Vintage SN fic rec: Effort by Kristophine; Casey/Dan; Rating: PG
Title: Effort
Author: Kristophine
Author's website: No current information
Pairing: Casey/Dan
Rating: PG
Category: Slash
Effort
by Kristophine
Casey's room was dark.
Dan lay on the bed, wondering again why he was there. The room pitched and moved, and when he moved his hand, he could feel it as though it were in slow motion; he was his own instant replay. The thought amused him. The darkness was whole and real, smooth as glass.
Casey wasn't in Casey's apartment. Casey was gone for a couple of days and had asked Dan to water the plants, which neither explained nor excused Dan lying here, in Casey's bed, so drunk that when he moved his head it took the room a moment to catch up with him. He took a minute to wonder if Casey would notice the disarray when he came back, and then thought that he'd probably wondered that just a few minutes ago. It felt like an echo. Of course Casey would notice, and of course Dan would say something, explain it somehow. He always did.
He'd watered the goddamned plants, anyhow.
Casey's blankets were soft and smelled like detergent and warm male body, and if Dan closed his eyes and breathed in deep he could almost smell sex, lurking under it all. Casey's pillows seemed off-limits-that, for some reason, was too much, a transgression - but Dan ran his hand, the one he'd been sort of haphazardly waving earlier just for the strange sensation of it, over the bed, over the side of the mattress, feeling the lumps of seams, the places where the blanket had gotten twisted up underneath him (or Casey, or Casey).
Everything was on instant replay tonight. He hadn't even come over here until after the show, and he wasn't sure why. He'd thought about the plants earlier, thought about watering them, but he hadn't. He could have. He hadn't. He'd made it so that he had to come over here, late, and now he was drunk, and would have to catch a cab home and pick up his car in the morning, and it was all Casey's fault for leaving those beers in the fridge, right out there in the open, tempting, so tempting. He'd have to replace those. And he couldn't have said why he'd done any of it in the first place, come over this late, opened the fridge, started twisting off the tops and drinking, lain down in Casey's bed.
He turned his cheek against the blankets, and they were so soft that he whimpered - the two things seemed intimately connected, though he couldn't have said how. He sighed, and relaxed a little, and the whole thing flooded his brain. He couldn't stop thinking about it. He couldn't lie, not right then, and that was why all this elaborate detail, right? To reduce him to this point when for once, just once, he was allowed to think these thoughts, to dream these dreams.
What would it be like to fall asleep in Casey's bed? His head lolled, and he let himself slip almost into sleep before snapping his eyes back open by force of will. Something like that, then, but his mind was already wandering somewhere else-what would it be like to fall asleep in Casey's bed with Casey? The thoughts pressed in, quick and close, vague patchwork images of other men he'd known (the few, the proud), imagining their arms draped across his side, their breath hot on his back, and somehow picturing Casey in it all. His eyes wandered shut again. Casey. Casey. Casey.
When he heard Casey's voice, for a moment it sounded absolutely right.
"Danny?"
The perfect mix of tentative, quiet, almost inflectionless. Just how Casey would sound, murmuring something over his shoulder in the middle of the night, something from a dream, maybe, a routine request for reassurance, a check-in, check-up, a what's up, a hey there.
"Dan."
That was too definite, though, and then the bed sank a little on one side and Dan found himself half-rolling toward it before a sudden spike of awareness sank into his brain and he opened his eyes completely. He thought perhaps he ought to sit up, but it seemed like so much effort, too much effort. His limbs felt slow.
Casey - it took another second or two to focus his eyes on Casey, to realize that the little sliver of light near the door had gotten brighter because Casey had pushed the door open on his way in, undoubtedly not expecting anyone to be there.
"You're home early," he said, knowing as he spoke that the words had come out blurry around the edges.
Casey understood him, though. Casey always understood him, even when he talked too fast or cried as he talked or talked through a haze of sleeplessness, the same way he understood Casey even when Casey didn't say anything at all.
He understood Casey. Sometimes he thought he knew more about Casey than Casey did. But that was hubris, right? And the gods had this tendency to cast down the prideful.
