The Beautiful Game: Sports Night gen
Sports Night gen fic, although you can have Dan/Casey if you squint. (Unbetaed.)
The Beautiful Game
"Okay, wait. I think I've got it."
Casey lowered his bottle, already grinning. Dan had been perched on the edge of the couch - beer dangling unnoticed from his fingers - for the past fifteen minutes now, his silence broken only by the occasional explosive noises. Casey was betting on frustration, but you could never tell with Danny.
"You've got it." He didn't bother hiding the doubt in his voice; made it more fun.
"I am a sports genius."
Casey rubbed his hand over one eye, his grin widening.
"A sports genius?"
"A sports genius, my friend. Know why?"
"'cos you think you've got it."
"Because I think I've got it."
Casey nodded slowly, thoughtfully, then raised his beer in salute.
"To Danny, the man who thinks he has it. And if I knew what it was you had, and whether or not it was contagious, I think I'd be a lot happier. Possibly even more complete as a human being."
Dan scooted back on the couch, settling himself before he clinked the neck of his bottle against Casey's.
"I am a sports genius who understands - understands, mark you - the offside rule."
It was only the love of his couch that prevented Casey from snorting beer everywhere.
"Danny?"
"Yes, Casey?" Dan's mouth was doing that thing it always did when he was smug, sort of... thinned out but curvier, and Casey was almost tempted to leave it. Almost. Not enough.
"You don't got it."
"I could have it." Hey, Casey made an effort not to think, pouting worked on Danny too.
"You don't got it, Danny, and I'll tell you why. It's a pact."
"A pact?"
"A pact we made with the English. Long before your time, grasshopper, and long before mine too so don't make any smart remarks. A pact that goes like this - they let us call our sport football on the understanding that we will never understand theirs."
"Hunh." Danny took a long, slow swallow of his beer. "I thought we let them call it football."
"Nah, they're better at this stuff than us. You remember the WWF thing, right?"
"WWE."
"Exactly."
"Well I am going to prove you wrong. Prepare yourself."
"I'm prepared."
"Are you braced?"
"Consider me braced." He thought about assuming the position, but considering he was too damn comfy to replace his beer it was likely he'd get his Manhood revoked for misplaced priorities.
"Okay. A player is considered offside if he's nearer the goal than the second nearest of the opposite team."
"Or the ball."
"Or, as you say, the ball."
Casey waited for a minute or two. When it became clear that nothing further was coming, he settled back in his seat, empty bottle swinging insouciantly from his fingers, and grinned a slow grin.
"That's it?"
Danny's triumphant grin faded a little, and a little line made itself evident between his eyebrows.
"There's more?"
"Oh, Danny." Casey shook his head slowly. "Danny, Danny, Danny. There was talk of sporting genius, here."
"I am a sports genius," Dan insisted, in a mutinous little voice, "soccer rules notwithstanding."
"And yet here we are," Casey gestured towards the TV with his offensively empty bottle, "watching a sport that you just don't understand."
"Okay." Dan was slouching against the back of the couch, now, arms folded across his chest, and was that...? Yes. A glare. Definitely a glare, aimed by turns at the TV and Casey. "Enlighten me."
He let out a disbelieving laugh.
"Enlighten - you want me to enlighten you?"
"Go ahead. You're such a hot-shot - " Dan's hand was gesturing dramatically at Casey, and he carefully leaned a little further away - "understanding soccer - guy, you tell me what it is."
"Okay," said Casey, his voice not quite steady due to the laugh that was way past threatening and well into the territory of restraining orders, "I will then."
"Good."
"Okay. First off, the goalkeeper counts."
Dan looked kind of mystified.
"Counts?"
"As a defender. So you only need one defender closer to the goal to be onside. And then there's the part where sometimes it doesn't count."
"I knew the Europeans were pansies."
"Aaw," it was the most annoying voice that Casey could muster, and Dan's frown darkened accordingly, "is Daniel bitter because he can't understand their rules?"
"One of these days I'm going to kill you."
"No you won't."
"Okay, I won't. But I'll get Natalie to steal your pants."
Casey cleared his throat and carefully got back to the subject.
"Okay, getting off the pants for a second - "
"Getting the pants off?"
"What you do in your free time is your own business, Dan, but we're talking soccer."
"You're talking soccer. I'm getting a drink."
One of the best things about Dan, Casey reflected happily, was that he just noticed stuff - like when you needed a new drink - and he dealt with it. It was possibly his favourite Dan-trait, especially when it involved beer. He twisted off the top of his new bottle and clinked it against Dan's before starting up again.
"It only counts if - " he ignored Dan's pathetic groan, judging it beneath the notice of a sports genius - "the player is, in the opinion of the referee, involved in the game."
