SPORTS NIGHT/RENT: Addicts
Title: Addicts
Characters/Pairing: Dan/Roger, maybe a hint of Dan/Casey
Word Count: 819
Rating: PG
Summary: Dan knows what an addict looks like...
Notes: Written because... Alex demanded it. I go to ask her one question and suddenly she's making me write my insane plotbunnies.
Disclaimer: I do not own Rent or Sports Night - those belong to Jonathan Larson and Aaron Sorkin, respectively. Yes.
Dan knows what an addict looks like. Not just the physical signs, though he recognizes those - there's something else, something in the eyes, a sort of... hunger? No, that's not right, but Danny can't find the right word either. Christ, he's a writer, he should be able to find words for anything. Then again, his inability to do so just now might have something to do with how much he's been drinking tonight - not a lot, but enough that there's a good chance he'll regret it come morning. Not that he's got much else to do, first week in New York and Casey won't go out with him this late, not and risk pissing off Lisa. Lucky for Dan, he's got no problem drinking alone.
But... anyway. Addicts. Dan's seen enough of them, himself included, to recognize the look when he sees it. And that is the exact look he can see now in the eyes of the musician who keeps glancing over at him from the stage with a sideways playful smile. Younger than Dan, bleached blond hair, typical rock star look, but he pulls it off well. And as he catches Dan looking at him, he flashes him a broader smile, cocky, charming, before turning his attention back to his guitar, his music. Dan takes another drink of his beer, eyes still on the rocker on stage.
And when the set ends, Dan loses sight of him for a moment - only to find him suddenly at his side a minute later, ordering a beer and sliding in to sit down beside him. "Enjoying the show?" he asks, with the confident, self-assured grin that makes it clearly he considers the answer a given. That attitude, that complete self-assurance has the potential to drive a person crazy, and Dan knows egos like that don't permit anyone to shine as much as they do, but on the other hand, it's incredibly attractive, draws people in. Like moths to a flame. Maybe you know you'll get burned, but...
Dan shrugs, giving him a vague sort of smile. "It's not really my kind of music. Not bad, but..."
The young rocker raises an eyebrow, his smile turning a little less cocky, a little more playful. "So what're you here for then?" As if the only possible reason to be here is to listen to his music.
"I was in the area and thought I'd stop in for a drink," Dan lies. For that, he gets a skeptical look as the rocker eyes him up and down, the message quite clear - people like Danny don't just happen to be in Alphabet City this time of night without a reason.
"Bullshit. Why're you really here?" He's leaning against the bar, bracing himself on his forearms, and Dan notes with an abstract satisfaction the track marks making the pale insides of both arms. He was right, and he's not sure whether he ought to be pleased or concerned by that.
For a second or two, Dan stares into his beer, and then glances up again. "Why should I tell you? I don't even know your name."
"It's Roger. Davis. And... if you tell me, then there's a good chance I'll buy you a drink after the show. Anyway, I'm curious."
And then Dan makes the mistake of meeting his eyes. Beautiful eyes, maybe blue, maybe green, or some mixture of both, hard to tell in this light, intense and bright and captivating. Eyes of an addict, hungry and needing and searching.
"I wanted to go somewhere my friends wouldn't show up." The few friends he has now... "This place seemed far enough away to be safe."
"Hiding out from your friends. Nice."
"I'm not hiding," Dan retorts defensively, but the thing is, he can't find another word for what he's doing. Thankfully, Roger doesn't press the issue.
"And your name?"
"Oh. Dan Rydell."
Roger looks like he's about to respond, but stops and glances over his shoulder when someone, presumably someone in his band, calls his name. He nods, and then turns back to Dan with a smile. "Well, Dan Rydell, I've got to go back on stage, but you stick around and I promise I'll make good on that offer to buy you a drink."
He doesn't wait for a response, just stands up and heads back to the stage. Dan watches him go in silence, quietly thoughtful. He knows the look of an addict, and should know better than to risk involvement with one. He should leave before this set ends and go home, but there are more addictions than drugs. Attention, for one, or affection, being liked, and after being offered the possibility of it, Dan can no more walk away than a junkie offered a needle.