Besides, hoping hurt. He'd been - he'd been shoving things down, but that didn't mean he hadn't thought about it, once in a while, in that wide, empty space between waking and sleeping, before dreams. And he'd hoped. And after two years, five years, ten, the hope had slowly dissolved.
Hope was a stain he'd never wholly gotten out of his head or his heart.
This was embarrassing. Casey's eyes were tender, and he was just watching Dan, drunken Danny lying on his bed, and he'd probably seen the empties in the kitchen and noticed that the lights were on, so perhaps he'd been expecting this after all.
"I'm home early," Casey confirmed. His voice was still so soft Dan couldn't hear whatever undertones might be lurking in it.
"Thought you weren't coming home till Thursday."
"I wasn't. I changed my mind."
"Why?"
"The vacation sucked."
"Thought you needed a break."
"Yeah, maybe."
"Don't know what you needed a break from. The show," and he knew this wasn't the time to be lecturing Casey about anything, not with this glass house, "the show is everything to us, to both of us. Don't know why you wanted to get away from that."
"It's crazy."
"It's always crazy. Dana," he said, and almost winced, but went on, "Natalie, Jeremy, Isaac, they're a bunch of fucking lunatics, but we love them anyway. You know why?"
"Because the show is everything to us?"
"Damn right." Dan turned his head to the side, away from Casey, and closed his eyes again. He could almost feel the warmth of Casey's body.
"Danny," said Casey, and that was the tone of voice he used when he was going to ask a question, "why are you in my bed?"
Dan thought perhaps he should answer that with some vague but believable untruth. Instead, he said, "Do you ever get tired of pretending that you don't know?"
There was a long moment of silence, a very long moment, and despite his best intentions, Dan found his mind wandering a little, wandering over Casey's profile where Casey had looked away, the light from the living room falling in and glowing along the back of his neck, the dusty sound of Casey's coat when Casey moved a little, the rasp of Casey's shoes on the floor.
"Yeah," said Casey, finally.
"So stop pretending." Dan laughed, and it was almost inaudible. "Stop pretending. That's all I wanted to do tonight, so I came by, and I watered your plants, and then I drank your beer and climbed into your bed and I was going to clean up the empties and call a cab in the morning and water the plants and bring beer to replace what I drank tomorrow night. But you came home early."
Casey didn't say anything.
"You can still pretend this didn't happen, you know," said Dan. "You can walk out of here, stay in a hotel tonight, come back tomorrow night, and everything will be pristine. Nothing changed. Nothing spoiled."
"Danny."
"I spoil everything I touch."
"That's - "
"Except you. But I never touch you, do I?" Dan laughed again, a little louder this time. He could feel the puff of air. He wondered if Casey could. So indirect. "So the rule stands."
"I'm tired of pretending that I don't know what you're talking about," said Casey, and he took off his coat, methodically, folding it before placing it gently on the ground, like it was a kitten he was putting down instead of a London Fog overcoat. Dan watched him, feeling that urgent longing he'd become so familiar with and accustomed to, that he was used to tamping down, and then.
What was this?
"Casey?" he said, out loud.
"Yeah?"
"What - "
"What I should have done instead of taking a damn vacation." Casey unlaced his shoes, pulled them off. He stared at them, his face strangely twisted in the half-light.
"Casey?"
"Shhh," said Casey, instead of answering the question, and he felt Casey's hands come around his back, lifting him, and he was so surprised when he felt Casey's lips brush against his that he whimpered again. He heard Casey's breath hitch, and his hands scrabbled with Casey's buttons, and it seemed, then, that it had been inevitable; that one day they would crack, would come to this point where one or the other had decided that the effort of pretending wasn't worth it anymore, had taken a very brief break-at the right time, finally the right time - and Casey sighed against his lips, and said, "This isn't - in the morning - are you going to be - "
"I'd better be here."
"Good." Casey let out a shuddering breath, and kissed Dan again, and Dan thought that maybe it was a good thing, better than he'd thought, that the world was on slow motion and instant replay, because this was one thing he wouldn't mind doing over and over again.