"And just being on the field, that doesn't count, of course."
Casey held up a finger to tell Dan that if he wanted to know the offside rule - in regards to which, in the interests of accuracy, Casey thought it worth noting that he had asked - he should pipe down and let the experts speak.
It was a pretty eloquent finger, and did its work well.
"Involved in the game by interfering with play, with an opponent, or being in an advantageous position."
"Ooh," said Dan, gently swirling his beer. "Advantageous. Are you trying to impress me, Casey?"
"I don't - " said Casey, with a practised careless grin - "need to try, Danny."
He got a raised eyebrow, for that - a pair of them, even - but Dan apparently decided that a response wasn't worth delaying his beer for. It made things easier.
"Unless," he continued, leaving a slight pause for the inevitable whine, "the player received the ball from a throw-in, a goal kick, or what we like to call 'a corner'."
"It being a kick - correct me if I'm wrong, here - that comes from the corner." There was a grin on Dan's face, now. They had this weird chemistry sympathy thing. Made them great together on air, made it somehow easier for Casey to relax into a smile if Danny was. It was a thing.
"You're learning!"
"Don't patronise me."
"Don't ask the impossible."
"So we're done?"
Casey grinned wider, took another sip of beer.
"We're done." A small sigh of relief from the other side of the couch. "Except - "
"There's an except? I thought we were done with the excepts!"
"Except if the referee is Greek."
"Greek?"
"Greek. The Greeks decided not to acknowledge the offside rule in 1978, which is why you tend not to get the Greeks judging in World Cup matches."
Dan pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head tightly.
"And what was it, in 1978, that so offended the Greeks?"
"That was the year their renewed bid to make the Olympics a little more authentic spectacularly failed."
"Authentic how, exactly?"
Casey was on the receiving end of a seriously suspicious squint (he liked alliteration) and gave up all pretence at a straight face.
"Naked wrestling."
"You're screwing with me."
He found himself looking down the business end of a beer bottle, and carefully raised his hands, completely unable to suppress his laughter.
"I am quite monumentally screwing with you."
"Okay," said Dan, slowly pulling back the beer. "Okay, I can deal with that. And you know why I can deal with that?"
"Because I'm your best friend?" Casey's voice was hopeful, and paired with his most innocent in a collection of innocent smiles.
"'cos you're my best friend.
...And I'm gonna get Natalie to steal your pants."
The Beautiful Game
"Okay, wait. I think I've got it."
Casey lowered his bottle, already grinning. Dan had been perched on the edge of the couch - beer dangling unnoticed from his fingers - for the past fifteen minutes now, his silence broken only by the occasional explosive noises. Casey was betting on frustration, but you could never tell with Danny.
"You've got it." He didn't bother hiding the doubt in his voice; made it more fun.
"I am a sports genius."
Casey rubbed his hand over one eye, his grin widening.
"A sports genius?"
"A sports genius, my friend. Know why?"
"'cos you think you've got it."
"Because I think I've got it."
Casey nodded slowly, thoughtfully, then raised his beer in salute.
"To Danny, the man who thinks he has it. And if I knew what it was you had, and whether or not it was contagious, I think I'd be a lot happier. Possibly even more complete as a human being."
Dan scooted back on the couch, settling himself before he clinked the neck of his bottle against Casey's.
"I am a sports genius who understands - understands, mark you - the offside rule."
It was only the love of his couch that prevented Casey from snorting beer everywhere.
"Danny?"
"Yes, Casey?" Dan's mouth was doing that thing it always did when he was smug, sort of... thinned out but curvier, and Casey was almost tempted to leave it. Almost. Not enough.
"You don't got it."
"I could have it." Hey, Casey made an effort not to think, pouting worked on Danny too.
"You don't got it, Danny, and I'll tell you why. It's a pact."
"A pact?"
"A pact we made with the English. Long before your time, grasshopper, and long before mine too so don't make any smart remarks. A pact that goes like this - they let us call our sport football on the understanding that we will never understand theirs."
"Hunh." Danny took a long, slow swallow of his beer. "I thought we let them call it football."
"Nah, they're better at this stuff than us. You remember the WWF thing, right?"
"WWE."
"Exactly."
"Well I am going to prove you wrong. Prepare yourself."
"I'm prepared."
"Are you braced?"
"Consider me braced." He thought about assuming the position, but considering he was too damn comfy to replace his beer it was likely he'd get his Manhood revoked for misplaced priorities.
"Okay. A player is considered offside if he's nearer the goal than the second nearest of the opposite team."
"Or the ball."
"Or, as you say, the ball."
