fic: Slow News Day (SportsNight; Dan/Dana/Casey; adult)
Slow News Day
Sports Night; Dan/Dana/Casey; adult; 1,015 words
They all know it's a mistake, but where Dan is expecting awkwardness in the morning, there's just them.
Thanks to luzdeestrellas for betaing. Written for the West Wing title project.
~*~
Slow News Day
It starts with lunch.
Well, actually, it starts with a round of shots they never should have done, Dan sucking the lemon out of Dana's mouth, Casey's hands warm around her waist and mouth hot on her neck, and a stumble out into a cab back to Casey's apartment. The three of them tumble onto Casey's perfectly made bed--"Hospital corners, Casey? Seriously?" Dan says, laughing, before Dana pulls him down into another kiss.
When Dana comes the first time, she almost knocks over the lamp on the night table; Casey says, "It's all right, Dana. I know you'll just buy me a new one," and she's not too overcome to pull his hair in retaliation and laugh when he yelps.
That's the first time, and they all know it's a mistake, way worse than (not) sleeping with Bobbie Bernstein in Spain (or sleeping with Sally Sasser anywhere), but where Dan is expecting awkwardness in the morning, there's just them--Casey complaining that Dana used his toothbrush, Dana telling him he should have extras on hand, then teasing them both when she discovers Dan's Mets toothbrush in the medicine cabinet.
They don't talk about it, but Dan can't stop thinking about it--the firm weight of Dana's breasts in his hand, the heavy heat of Casey's dick in his mouth--and he's pretty sure they can't either, because two nights later, it happens again, and this time, Dan's got lube.
After that, it happens often enough that he can't quite keep track--there was the time with the layover in Pittsburgh, and the time after the Sox won the Series, and half a dozen times for no real reason at all, except Dana looks at them a certain way, and then they're ushering her out into a cab. It's like something out of a porno, or a Lifetime movie (which is just emotional porn for women, Dan says, and Dana cuffs the back of his head), and he worries he's the third wheel, the extra piece that doesn't belong, that will be sloughed off when Dana and Casey finally stop dancing around the thing that's been between them all these years and come at it head on. He knows it can't end well, not for him, at least, but he doesn't want to think about endings when they're still so close to the start.
And today, it starts with lunch.
It's a gray day in early February, and the schedule is practically empty--the Super Bowl is over, pitchers and catchers don't report for another two weeks, the Knicks suck, and the NHL playoff races have yet to heat up. Even the police blotter has been amazingly free of sports stars screwing up. Natalie and Jeremy go out for an anniversary lunch, and Dana drags Dan and Casey back to her office, ostensibly to eat.
She tosses the bag with their sandwiches on her desk and closes the door, then turns back to them, fingers playing with the button on her blouse, the one holding it closed right at her breastbone.
"We have forty-five minutes before Natalie comes looking for me," she says, mouth curving in a wicked grin that Casey leans in and kisses off her face.
It's a terrible idea--Dan doesn't even want to think about Natalie or Jeremy, or, God forbid, Isaac, walking in on them--but Dana's office is one of the few that doesn't have glass walls or a window in the door, and she's not wearing any pantyhose, so when he slides a hand up her leg, he feels bare, silky skin under his palm. Really, he thinks, who could blame him for giving in?
They don't undress. There isn't time, and there's something exceptionally hot about watching Dana, purple skirt rucked up to her hips, rocking back on Casey's cock, his hands cupping her breasts through her white silk blouse.
Dan kneels between her thighs and licks, salt-hot-wet on his lips, tongue, chin, soft sounds of skin sliding slick against skin rhythmic in his ears, and the lingering hint of Dana's citrus body wash tickling his nose.
Dana's fingers fist in his hair as she comes, and when he looks up, Casey's hand cups his cheek, thumb stroking over the wetness on his lips and chin, then dipping into his mouth. Dan sucks on it for a few seconds, and then Casey is hauling him to his feet to pull him into a kiss, Dana's body soft and warm between them. Her hands are trembling when she reaches down to unzip his trousers, wraps her fingers around his aching cock, and then Casey's hand is there, too, his fingers twining with hers as they stroke him.
Dan leans forward, rests his forehead on Casey's shoulder, Dana's mouth hot and her tongue wet on his jaw, and when he lifts his head, she kisses him hard, tongue thrusting into his mouth the way his dick is thrusting into her hand. She lets him up for air and Casey takes her place, his kiss softer, less frantic, even as the pace of his hand speeds up until Dan can't do anything but breathe them both in, pleasure uncoiling in his belly and then out.
He slumps forward and they take his weight, the way they always have, the three of them a closed loop finally firing on all cylinders.
"Danny? Okay?" It's Casey's voice in his ear and Dana's hand on his cheek, and he says, "Yeah." He takes a deep breath and says it again, "Yeah," and kisses them both thoroughly, to let them know he finally understands.
They separate slowly, reluctantly, but with an eye to the time and the fear of Natalie barging in and confirming what she probably already knows. Dana doesn't even bitch too much about having to change her skirt, though the dry cleaning bill is on Dan's desk in the morning.
"You're paying this next time," he says, waving the flimsy piece of paper in Casey's face.
Casey frowns down at it for a second, then looks up at Dan and smiles. "Okay."
end
~*~
Feedback is love.