Author: Kristophine
Author's website: No current information
Pairing: Casey/Dan
Rating: PG
Category: Slash
Effort
by Kristophine
Casey's room was dark.
Dan lay on the bed, wondering again why he was there. The room pitched and moved, and when he moved his hand, he could feel it as though it were in slow motion; he was his own instant replay. The thought amused him. The darkness was whole and real, smooth as glass.
Casey wasn't in Casey's apartment. Casey was gone for a couple of days and had asked Dan to water the plants, which neither explained nor excused Dan lying here, in Casey's bed, so drunk that when he moved his head it took the room a moment to catch up with him. He took a minute to wonder if Casey would notice the disarray when he came back, and then thought that he'd probably wondered that just a few minutes ago. It felt like an echo. Of course Casey would notice, and of course Dan would say something, explain it somehow. He always did.
He'd watered the goddamned plants, anyhow.
Casey's blankets were soft and smelled like detergent and warm male body, and if Dan closed his eyes and breathed in deep he could almost smell sex, lurking under it all. Casey's pillows seemed off-limits-that, for some reason, was too much, a transgression - but Dan ran his hand, the one he'd been sort of haphazardly waving earlier just for the strange sensation of it, over the bed, over the side of the mattress, feeling the lumps of seams, the places where the blanket had gotten twisted up underneath him (or Casey, or Casey).
Everything was on instant replay tonight. He hadn't even come over here until after the show, and he wasn't sure why. He'd thought about the plants earlier, thought about watering them, but he hadn't. He could have. He hadn't. He'd made it so that he had to come over here, late, and now he was drunk, and would have to catch a cab home and pick up his car in the morning, and it was all Casey's fault for leaving those beers in the fridge, right out there in the open, tempting, so tempting. He'd have to replace those. And he couldn't have said why he'd done any of it in the first place, come over this late, opened the fridge, started twisting off the tops and drinking, lain down in Casey's bed.
He turned his cheek against the blankets, and they were so soft that he whimpered - the two things seemed intimately connected, though he couldn't have said how. He sighed, and relaxed a little, and the whole thing flooded his brain. He couldn't stop thinking about it. He couldn't lie, not right then, and that was why all this elaborate detail, right? To reduce him to this point when for once, just once, he was allowed to think these thoughts, to dream these dreams.
What would it be like to fall asleep in Casey's bed? His head lolled, and he let himself slip almost into sleep before snapping his eyes back open by force of will. Something like that, then, but his mind was already wandering somewhere else-what would it be like to fall asleep in Casey's bed with Casey? The thoughts pressed in, quick and close, vague patchwork images of other men he'd known (the few, the proud), imagining their arms draped across his side, their breath hot on his back, and somehow picturing Casey in it all. His eyes wandered shut again. Casey. Casey. Casey.
When he heard Casey's voice, for a moment it sounded absolutely right.
"Danny?"
The perfect mix of tentative, quiet, almost inflectionless. Just how Casey would sound, murmuring something over his shoulder in the middle of the night, something from a dream, maybe, a routine request for reassurance, a check-in, check-up, a what's up, a hey there.
"Dan."
That was too definite, though, and then the bed sank a little on one side and Dan found himself half-rolling toward it before a sudden spike of awareness sank into his brain and he opened his eyes completely. He thought perhaps he ought to sit up, but it seemed like so much effort, too much effort. His limbs felt slow.
Casey - it took another second or two to focus his eyes on Casey, to realize that the little sliver of light near the door had gotten brighter because Casey had pushed the door open on his way in, undoubtedly not expecting anyone to be there.
"You're home early," he said, knowing as he spoke that the words had come out blurry around the edges.
Casey understood him, though. Casey always understood him, even when he talked too fast or cried as he talked or talked through a haze of sleeplessness, the same way he understood Casey even when Casey didn't say anything at all.
He understood Casey. Sometimes he thought he knew more about Casey than Casey did. But that was hubris, right? And the gods had this tendency to cast down the prideful.