Dan knows what an addict looks like - takes one to know one.
Characters/Pairing: Dan/Roger, maybe a hint of Dan/Casey
Word Count: 819
Rating: PG
Summary: Dan knows what an addict looks like...
Notes: Written because... Alex demanded it. I go to ask her one question and suddenly she's making me write my insane plotbunnies.
Disclaimer: I do not own Rent or Sports Night - those belong to Jonathan Larson and Aaron Sorkin, respectively. Yes.
Dan knows what an addict looks like. Not just the physical signs, though he recognizes those - there's something else, something in the eyes, a sort of... hunger? No, that's not right, but Danny can't find the right word either. Christ, he's a writer, he should be able to find words for anything. Then again, his inability to do so just now might have something to do with how much he's been drinking tonight - not a lot, but enough that there's a good chance he'll regret it come morning. Not that he's got much else to do, first week in New York and Casey won't go out with him this late, not and risk pissing off Lisa. Lucky for Dan, he's got no problem drinking alone.
But... anyway. Addicts. Dan's seen enough of them, himself included, to recognize the look when he sees it. And that is the exact look he can see now in the eyes of the musician who keeps glancing over at him from the stage with a sideways playful smile. Younger than Dan, bleached blond hair, typical rock star look, but he pulls it off well. And as he catches Dan looking at him, he flashes him a broader smile, cocky, charming, before turning his attention back to his guitar, his music. Dan takes another drink of his beer, eyes still on the rocker on stage.
And when the set ends, Dan loses sight of him for a moment - only to find him suddenly at his side a minute later, ordering a beer and sliding in to sit down beside him. "Enjoying the show?" he asks, with the confident, self-assured grin that makes it clearly he considers the answer a given. That attitude, that complete self-assurance has the potential to drive a person crazy, and Dan knows egos like that don't permit anyone to shine as much as they do, but on the other hand, it's incredibly attractive, draws people in. Like moths to a flame. Maybe you know you'll get burned, but...
Dan shrugs, giving him a vague sort of smile. "It's not really my kind of music. Not bad, but..."
The young rocker raises an eyebrow, his smile turning a little less cocky, a little more playful. "So what're you here for then?" As if the only possible reason to be here is to listen to his music.
"I was in the area and thought I'd stop in for a drink," Dan lies. For that, he gets a skeptical look as the rocker eyes him up and down, the message quite clear - people like Danny don't just happen to be in Alphabet City this time of night without a reason.
"Bullshit. Why're you really here?" He's leaning against the bar, bracing himself on his forearms, and Dan notes with an abstract satisfaction the track marks making the pale insides of both arms. He was right, and he's not sure whether he ought to be pleased or concerned by that.
For a second or two, Dan stares into his beer, and then glances up again. "Why should I tell you? I don't even know your name."
"It's Roger. Davis. And... if you tell me, then there's a good chance I'll buy you a drink after the show. Anyway, I'm curious."
And then Dan makes the mistake of meeting his eyes. Beautiful eyes, maybe blue, maybe green, or some mixture of both, hard to tell in this light, intense and bright and captivating. Eyes of an addict, hungry and needing and searching.
"I wanted to go somewhere my friends wouldn't show up." The few friends he has now... "This place seemed far enough away to be safe."
"Hiding out from your friends. Nice."
"I'm not hiding," Dan retorts defensively, but the thing is, he can't find another word for what he's doing. Thankfully, Roger doesn't press the issue.
"And your name?"
"Oh. Dan Rydell."
Roger looks like he's about to respond, but stops and glances over his shoulder when someone, presumably someone in his band, calls his name. He nods, and then turns back to Dan with a smile. "Well, Dan Rydell, I've got to go back on stage, but you stick around and I promise I'll make good on that offer to buy you a drink."
He doesn't wait for a response, just stands up and heads back to the stage. Dan watches him go in silence, quietly thoughtful. He knows the look of an addict, and should know better than to risk involvement with one. He should leave before this set ends and go home, but there are more addictions than drugs. Attention, for one, or affection, being liked, and after being offered the possibility of it, Dan can no more walk away than a junkie offered a needle.
Dan knows what an addict looks like - takes one to know one.