fic: Let's Go Make Out Up in the Balcony (Sports Night; Dan/Dana)
Title: Let's Go Make Out Up in the Balcony
Author: victoria p.
Summary: "You mean, we need to behave like adults and take responsibility for our actions and their consequences?"
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Sorkin's, not mine.
Notes: Thanks to luzdeestrellas for betaing. All remaining errors are mine. Written for the Put the Sports Back in Sports Night ficathon. Title from Mike Doughty.
Word count: 1,540 words
Date: March 15, 2007
~*~
Let's Go Make Out Up in the Balcony
"So Simon is saying he hit Hollweg in the face with his stick because Hollweg gave him a concussion?" Jeremy shakes his head in disbelief. "When are these guys going to grow up and take some responsibility for themselves and their actions?"
Dan laughs, amused and a little comforted by Jeremy's willful naïveté even after so many years in the business. "These guys get paid millions of dollars to play kids' games. Do you really think taking responsibility for anything more than putting the biscuit in the basket translates?"
"So cynical, Danny," Casey says, shaking his head and sucking his teeth in mock disapproval. "What happened to believing in sports and sportsmanship?"
"Sportsmanship got crosschecked to the face by Chris Simon."
"Okay, point."
"Indeed. And I'm sure my level of cynicism will have ebbed just in time for yours to rise."
"Well, it is a closed system, so I'm very much in favor of the conservation of cynicism. Don't want to flood the environment with the stuff. It could be toxic."
"This is true."
"My question is, does anyone actually care about the Islanders?" Dana taps the conference table with her pen, trying to get them back on track, and failing miserably.
"Islanders fans," Casey answers. "It's kind of in the job description there."
"Are there any Islanders fans left, though," Dan says, "after the whole Gorton's fisherman jersey thing? I mean, they basically put Stan Fischler's face on their jerseys. I'm not sure even a team as storied as the Islanders--"
"The Islanders are not storied," Casey interrupts.
"My point exactly," Dana says.
"I'm not sure even a team as storied as the Islanders could come back from that," Dan finishes triumphantly.
Casey laughs. "Danny, you hate the Islanders."
"I do, Casey. I do indeed hate the Islanders, with the passion of a really passionate Rangers fan, but they won four Stanley Cups in a row, and were stopped only by the ascendance of the mighty Oilers of Edmonton. That cannot be denied."
"Much as you'd like to deny it."
Dan nods emphatically in agreement. "I'd really like to deny it." He sighs dramatically. "But I can't." He waits a beat, and then, "Because I am an adult. I accept responsibility for my actions, and their consequences. Unlike, say, Chris Simon."
"Or Carmelo Anthony," Jeremy adds.
Dan nods again. "Or Carmelo Anthony. Throws a punch and then runs like a girl--"
Dana smiles, baring sharp white teeth, and the sight makes Dan shiver in a way that is not entirely unpleasant. She cocks her head and glances at Natalie, whose grin is just as scary. "Do you really want to say that in this room, Danny?"
"Like an irresponsible, overgrown child," he revises, and Dana's smile softens, though Natalie's doesn't, but that's okay, because it's not Natalie he's hoping to meet later on for a quick make-out session. "Anyway, my point is," he scans the faces around the conference table, looking for some clue as to what his point is, and finding no help whatsoever, "my point is..."
"You don't have a point," Casey says, not unkindly.
"My point is that I apparently don't have a point, so I'll just shut up now, and let Dana continue her meeting."
Dana inclines her head and gives him another smile, this one full of warmth and promise. Things are looking up, or so he hopes. "Thank you, Danny."
They run through the rest of the night's show without too many interruptions, then, and she dismisses them with a wave of her hand, reminding them that the ten o'clock rundown is, in fact, at ten o'clock.
"Not twenty to ten," Natalie says, looking at Jeremy, "or a quarter after," frowning at Dan, who gives her his most charming grin in response, which gets him a swat on the back of the head from Dana as the meeting breaks up.
He catches Dana in her office at nine-thirty, closes the door behind him and leans against it for a few seconds, watching her talking on the phone, her glasses shoved up into her hair and her blouse unbuttoned an extra button, like she was expecting him, an edge of white lace and swell of fair skin visible when she shifts in the chair.