~*~
Sports Night; Dan/Dana/Casey; adult; 1,015 words
They all know it's a mistake, but where Dan is expecting awkwardness in the morning, there's just them.
Thanks to luzdeestrellas for betaing. Written for the West Wing title project.
~*~
Slow News Day
It starts with lunch.
Well, actually, it starts with a round of shots they never should have done, Dan sucking the lemon out of Dana's mouth, Casey's hands warm around her waist and mouth hot on her neck, and a stumble out into a cab back to Casey's apartment. The three of them tumble onto Casey's perfectly made bed--"Hospital corners, Casey? Seriously?" Dan says, laughing, before Dana pulls him down into another kiss.
When Dana comes the first time, she almost knocks over the lamp on the night table; Casey says, "It's all right, Dana. I know you'll just buy me a new one," and she's not too overcome to pull his hair in retaliation and laugh when he yelps.
That's the first time, and they all know it's a mistake, way worse than (not) sleeping with Bobbie Bernstein in Spain (or sleeping with Sally Sasser anywhere), but where Dan is expecting awkwardness in the morning, there's just them--Casey complaining that Dana used his toothbrush, Dana telling him he should have extras on hand, then teasing them both when she discovers Dan's Mets toothbrush in the medicine cabinet.
They don't talk about it, but Dan can't stop thinking about it--the firm weight of Dana's breasts in his hand, the heavy heat of Casey's dick in his mouth--and he's pretty sure they can't either, because two nights later, it happens again, and this time, Dan's got lube.
After that, it happens often enough that he can't quite keep track--there was the time with the layover in Pittsburgh, and the time after the Sox won the Series, and half a dozen times for no real reason at all, except Dana looks at them a certain way, and then they're ushering her out into a cab. It's like something out of a porno, or a Lifetime movie (which is just emotional porn for women, Dan says, and Dana cuffs the back of his head), and he worries he's the third wheel, the extra piece that doesn't belong, that will be sloughed off when Dana and Casey finally stop dancing around the thing that's been between them all these years and come at it head on. He knows it can't end well, not for him, at least, but he doesn't want to think about endings when they're still so close to the start.
And today, it starts with lunch.
It's a gray day in early February, and the schedule is practically empty--the Super Bowl is over, pitchers and catchers don't report for another two weeks, the Knicks suck, and the NHL playoff races have yet to heat up. Even the police blotter has been amazingly free of sports stars screwing up. Natalie and Jeremy go out for an anniversary lunch, and Dana drags Dan and Casey back to her office, ostensibly to eat.
She tosses the bag with their sandwiches on her desk and closes the door, then turns back to them, fingers playing with the button on her blouse, the one holding it closed right at her breastbone.
"We have forty-five minutes before Natalie comes looking for me," she says, mouth curving in a wicked grin that Casey leans in and kisses off her face.
It's a terrible idea--Dan doesn't even want to think about Natalie or Jeremy, or, God forbid, Isaac, walking in on them--but Dana's office is one of the few that doesn't have glass walls or a window in the door, and she's not wearing any pantyhose, so when he slides a hand up her leg, he feels bare, silky skin under his palm. Really, he thinks, who could blame him for giving in?
They don't undress. There isn't time, and there's something exceptionally hot about watching Dana, purple skirt rucked up to her hips, rocking back on Casey's cock, his hands cupping her breasts through her white silk blouse.
Dan kneels between her thighs and licks, salt-hot-wet on his lips, tongue, chin, soft sounds of skin sliding slick against skin rhythmic in his ears, and the lingering hint of Dana's citrus body wash tickling his nose.
Dana's fingers fist in his hair as she comes, and when he looks up, Casey's hand cups his cheek, thumb stroking over the wetness on his lips and chin, then dipping into his mouth. Dan sucks on it for a few seconds, and then Casey is hauling him to his feet to pull him into a kiss, Dana's body soft and warm between them. Her hands are trembling when she reaches down to unzip his trousers, wraps her fingers around his aching cock, and then Casey's hand is there, too, his fingers twining with hers as they stroke him.
Dan leans forward, rests his forehead on Casey's shoulder, Dana's mouth hot and her tongue wet on his jaw, and when he lifts his head, she kisses him hard, tongue thrusting into his mouth the way his dick is thrusting into her hand. She lets him up for air and Casey takes her place, his kiss softer, less frantic, even as the pace of his hand speeds up until Dan can't do anything but breathe them both in, pleasure uncoiling in his belly and then out.
He slumps forward and they take his weight, the way they always have, the three of them a closed loop finally firing on all cylinders.
"Danny? Okay?" It's Casey's voice in his ear and Dana's hand on his cheek, and he says, "Yeah." He takes a deep breath and says it again, "Yeah," and kisses them both thoroughly, to let them know he finally understands.
They separate slowly, reluctantly, but with an eye to the time and the fear of Natalie barging in and confirming what she probably already knows. Dana doesn't even bitch too much about having to change her skirt, though the dry cleaning bill is on Dan's desk in the morning.
"You're paying this next time," he says, waving the flimsy piece of paper in Casey's face.
Casey frowns down at it for a second, then looks up at Dan and smiles. "Okay."
end
~*~
Feedback is love.
~*~