Besides, hoping hurt. He'd been - he'd been shoving things down, but that didn't mean he hadn't thought about it, once in a while, in that wide, empty space between waking and sleeping, before dreams. And he'd hoped. And after two years, five years, ten, the hope had slowly dissolved.
Hope was a stain he'd never wholly gotten out of his head or his heart.
This was embarrassing. Casey's eyes were tender, and he was just watching Dan, drunken Danny lying on his bed, and he'd probably seen the empties in the kitchen and noticed that the lights were on, so perhaps he'd been expecting this after all.
"I'm home early," Casey confirmed. His voice was still so soft Dan couldn't hear whatever undertones might be lurking in it.
"Thought you weren't coming home till Thursday."
"I wasn't. I changed my mind."
"Why?"
"The vacation sucked."
"Thought you needed a break."
"Yeah, maybe."
"Don't know what you needed a break from. The show," and he knew this wasn't the time to be lecturing Casey about anything, not with this glass house, "the show is everything to us, to both of us. Don't know why you wanted to get away from that."
"It's crazy."
"It's always crazy. Dana," he said, and almost winced, but went on, "Natalie, Jeremy, Isaac, they're a bunch of fucking lunatics, but we love them anyway. You know why?"
"Because the show is everything to us?"
"Damn right." Dan turned his head to the side, away from Casey, and closed his eyes again. He could almost feel the warmth of Casey's body.
"Danny," said Casey, and that was the tone of voice he used when he was going to ask a question, "why are you in my bed?"
Dan thought perhaps he should answer that with some vague but believable untruth. Instead, he said, "Do you ever get tired of pretending that you don't know?"
There was a long moment of silence, a very long moment, and despite his best intentions, Dan found his mind wandering a little, wandering over Casey's profile where Casey had looked away, the light from the living room falling in and glowing along the back of his neck, the dusty sound of Casey's coat when Casey moved a little, the rasp of Casey's shoes on the floor.
"Yeah," said Casey, finally.
"So stop pretending." Dan laughed, and it was almost inaudible. "Stop pretending. That's all I wanted to do tonight, so I came by, and I watered your plants, and then I drank your beer and climbed into your bed and I was going to clean up the empties and call a cab in the morning and water the plants and bring beer to replace what I drank tomorrow night. But you came home early."
Casey didn't say anything.
"You can still pretend this didn't happen, you know," said Dan. "You can walk out of here, stay in a hotel tonight, come back tomorrow night, and everything will be pristine. Nothing changed. Nothing spoiled."
"Danny."
"I spoil everything I touch."
"That's - "
"Except you. But I never touch you, do I?" Dan laughed again, a little louder this time. He could feel the puff of air. He wondered if Casey could. So indirect. "So the rule stands."
"I'm tired of pretending that I don't know what you're talking about," said Casey, and he took off his coat, methodically, folding it before placing it gently on the ground, like it was a kitten he was putting down instead of a London Fog overcoat. Dan watched him, feeling that urgent longing he'd become so familiar with and accustomed to, that he was used to tamping down, and then.
What was this?
"Casey?" he said, out loud.
"Yeah?"
"What - "
"What I should have done instead of taking a damn vacation." Casey unlaced his shoes, pulled them off. He stared at them, his face strangely twisted in the half-light.
"Casey?"
"Shhh," said Casey, instead of answering the question, and he felt Casey's hands come around his back, lifting him, and he was so surprised when he felt Casey's lips brush against his that he whimpered again. He heard Casey's breath hitch, and his hands scrabbled with Casey's buttons, and it seemed, then, that it had been inevitable; that one day they would crack, would come to this point where one or the other had decided that the effort of pretending wasn't worth it anymore, had taken a very brief break-at the right time, finally the right time - and Casey sighed against his lips, and said, "This isn't - in the morning - are you going to be - "
"I'd better be here."
"Good." Casey let out a shuddering breath, and kissed Dan again, and Dan thought that maybe it was a good thing, better than he'd thought, that the world was on slow motion and instant replay, because this was one thing he wouldn't mind doing over and over again.