Studio 60 on the Sunset Tripp
Fandom: Studio 60, for ws_scribe
Title: Studio 60 on the Sunset Tripp
Characters: Matt Albie, Danny Tripp/Jordan McDeere
Warnings: Spoilers for the one and only season
Author’s notes: Under the cut
Author’s notes: This is for ws_scribe in response to her prompt: Danny/Jordan: “Your bromance better not get in the way of our sex.” The prompt post for Christmas fic is here!. So, because my lack of creativity only mustered up a single idea for this fic, I decided to change holidays and have this set around Easter. That’s like, breaking the number one law of santafic or something, right? Anyway, hope you’ll forgive me. Also, I'm behind on fic! paladin24, yours will have to be a belated birthday fic. Thanks, S, for the read-through. You're the paliest pal ever.
++++++++++++++++++++
“We need to do something for Easter,” Danny says into the phone.
“Easter?” He can hear the amusement behind Matt’s voice. “Just you and me, buddy? What did you have in mind?”
Danny taps his pencil on the desk of in his study, four walls, books, and photos of Rebecca littering his shelves. Jordan enters, raising an eyebrow. ‘Matt’ he mouths to her, by way of explanation as he presses the button that puts him on speaker.
“You’re going on speaker,” Danny says. “And no, Matt. On the show. You need to write something for Easter weekend. A sketch related to the holiday. Don’t start on one of your ri-”
“-I was actually already thinking about it,” Matt says, cutting him off.
“What?”
“I was already thinking about it.”
“You …were?”
“Of course I was. We’re in the business of ratings and making people happy, right? Well it’s not my fault that people like pastel, foil enveloped chocolate bunnies filled with delicious cocoa sweetness. So...I was already thinking about it.”
Jordan and Danny share a glance.
“Well what were you thinking?” he asks Matt.
“Mistaken eggs.”
“What?”
“Mistaken eggs. Picture this. We get Tom to play a drug-addicted Easter bunny who, with his compromised Easter magic, manages to confuse all the eggs. We’re talking...chaotic reaction shots. An eggshell that cracks out chocolate! Hens laying jelly-bean-filled plastic. A flash of microscopic sperm penetrating a milky Cadbury wall, squirming their way into a creamy, yellow dye #6 center.” Danny can picture the self-satisfied grin indicative in Matt’s tone. “The yolks make themselves!” Matt adds.
“Did you just say ‘the yolks make themselves?’”
“Bad call. I regret it already.”
Danny pauses, trying to envision this as a sketch. “Make it happen,” he says, trying like hell to trust whatever Matt’s got up his sleeve.
“Oh, it’s happening.”
“What’s with you, anyway?”
“Huh?”
“I think Harriet’s made you ...soft.”
Danny realizes the double meaning after the word slips his mouth and readies himself to absorb the quip he knows is coming.
“Harriet’s made me everything but soft, Danny. Funny, though. I thought I heard Jordan telling the executive producer that you were having this problem. Should I refer you to my doc? There’s a pill for that. I hear you can last--”
“--I’m the executive producer,” Danny says, cutting him off.
“Get over yourself.”
“I was just thinking, Matt, that a year ago you’d have rejected the mere notion of coming up with an Easter idea on the basis that this would indicate religious affiliation on behalf of the network. You’d have had some whole speech on--”
“Everyone can relate to the decadence of chocolate bunnies, Danny.” Matt’s casual amusement is almost palpable through the speaker of his desk phone, bearing contagious properties to which Danny would be susceptible had he not already been smiling. “Besides,” Matt continues, “Merely acknowledging the existence of such a holiday does not indicate Christian preference or support.”
Danny meets Jordan’s expression. She’s raising an eyebrow, clearly thinking exactly what he’s thinking.
“No, just that you have the preference for a certain Christian,” he says. “I knew it! Soft. Say it! She makes you soft. You’re all in love and she makes you immune to grumpiness. Just SAY it.”
“I knew that would come back to bite me in the ass.”
“SAY it, Matt.”
“I’m not gonna say it.”