Finally, she hangs up and moves around to sit on the edge of the desk, crossing her legs and taking her glasses out of her hair. She drops them onto the scattered papers covering the surface of the desk, and shakes her hair out of her eyes.
"What can I do for you, Dan?"
He closes the distance between them with two quick steps. "I can think of any number of things you can do for me, Dana. Some of them might even be work-related."
She leans back, chin raised in challenge, corners of her mouth curving up in a grin that makes his belly flip and his mouth go dry. She's gorgeous in her crisp white button-down shirt and her purply blue skirt that's riding up, exposing pale, toned thighs to his interested gaze.
"Somehow I don't think you're here about work." She slides a foot up the outside of his thigh, and he grabs her ankle, rubs his thumb over the spur and hollows, loving the feel of bare skin beneath the pads of his fingers. He loves spring in New York, when the women stop wearing tights and trousers, and start wearing skirts, flashing tantalizing glimpses of bare legs beneath. Even ankles make him happy in the early days of spring, and Dana's ankles most of all.
"Not so much, no." He uncrosses her legs, moves to stand between them, the heat of her thighs warming his through his jeans. He puts his hands on her knees, runs them up her legs, enjoying the hitch in her breath at his touch. "Thank God the weather broke. I love spring." He leans in to press a kiss to her jaw.
"Mmm," she says, tilting her head back to give him better access, fingers sliding through his hair, sending shivers down his spine, "the crack of ash on horsehide. March Madness."
"Speaking of which, you owe Jeremy ten bucks," he whispers in her ear, "and honestly, Dana, Ohio State?"
She pulls away. "Are you mocking my brackets, Danny?"
"Of course I am, Dana." He smirks and she laughs, lets it go and turns her face up for a kiss. He obliges, tasting coffee and chocolate on her tongue.
It's still new enough to be a shock every time, heat and want buzzing between them like a live wire. She trembles when he touches her, all that energy concentrated in her small frame, vibrating at a frequency that makes his body hum in response. So many years of friendship, of Casey looming between them, of never even thinking it was a possibility, until it was, it is, and when they kiss, when they fuck, Danny thinks that's what they are, what they have--endless possibility stretching out forever, becoming something he never even thought they could be.
He traces random patterns on the insides of her thighs, hands edging higher, even though they really shouldn't do more than kiss here in the office, where anyone can walk in; she stops him, fingers circling his wrists, inhaling shakily as she pulls away, voice smoky and rough, stronger and headier than the single malt scotch he's taken to drinking at Anthony's these days.
"Hey," she says, smiling.
"Hey."
He leans in to kiss her again, but she puts a finger on his lips, so he kisses that instead.
"We have to tell him, Danny. It's been two months now--"
It's his turn to lean away. "You were thinking of Casey while I was kissing you?"
She laughs. "No. But after you stopped kissing me--"
"You shouldn't have been able to think at all for a good ninety seconds. Two minutes, even."
She laughs again, and pulls him close for a kiss. "I'm a very talented woman, Danny. I'm capable of multitasking even under the most distracting circumstances."
"This is true. Unless there are fish involved."
"Yes. Unless there are fish involved." Another quick kiss. "But he's our best friend. We need to own our actions and tell him."
"You mean, we need to behave like adults and take responsibility for our actions and their consequences?"
"Exactly." She hooks her legs around his hips and pulls him closer, hands clasped at the back of his neck. "See what I did there?"
He settles his hands on her hips and presses a kiss to her forehead. "You mean using my own words against me?"
"Yes."
"Fiendishly clever."
"Mm hm. Also, I think Natalie suspects, and if she figures it out before we tell her..." She shudders.
It's nice to know even Dana is a little afraid of Natalie.
"Okay," he says. "Okay. After the show tonight, we tell Casey first, and then Natalie. And then we'll go back to my apartment and have sex like responsible adults."
"Sounds like a plan."
He sneaks a glance at his watch and smiles. They still have sixteen minutes until they have to be in the ten pm rundown, so he leans in to kiss her again.
end
~*~
Notes: This was supposed to be about the Knicks-Nuggets brawl, but it kind of wound up being more about Chris Simon's hit on Ryan Hollweg. Oops.
