Oh, The Places You'll Go

Alpha Es Et O

Notes: Written for the International Make Out Fic Challenge issued by lordessrenegade and llassah. Mmmmmmmmmmmm, kissing. Post-canon. No spoilers.

The last kiss was tender and full of tears. Dan lay beside Casey on the hospice bed watching as he slipped in and out of consciousness. He held Casey's hand tight in his own as if he could keep him anchored to the world by his touch. He knew he should let go — Casey was in such pain — but he couldn't seem to manage it. There hadn't been enough time. How could there ever be enough time?

Casey's brow creased as he gasped back into consciousness. Immediately Dan was soothing, stroking away the lines with practised fingers, murmuring soft words of comfort. Don't leave, he thought. Don't leave me. Casey seemed to be struggling to speak so Dan removed the oxygen mask. He put his ear next to Casey's mouth. Casey's breath was still warm against Dan's skin — somehow that seemed strange.

"Kiss me, old man."

Later, telling this story to Charlie, Dan would recognise that this was the point where his crazy-glued heart shattered for the last time. Now, he turned and pressed his lips against Casey's, head pounding with memories and knowing this moment was passing too quickly. Casey's lips were dry and chapped, but the kiss was as sweet as the first time. Dan drew back. Casey's mouth moved in silent speech.

"I love you too. Jackass." Dan's voice cracked. He replaced the mask, smoothed Casey's white hair, smiled a crooked smile and began to let go of his hand.


The eighth kiss was where they stopped pretending: it was the beer, it was a dry period, it was comfort or relief or any of the other myriad excuses. Anything except what it was. But then a normal day at work — great show, but not outstanding. No problems with the network, or dating, or mental health (except Dana's — and, honestly, when weren't they concerned about hers?). No trip to Anthony's.

Just Dan pulling up to Casey's apartment and leaning over to kiss him goodnight, as if they were any couple, anywhere. They parted: Casey frozen with his hand on the seatbelt release, Dan staring, heart rivalling a frightened rabbit's. For a split second Dan wondered if he should say anything, then he heard the click of the catch and Casey's hands were holding him, bringing him close for another kiss. Hot, sweet and subtly insistent — a warm, dark chocolate sauce of a kiss, melting away frozen fear. Dan's fingers fluttered at Casey's chest unsure of where they should land. They chose Casey's neck, the pulse points in Dan's fingertips a stuttering counterpoint to the beat underneath them.

Casey pulled away.

"Park," he sounded breathless. "God's sake, Danny. Park."

The ninth kiss was in the shadows of the building, the tenth and eleventh in the elevator, the twelfth in the doorway to Casey's apartment. After that they lost count.


The first kiss was soft, fleeting: Dan was fairly sure he wasn't supposed to have noticed it. But it left a tingle on his lips that warmed his entire body. Whether from the minty fresh taste of Casey's lips or the shock of realised hope he never quite worked out. When he thought the coast was clear Dan rolled onto his side, hunching himself up and laid a finger across his lips as if it could hold the kiss there longer. His stomach turned somersaults. And back flips, and cartwheels, the whole gymnastic routine.

He smiled, lips curving around the contour of his finger. This was going to be interesting.

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