“I’m gonna get you to say it. By the end of the week I’m gonna have you walking around saying, ‘Harriet makes me soft.’”
“Better hope she doesn’t hear you. Or we won’t have our Dolphin Girl for the Seaport show.”
“Are you writing themed shows around her talents now?” There’s silence on the other end. “You are, aren’t you?”
“Hey, how’s Rebecca?” Matt redirects.
“Beautiful,” he says, unable to help the way a smile washes over his face every time he thinks about it.
“Mischievous,” Jordan chimes in.
“Hi, Jordan,” Matt says, pausing. “What the hell, man? I didn’t know Jordan was in the room.”
“I told you I was putting you on speaker!”
“Well yes, but I didn’t know others could hear me or else I wouldn’t have turned this business chat into some conversation about your erectile dysfunction and the Bob-Dole-certified little blue remedy.”
“It’s okay, Matt,” Jordan reassures. “Danny has no trouble...”
“ENOUGH,” Danny shouts. “Matt, I’m hanging up.”
“I understand completely, man. What’s that commercial say? When the time is right...”
“I’m ignoring you now. Get on that Mistaken Eggs business.”
Matt hangs up before Danny does, so he presses the ‘end’ button to silence the annoyingly monotone sound.
Danny must be grinning like an idiot, because Jordan meets his amused expression with a smirk and says, “Your bromance better not get in the way of our sex.”
“What sex?” he blurts, meaning to sound casual but noticing the second it leaves his mouth that it wasn’t accompanied by the nuance he’d intended. In fact, it sounded pretty serious and desperate.
Her face sobers and she assumes an expression of fatigue and maybe guilt. “You want to be having more sex,” she states.
“I’m a guy, Jordan.” She smiles at him. “And look at you,” he adds. “But we have 5 month old little girl. It’s not as though I feel shafted.” She raises an eyebrow. The corner of her mouth turns upward and he can’t help but chuckle. “I keep blindly setting people up for bad jokes today.”
“You really do.”
She walks closer to where he’s sitting at the desk in the study, the office they sometimes share. Late at night, when he’s reading Matt’s sketches and filling in time-slots, he sometimes gets to observe her at her sexiest: flannel pajama pants and that tight fitting white tank top. No makeup. Taking on that insistent voice she uses when pressuring writers to up the caliber of their product, gently or not-so-gently reminding producers about their low ratings. Her intelligence and finesse are a turn-on like nothing else. The only difference now is that he gets to see first-hand the way it gets to her. The way she doesn’t like the fact that being a hard-ass is the largest component of her job description.
“You and me, we’re gonna get away,” she whispers. She closes the space between them, places her hand on his shoulder, and sits on his lap. He wraps his arms around her.
“You don’t have to--” But she’s kissing his cheek, nuzzling her face into the curve of his neck.
“No, I want to,” she says. He can feel her breath against his skin. “We have to get away for a couple of days. Have that time we never got to have. Actually sleep. Have sex whenever. Turn off our phones.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sweeps are ending soon,” she points out. “Finales will be next month. We’ll have time. We’ll get someone to watch Becca.”
“Harriet’s been asking,” Danny remembers out loud. “ She wants practice, I think.”
Jordan smiles. “You don’t think exposing her to Matt is too dangerous?”
“Nah.” He says, rubbing his hand up her arm.
“You know,” she starts, nodding towards the picture of Rebbecca on his desk, staring up at the mobile over her crib with wide, curious eyes. “I did just put her down for her nap.”
Jordan’s tongue is on his neck, licking, drawing shapes. She’s wearing this over-sized off-white sweater thing that has him all inexplicably hot.
“Tell me you’re not just doing this because I made that comment,” he mumbles. His voice is low. Coated. It’s easy to tell how bad he wants her.
She runs her hand up his bicep and before closing her lips over his, she says, “I’m not just doing this because you made that comment.”
“Liar,” he whispers into her mouth, hands clutching her back.
“Come to bed,” she says. She stops abruptly and gets off his lap, adopting this sultry voice she knows does things to him. “Make me in the mood.”