Casey waited for a minute or two. When it became clear that nothing further was coming, he settled back in his seat, empty bottle swinging insouciantly from his fingers, and grinned a slow grin.
"That's it?"
Danny's triumphant grin faded a little, and a little line made itself evident between his eyebrows.
"There's more?"
"Oh, Danny." Casey shook his head slowly. "Danny, Danny, Danny. There was talk of sporting genius, here."
"I am a sports genius," Dan insisted, in a mutinous little voice, "soccer rules notwithstanding."
"And yet here we are," Casey gestured towards the TV with his offensively empty bottle, "watching a sport that you just don't understand."
"Okay." Dan was slouching against the back of the couch, now, arms folded across his chest, and was that...? Yes. A glare. Definitely a glare, aimed by turns at the TV and Casey. "Enlighten me."
He let out a disbelieving laugh.
"Enlighten - you want me to enlighten you?"
"Go ahead. You're such a hot-shot - " Dan's hand was gesturing dramatically at Casey, and he carefully leaned a little further away - "understanding soccer - guy, you tell me what it is."
"Okay," said Casey, his voice not quite steady due to the laugh that was way past threatening and well into the territory of restraining orders, "I will then."
"Good."
"Okay. First off, the goalkeeper counts."
Dan looked kind of mystified.
"Counts?"
"As a defender. So you only need one defender closer to the goal to be onside. And then there's the part where sometimes it doesn't count."
"I knew the Europeans were pansies."
"Aaw," it was the most annoying voice that Casey could muster, and Dan's frown darkened accordingly, "is Daniel bitter because he can't understand their rules?"
"One of these days I'm going to kill you."
"No you won't."
"Okay, I won't. But I'll get Natalie to steal your pants."
Casey cleared his throat and carefully got back to the subject.
"Okay, getting off the pants for a second - "
"Getting the pants off?"
"What you do in your free time is your own business, Dan, but we're talking soccer."
"You're talking soccer. I'm getting a drink."
One of the best things about Dan, Casey reflected happily, was that he just noticed stuff - like when you needed a new drink - and he dealt with it. It was possibly his favourite Dan-trait, especially when it involved beer. He twisted off the top of his new bottle and clinked it against Dan's before starting up again.
"It only counts if - " he ignored Dan's pathetic groan, judging it beneath the notice of a sports genius - "the player is, in the opinion of the referee, involved in the game."
"And just being on the field, that doesn't count, of course."
Casey held up a finger to tell Dan that if he wanted to know the offside rule - in regards to which, in the interests of accuracy, Casey thought it worth noting that he had asked - he should pipe down and let the experts speak.
It was a pretty eloquent finger, and did its work well.
"Involved in the game by interfering with play, with an opponent, or being in an advantageous position."
"Ooh," said Dan, gently swirling his beer. "Advantageous. Are you trying to impress me, Casey?"
"I don't - " said Casey, with a practised careless grin - "need to try, Danny."
He got a raised eyebrow, for that - a pair of them, even - but Dan apparently decided that a response wasn't worth delaying his beer for. It made things easier.
"Unless," he continued, leaving a slight pause for the inevitable whine, "the player received the ball from a throw-in, a goal kick, or what we like to call 'a corner'."
"It being a kick - correct me if I'm wrong, here - that comes from the corner." There was a grin on Dan's face, now. They had this weird chemistry sympathy thing. Made them great together on air, made it somehow easier for Casey to relax into a smile if Danny was. It was a thing.
"You're learning!"
"Don't patronise me."
"Don't ask the impossible."
"So we're done?"
Casey grinned wider, took another sip of beer.
"We're done." A small sigh of relief from the other side of the couch. "Except - "
"There's an except? I thought we were done with the excepts!"
"Except if the referee is Greek."
"Greek?"
"Greek. The Greeks decided not to acknowledge the offside rule in 1978, which is why you tend not to get the Greeks judging in World Cup matches."
Dan pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head tightly.
"And what was it, in 1978, that so offended the Greeks?"
"That was the year their renewed bid to make the Olympics a little more authentic spectacularly failed."
"Authentic how, exactly?"
Casey was on the receiving end of a seriously suspicious squint (he liked alliteration) and gave up all pretence at a straight face.
"Naked wrestling."
"You're screwing with me."
He found himself looking down the business end of a beer bottle, and carefully raised his hands, completely unable to suppress his laughter.
"I am quite monumentally screwing with you."
"Okay," said Dan, slowly pulling back the beer. "Okay, I can deal with that. And you know why I can deal with that?"
"Because I'm your best friend?" Casey's voice was hopeful, and paired with his most innocent in a collection of innocent smiles.
"'cos you're my best friend.
...And I'm gonna get Natalie to steal your pants."