah, they do," Saul says. "That's why they're called equivalency tests. Because they're equal. And it doesn't matter because that's not even what I'm talking about. I did graduate. I was tenth in my class, fuck you very much."
Dale pauses at that. "Really?"
"Yeah, man. Don't sound so surprised," Saul says. "Just because I don't wear nerd glasses doesn't mean I'm not an intellectual."
"Uh, no," Dale says, grappling for the right words to say. "That's really cool, man."
"Thanks," Saul says, looking up at him briefly and smiling. Dale wonders, not for the first time, how the hell Saul came to be, well, Saul. He'd suggest the guy write a book one day but knowing him he'd just get frustrated and try to smoke the paper.
Saul holds up the soiled shirt. "Think I can still wear this?"
"You mean after you wash it?"
"Of course after I wash it. Why would I put on a milky shirt?"
"Stranger shit has happened," Dale says, because it's true.
"Like what?" Saul says, defensive.
Dale gives him a look that says 'do you really want me to go there, seriously, because I can.' He knows they're both probably thinking of that thing last week with the garden hose that Saul made him promise not to ever tell Red.
Saul rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to the floor, where he's still kneeling. When Dale sees him glance over at him, namely at his shoes, he fears for a moment that Saul is going to pull a Mary Magdalene or some weird shit like that and clean it for him. It takes Dale a minute to realize that he's just mentally compared himself to Jesus, complete with a split second mental image of Saul trying to use his greasy stoner hair to clean Dale's old Adidas.
What the fuck.
Shaking his head, Dale rips off a paper towel. He bends over so he can catch his foot in his hand and begins to wipe the top of his shoe.
After a few more swipes at the worn tile of the floor, Saul gets up to wring his shirt out over the sink. Dale is leaning against the counter, looking down at his shoe irritably as he shakes his foot in an effort to get rid of some of the milk still on it. When he looks up, Saul is staring at him.
"What?"
"Nothing," Saul says quickly. "That's a good look for you, that's all."
It takes Dale a moment to realize that he's probably talking about the glasses and not the milky shoes.
"You think so?" he says, distracted as he makes a face at his feet. He grabs another napkin and dabs at his shoes again. He hopes the smell will come out.
"Yeah," Saul says. "You look respectable and shit."
"Respectable," Dale repeats, not completely convinced.
"Yeah, respectable. Someone you don't want to fuck with. You know, like Samuel L. Jackson. Or Harry Potter."
Dale just looks at him.
"But also really handsome, too. Like, a clean shaven Johnny Depp. Or Tina Fey."
"Thanks," Dale says slowly, trying not to let his mind stall on the slightly wistful tone of voice Saul had used. "I don't think anyone has ever said I looked like Tina Fey before. Or a wizard. Or a black guy."
"I like to be creative with my compliments," Saul says. There's a small, proud smile on his face. Dale turns back to his shoe.
"I can see that," he says, feeling awkward. "That may be the weirdest compliment I've ever received, but thank you, I guess."
"You're welcome."
When Dale looks up again Saul is smiling at him, still. He starts to feel kinda weird because Saul is doing that thing he sometimes does where he looks at him for too long without saying anything. It reminds Dale of that weird pause and stare thing girls do when they want you to kiss them without having to say so. That'd be weird enough if Saul didn't also have a complete lack of self awareness when it comes to the personal space of others, or at least when it comes to Dale's, and it's just now that he realizes how close they are standing.
Clearing his throat, Dale pushes himself off of the edge of the counter and claps his hands together.
"So," he says, his voice coming out louder than he means it to. He clears his throat again and tries, this time, to speak at a volume that isn't near deafening. "That invisible octopus. Is that some crazy shit or what?"
"Nature," Saul says after a moment, as he slowly turns back to the sink. "You couldn't make that shit up."