“Twist my arm,” he says, following right behind her, as he always has.
Title: Studio 60 on the Sunset Tripp
Characters: Matt Albie, Danny Tripp/Jordan McDeere
Warnings: Spoilers for the one and only season
Author’s notes: Under the cut
Author’s notes: This is for ws_scribe in response to her prompt: Danny/Jordan: “Your bromance better not get in the way of our sex.” The prompt post for Christmas fic is here!. So, because my lack of creativity only mustered up a single idea for this fic, I decided to change holidays and have this set around Easter. That’s like, breaking the number one law of santafic or something, right? Anyway, hope you’ll forgive me. Also, I'm behind on fic! paladin24, yours will have to be a belated birthday fic. Thanks, S, for the read-through. You're the paliest pal ever.
++++++++++++++++++++
“We need to do something for Easter,” Danny says into the phone.
“Easter?” He can hear the amusement behind Matt’s voice. “Just you and me, buddy? What did you have in mind?”
Danny taps his pencil on the desk of in his study, four walls, books, and photos of Rebecca littering his shelves. Jordan enters, raising an eyebrow. ‘Matt’ he mouths to her, by way of explanation as he presses the button that puts him on speaker.
“You’re going on speaker,” Danny says. “And no, Matt. On the show. You need to write something for Easter weekend. A sketch related to the holiday. Don’t start on one of your ri-”
“-I was actually already thinking about it,” Matt says, cutting him off.
“What?”
“I was already thinking about it.”
“You …were?”
“Of course I was. We’re in the business of ratings and making people happy, right? Well it’s not my fault that people like pastel, foil enveloped chocolate bunnies filled with delicious cocoa sweetness. So...I was already thinking about it.”
Jordan and Danny share a glance.
“Well what were you thinking?” he asks Matt.
“Mistaken eggs.”
“What?”
“Mistaken eggs. Picture this. We get Tom to play a drug-addicted Easter bunny who, with his compromised Easter magic, manages to confuse all the eggs. We’re talking...chaotic reaction shots. An eggshell that cracks out chocolate! Hens laying jelly-bean-filled plastic. A flash of microscopic sperm penetrating a milky Cadbury wall, squirming their way into a creamy, yellow dye #6 center.” Danny can picture the self-satisfied grin indicative in Matt’s tone. “The yolks make themselves!” Matt adds.
“Did you just say ‘the yolks make themselves?’”
“Bad call. I regret it already.”
Danny pauses, trying to envision this as a sketch. “Make it happen,” he says, trying like hell to trust whatever Matt’s got up his sleeve.
“Oh, it’s happening.”
“What’s with you, anyway?”
“Huh?”
“I think Harriet’s made you ...soft.”
Danny realizes the double meaning after the word slips his mouth and readies himself to absorb the quip he knows is coming.
“Harriet’s made me everything but soft, Danny. Funny, though. I thought I heard Jordan telling the executive producer that you were having this problem. Should I refer you to my doc? There’s a pill for that. I hear you can last--”
“--I’m the executive producer,” Danny says, cutting him off.
“Get over yourself.”
“I was just thinking, Matt, that a year ago you’d have rejected the mere notion of coming up with an Easter idea on the basis that this would indicate religious affiliation on behalf of the network. You’d have had some whole speech on--”
“Everyone can relate to the decadence of chocolate bunnies, Danny.” Matt’s casual amusement is almost palpable through the speaker of his desk phone, bearing contagious properties to which Danny would be susceptible had he not already been smiling. “Besides,” Matt continues, “Merely acknowledging the existence of such a holiday does not indicate Christian preference or support.”
Danny meets Jordan’s expression. She’s raising an eyebrow, clearly thinking exactly what he’s thinking.
“No, just that you have the preference for a certain Christian,” he says. “I knew it! Soft. Say it! She makes you soft. You’re all in love and she makes you immune to grumpiness. Just SAY it.”
“I knew that would come back to bite me in the ass.”
“SAY it, Matt.”
“I’m not gonna say it.”
“I’m gonna get you to say it. By the end of the week I’m gonna have you walking around saying, ‘Harriet makes me soft.’”