~*~
Feedback is adored.
~*~
Author: victoria p.
Summary: "You mean, we need to behave like adults and take responsibility for our actions and their consequences?"
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Sorkin's, not mine.
Notes: Thanks to luzdeestrellas for betaing. All remaining errors are mine. Written for the Put the Sports Back in Sports Night ficathon. Title from Mike Doughty.
Word count: 1,540 words
Date: March 15, 2007
~*~
Let's Go Make Out Up in the Balcony
"So Simon is saying he hit Hollweg in the face with his stick because Hollweg gave him a concussion?" Jeremy shakes his head in disbelief. "When are these guys going to grow up and take some responsibility for themselves and their actions?"
Dan laughs, amused and a little comforted by Jeremy's willful naïveté even after so many years in the business. "These guys get paid millions of dollars to play kids' games. Do you really think taking responsibility for anything more than putting the biscuit in the basket translates?"
"So cynical, Danny," Casey says, shaking his head and sucking his teeth in mock disapproval. "What happened to believing in sports and sportsmanship?"
"Sportsmanship got crosschecked to the face by Chris Simon."
"Okay, point."
"Indeed. And I'm sure my level of cynicism will have ebbed just in time for yours to rise."
"Well, it is a closed system, so I'm very much in favor of the conservation of cynicism. Don't want to flood the environment with the stuff. It could be toxic."
"This is true."
"My question is, does anyone actually care about the Islanders?" Dana taps the conference table with her pen, trying to get them back on track, and failing miserably.
"Islanders fans," Casey answers. "It's kind of in the job description there."
"Are there any Islanders fans left, though," Dan says, "after the whole Gorton's fisherman jersey thing? I mean, they basically put Stan Fischler's face on their jerseys. I'm not sure even a team as storied as the Islanders--"
"The Islanders are not storied," Casey interrupts.
"My point exactly," Dana says.
"I'm not sure even a team as storied as the Islanders could come back from that," Dan finishes triumphantly.
Casey laughs. "Danny, you hate the Islanders."
"I do, Casey. I do indeed hate the Islanders, with the passion of a really passionate Rangers fan, but they won four Stanley Cups in a row, and were stopped only by the ascendance of the mighty Oilers of Edmonton. That cannot be denied."
"Much as you'd like to deny it."
Dan nods emphatically in agreement. "I'd really like to deny it." He sighs dramatically. "But I can't." He waits a beat, and then, "Because I am an adult. I accept responsibility for my actions, and their consequences. Unlike, say, Chris Simon."
"Or Carmelo Anthony," Jeremy adds.
Dan nods again. "Or Carmelo Anthony. Throws a punch and then runs like a girl--"
Dana smiles, baring sharp white teeth, and the sight makes Dan shiver in a way that is not entirely unpleasant. She cocks her head and glances at Natalie, whose grin is just as scary. "Do you really want to say that in this room, Danny?"
"Like an irresponsible, overgrown child," he revises, and Dana's smile softens, though Natalie's doesn't, but that's okay, because it's not Natalie he's hoping to meet later on for a quick make-out session. "Anyway, my point is," he scans the faces around the conference table, looking for some clue as to what his point is, and finding no help whatsoever, "my point is..."
"You don't have a point," Casey says, not unkindly.
"My point is that I apparently don't have a point, so I'll just shut up now, and let Dana continue her meeting."
Dana inclines her head and gives him another smile, this one full of warmth and promise. Things are looking up, or so he hopes. "Thank you, Danny."
They run through the rest of the night's show without too many interruptions, then, and she dismisses them with a wave of her hand, reminding them that the ten o'clock rundown is, in fact, at ten o'clock.
"Not twenty to ten," Natalie says, looking at Jeremy, "or a quarter after," frowning at Dan, who gives her his most charming grin in response, which gets him a swat on the back of the head from Dana as the meeting breaks up.
He catches Dana in her office at nine-thirty, closes the door behind him and leans against it for a few seconds, watching her talking on the phone, her glasses shoved up into her hair and her blouse unbuttoned an extra button, like she was expecting him, an edge of white lace and swell of fair skin visible when she shifts in the chair.
