Oh, The Places You'll Go

Through a Foreign Country

Notes: Written for oxoniensis's Porn Battle. Prompt: years gone by.

It isn't so much that Danny turned Casey gay as that he highlighted the fact that Casey found some guys really, really hot. (The Scott Hamilton thing in '84 was an aberration; a gold rush. Honestly.) Casey'd done a good job of ignoring it over the years, he'd truly loved Lisa once and there was no denying Dana in full flow was one of the sexiest things he'd ever seen.

But it had always come back to Dan.

The first time Casey'd seen Danny, leaning against the newsroom wall, curtains of dark hair shielding his eyes, tapping a pencil against lips curved so precisely they could have been carved by Michelangelo, he'd felt a kick in his stomach so hard he'd staggered, his hand grasping to support himself. He'd caught a rubber plant a glancing blow and in the resultant mess, Dan'd turned to him, smiling and pushing his hair back, offering help. Something had snapped in Casey then, and less than an hour later he'd been on his knees in the janitor's closet, Dan's fingers drumming on his shoulders and his cock a desperately welcome weight on Casey's tongue.

Dan'd taken Casey's mumbled apology and ragged explanation of his non-single status with a shrug and a, "Hey, I'm eighteen, I'll take it where I can get it. You probably remember that." Casey hadn't known if he wanted more to shake him or to fuck him. He'd gone home that night and jerked himself off fierce and fast, Danny's mouth a Cheshire cat image hanging in the space behind his eyes.

For a long time it had been easy not to think about fucking Dan because improbably they'd become friends and you didn't screw with friends. Or screw them.

Then there'd been St Paul's and Casey had been pissed at Lisa for some reason since lost in the mists of time. There'd been a half-bottle of Jaegermeister and the two of them, loose-limbed and lazy on Casey's bed. Casey remembers reciting random Shakesperean monologues, Dan's thumb pressing down on his mouth though Casey's lips kept moving until Dan kissed him. It'd taken several minutes before Casey could ask Dan what he was doing. "Shutting you up," he'd said.

Casey'd seen Dan's point. He'd also seen Dan naked and crouched above him, fingers stroking into Casey, proving that an erection wasn't a prerequisite for an orgasm. Gripping tight to Dan's taut thighs, feeling the powerful spasms course through his body, Casey had never been happier to lose a bet in his life.

Dan had been the one that blew it off that time. Tossed off a line about the memory-killing properties of Jaegermeister as he hopped into his jeans, told Casey to drink some water and then left, the door swinging closed wafting a breeze over Casey's still-exposed body. Casey'd shivered, and taken a shower. There was a problem with the hot water, he'd thought, because he couldn't get warm.

The third time was the day after Trager had bought out CSC. The night they'd found out Casey'd expressed his relief that Dan wasn't going to LA by getting drunk, yelling at him and then crushing him in a tight hug before going on to dance on the tables with Kim. He still wasn't sure exactly how he'd gotten home. The next day Casey'd opened the door to find Dan standing there, hands shoved in pockets, shifting from foot to foot and not meeting Casey's eyes.

Casey was not, by any stretch of the imagination, an intuitive guy, but he got this, he did and he'd reached out to haul Dan in and had them halfway down to the bedroom before the door had even snicked closed. They'd fucked then, frenzied and desperate, working out the past months of alienation and fear with mouths and tongues and hands and fingers, telling each other truths with the friction of one body against the other. Later there'd been time to explore, to murmur soft words, to make a beginning. Later Casey'd stretched Dan out and pressed into him deep and sure and knowing that this was for real now.

Now, Casey kisses the grey head resting on his shoulder. He traces the swollen knuckles of Dan's hand, fingers curled into Casey's chest hairs. He hopes he remembered his medication. These days when they make love it's measured and slow and there's always the nagging worry of dislocating something that might not want to be relocated. Casey doesn't regret the years, though. They brought them here and that’s enough. More than enough.

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