“Better hope she doesn’t hear you. Or we won’t have our Dolphin Girl for the Seaport show.”
“Are you writing themed shows around her talents now?” There’s silence on the other end. “You are, aren’t you?”
“Hey, how’s Rebecca?” Matt redirects.
“Beautiful,” he says, unable to help the way a smile washes over his face every time he thinks about it.
“Mischievous,” Jordan chimes in.
“Hi, Jordan,” Matt says, pausing. “What the hell, man? I didn’t know Jordan was in the room.”
“I told you I was putting you on speaker!”
“Well yes, but I didn’t know others could hear me or else I wouldn’t have turned this business chat into some conversation about your erectile dysfunction and the Bob-Dole-certified little blue remedy.”
“It’s okay, Matt,” Jordan reassures. “Danny has no trouble...”
“ENOUGH,” Danny shouts. “Matt, I’m hanging up.”
“I understand completely, man. What’s that commercial say? When the time is right...”
“I’m ignoring you now. Get on that Mistaken Eggs business.”
Matt hangs up before Danny does, so he presses the ‘end’ button to silence the annoyingly monotone sound.
Danny must be grinning like an idiot, because Jordan meets his amused expression with a smirk and says, “Your bromance better not get in the way of our sex.”
“What sex?” he blurts, meaning to sound casual but noticing the second it leaves his mouth that it wasn’t accompanied by the nuance he’d intended. In fact, it sounded pretty serious and desperate.
Her face sobers and she assumes an expression of fatigue and maybe guilt. “You want to be having more sex,” she states.
“I’m a guy, Jordan.” She smiles at him. “And look at you,” he adds. “But we have 5 month old little girl. It’s not as though I feel shafted.” She raises an eyebrow. The corner of her mouth turns upward and he can’t help but chuckle. “I keep blindly setting people up for bad jokes today.”
“You really do.”
She walks closer to where he’s sitting at the desk in the study, the office they sometimes share. Late at night, when he’s reading Matt’s sketches and filling in time-slots, he sometimes gets to observe her at her sexiest: flannel pajama pants and that tight fitting white tank top. No makeup. Taking on that insistent voice she uses when pressuring writers to up the caliber of their product, gently or not-so-gently reminding producers about their low ratings. Her intelligence and finesse are a turn-on like nothing else. The only difference now is that he gets to see first-hand the way it gets to her. The way she doesn’t like the fact that being a hard-ass is the largest component of her job description.
“You and me, we’re gonna get away,” she whispers. She closes the space between them, places her hand on his shoulder, and sits on his lap. He wraps his arms around her.
“You don’t have to--” But she’s kissing his cheek, nuzzling her face into the curve of his neck.
“No, I want to,” she says. He can feel her breath against his skin. “We have to get away for a couple of days. Have that time we never got to have. Actually sleep. Have sex whenever. Turn off our phones.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sweeps are ending soon,” she points out. “Finales will be next month. We’ll have time. We’ll get someone to watch Becca.”
“Harriet’s been asking,” Danny remembers out loud. “ She wants practice, I think.”
Jordan smiles. “You don’t think exposing her to Matt is too dangerous?”
“Nah.” He says, rubbing his hand up her arm.
“You know,” she starts, nodding towards the picture of Rebbecca on his desk, staring up at the mobile over her crib with wide, curious eyes. “I did just put her down for her nap.”
Jordan’s tongue is on his neck, licking, drawing shapes. She’s wearing this over-sized off-white sweater thing that has him all inexplicably hot.
“Tell me you’re not just doing this because I made that comment,” he mumbles. His voice is low. Coated. It’s easy to tell how bad he wants her.
She runs her hand up his bicep and before closing her lips over his, she says, “I’m not just doing this because you made that comment.”
“Liar,” he whispers into her mouth, hands clutching her back.
“Come to bed,” she says. She stops abruptly and gets off his lap, adopting this sultry voice she knows does things to him. “Make me in the mood.”
“Twist my arm,” he says, following right behind her, as he always has.