Finally, she hangs up and moves around to sit on the edge of the desk, crossing her legs and taking her glasses out of her hair. She drops them onto the scattered papers covering the surface of the desk, and shakes her hair out of her eyes.
"What can I do for you, Dan?"
He closes the distance between them with two quick steps. "I can think of any number of things you can do for me, Dana. Some of them might even be work-related."
She leans back, chin raised in challenge, corners of her mouth curving up in a grin that makes his belly flip and his mouth go dry. She's gorgeous in her crisp white button-down shirt and her purply blue skirt that's riding up, exposing pale, toned thighs to his interested gaze.
"Somehow I don't think you're here about work." She slides a foot up the outside of his thigh, and he grabs her ankle, rubs his thumb over the spur and hollows, loving the feel of bare skin beneath the pads of his fingers. He loves spring in New York, when the women stop wearing tights and trousers, and start wearing skirts, flashing tantalizing glimpses of bare legs beneath. Even ankles make him happy in the early days of spring, and Dana's ankles most of all.
"Not so much, no." He uncrosses her legs, moves to stand between them, the heat of her thighs warming his through his jeans. He puts his hands on her knees, runs them up her legs, enjoying the hitch in her breath at his touch. "Thank God the weather broke. I love spring." He leans in to press a kiss to her jaw.
"Mmm," she says, tilting her head back to give him better access, fingers sliding through his hair, sending shivers down his spine, "the crack of ash on horsehide. March Madness."
"Speaking of which, you owe Jeremy ten bucks," he whispers in her ear, "and honestly, Dana, Ohio State?"
She pulls away. "Are you mocking my brackets, Danny?"
"Of course I am, Dana." He smirks and she laughs, lets it go and turns her face up for a kiss. He obliges, tasting coffee and chocolate on her tongue.
It's still new enough to be a shock every time, heat and want buzzing between them like a live wire. She trembles when he touches her, all that energy concentrated in her small frame, vibrating at a frequency that makes his body hum in response. So many years of friendship, of Casey looming between them, of never even thinking it was a possibility, until it was, it is, and when they kiss, when they fuck, Danny thinks that's what they are, what they have--endless possibility stretching out forever, becoming something he never even thought they could be.
He traces random patterns on the insides of her thighs, hands edging higher, even though they really shouldn't do more than kiss here in the office, where anyone can walk in; she stops him, fingers circling his wrists, inhaling shakily as she pulls away, voice smoky and rough, stronger and headier than the single malt scotch he's taken to drinking at Anthony's these days.
"Hey," she says, smiling.
"Hey."
He leans in to kiss her again, but she puts a finger on his lips, so he kisses that instead.
"We have to tell him, Danny. It's been two months now--"
It's his turn to lean away. "You were thinking of Casey while I was kissing you?"
She laughs. "No. But after you stopped kissing me--"
"You shouldn't have been able to think at all for a good ninety seconds. Two minutes, even."
She laughs again, and pulls him close for a kiss. "I'm a very talented woman, Danny. I'm capable of multitasking even under the most distracting circumstances."
"This is true. Unless there are fish involved."
"Yes. Unless there are fish involved." Another quick kiss. "But he's our best friend. We need to own our actions and tell him."
"You mean, we need to behave like adults and take responsibility for our actions and their consequences?"
"Exactly." She hooks her legs around his hips and pulls him closer, hands clasped at the back of his neck. "See what I did there?"
He settles his hands on her hips and presses a kiss to her forehead. "You mean using my own words against me?"
"Yes."
"Fiendishly clever."
"Mm hm. Also, I think Natalie suspects, and if she figures it out before we tell her..." She shudders.
It's nice to know even Dana is a little afraid of Natalie.
"Okay," he says. "Okay. After the show tonight, we tell Casey first, and then Natalie. And then we'll go back to my apartment and have sex like responsible adults."
"Sounds like a plan."
He sneaks a glance at his watch and smiles. They still have sixteen minutes until they have to be in the ten pm rundown, so he leans in to kiss her again.
end
~*~
Notes: This was supposed to be about the Knicks-Nuggets brawl, but it kind of wound up being more about Chris Simon's hit on Ryan Hollweg. Oops.
~*~
Feedback is adored.
~*~