Friday Night
by Te
3/99

Disclaimers: If they were mine, I would be too busy... er, 
watching to write.

Spoilers: Vague refs to the Gordon eps, but takes place 
slightly before "Sally."

Summary: Late night drive home.

Ratings Note: NC-17.

Author's Note: Standalone story...

Acknowledgments: For Rae, because all those bad thoughts 
deserve at least one good one. Thanks go to the fabulous 
Bone and the lovely Ker, for fine, *fast* beta. All 
remaining mistakes and ambiguities are entirely my own 
fault. Feel free to call me on them at thete1@earthlink.net.

******

Casey wasn't sure if the show had been good or not. He was 
gritty around the eyes. His neck felt tacky with sweat and 
missed makeup. He was *rank*... but so was Danny, and that 
made it a little better.

Just two Neanderthals on their way back to the cave. Will 
they wash? Who knows. But there'll be grunting for sure, 
and probably some hearty roughhousing over the last shank 
of mastodon. 

Or something. Casey's eyes hurt, and he was abruptly aware 
that he hadn't blinked in a while. He was probably 
projecting that mostly blank stare he'd perfected for 
between-shot rest. Or for nights with women he couldn't 
bring himself to say he was dating.

They would ask, 'What are you thinking?' And he would grunt 
noncommittally, in the always futile hope that they 
wouldn't ask again. If they did, he could say 'Nothing,' 
and wonder if he'd be the subject of yet another dumbfuck-
testosterone-poisoned- tv-personality story shared over 
lattes and sweets that wouldn't be admitted to and --

Shit.

*Had* it been a bad show?

He thought about asking Danny, but the other man was fully 
focused on the road ahead. Casey knew that look. It was the 
"If you distract me, we will both die a horrible, fiery 
death by the side of the road" look -- Danny had been using 
it for these 2 a.m. rides since the old Spring Break road 
trips...

"Danny, when's the last time we went on a road trip?"

The car swerved minutely, but tellingly. Maybe he should 
have driven. 

He looked out the window and needed a full minute to figure 
out where he was, despite their being on the way to Danny's 
apartment, despite having driven this route himself 
countless times... his jaw creaked with the force of his 
yawn. Casey decided that he'd made the right decision the 
first time around, and simply did his best to stay alert-
looking for Dan. 

No fiery crashes. Fiery crashes were profoundly Not In The 
Plan. Nope, no way.  He could think about Sally. Long legs, 
breasts so naturally firm you wanted to throw her into the 
sun to ripen a little, or maybe just throw her in a dark 
room and give her some pearls for Christmas. Nearly 
universally loathed. Seemed a rather strong reaction to 
Casey, though he had to admit he wasn't entirely  sure why 
he'd had sex with her.

Pretty, competent, adoring, not insane.... Well, those were 
the qualities he'd been looking for since he was seventeen, 
to be sure. Maybe he could talk to her about her diplomacy 
skills. 

He was glad he was too tired to throw back his head and 
howl at that one. 

Danny would help him find a way to extricate himself from 
this mess before things got too complicated. Just as soon 
as Casey managed to tell him. Dan was good at things like 
that. Good anchor, good driver, master of pulling chestnuts 
from fires... asbestos fingers?

Casey tossed a glance over to the steering wheel, and Dan's 
fingers looked precisely like they always did -- long, 
pale, and human. No asbestos. Not too many scars. Maybe he 
was just *built* for saving his friends...

Or friend. Hmm. 

Living at night was not only sucking the tan right out of 
their skins, it was sucking the life right out of their 
lives. Dana was a prime example. Killing herself to keep 
Gordon just because there was no one else on the horizon.

He should be sleeping with Dana. Friend to friend, same 
schedules, genial acquaintance. They could have good, 
painless sex and he wouldn't have to feel guilty about it. 
Good friends did that sort of thing all the time, you just 
didn't see it on the long-distance commercials. 

Or in the real world, according to Dana. 

At some point when he hadn't been paying attention, Dana 
had decided he was off-limits. And damned if good friends 
didn't *also* respect crap like that. There had to be an 
exception to that rule somewhere. Typed across Dana's 
panties if nowhere else: "In case of sexual idiocy, rip 
these off and jump Casey. Repeat until you're back to 
normal."

It was a nice image. Several nice images, in all honesty. 

Casey caught himself drifting off and shook himself. He had 
a sudden flash of himself as one of those cartoon 
characters after a blow to the head. His pupils would be 
rattled back and forth like marbles in a jar. Much more 
entertaining than the thought that his shaking had 
distracted Dan into another swerve.

He resisted the urge to ask how much further they had to 
go, wondered how long it would take their bodies to get 
accustomed to these graveyard hours. What it would be like 
when they did...

Who would be left? Maybe he should start hunting down Goth 
types and the chronically insomniac. Open up their social 
lives again. Find out if vampires truly existed.

Something. 

Casey wanted to shake that one off, too, hated to brood 
about the sacrifices he'd had to make to get where he was, 
but figured the *third* swerve would probably be their 
last. Danny had thrown out the idea of taking cabs on 
nights like this some time back.... It wasn't that Casey 
had scoffed per se, but...

No, he'd scoffed. And laughed. And mocked. Guys *drive*.

He cast another glance at Danny. He was reasonably sure 
there'd been far too much time between blinks. 

Guys were going to start riding, oh yes.

Thankfully, they got to Danny's building only a few minutes 
later. Parked in the garage. Got in the elevator. Shared 
the back wall in companionable silence, let their eyes meet 
in the mirrored ceiling. Danny's smiled at him, even as the 
rest of his face remained in the slack lines of fatigue. 
Casey examined himself more closely.

Rumpled, smudged, vague aura of irritation.... He looked 
like the morning after of a very long, yet excruciatingly 
dull party. Casey grunted at his reflection and watched 
Danny smirk. Well, he didn't exactly look like money 
*either*. 

But he did look like Danny, and that never lost it's 
comfort, and he guessed he looked enough like Casey to make 
the feeling mutual. 

They hit the other man's floor and Casey let his head fall 
forward, momentarily stunned by the rapid change in 
position. Even his blood just wanted to stay still and 
sleep, apparently. Not quite pole-axed with dizziness. 
Maybe twig-axed. In any case, Dan steadied him out the door 
and down the hall and into his apartment and back into his 
bedroom.

And calmly, casually, began removing Casey's clothes. 

Casey helped as much as possible, but Dan just batted his 
hands away and did it himself, which really was just fine 
with Casey, as it had been at least three weeks since he'd 
felt those perfectly human fingers trailing down his chest, 
and that was much too long. 

He was blearily pleased that Danny's fingers weren't 
asbestos, because nothing that felt so good for him should 
be entirely without sensation for Danny. Danny's fingertips 
were slightly cooler than Casey's skin, and traced his 
chest like some worn work in Braille, methodically, gently. 

And then those fingers slipped down and around and under 
Casey's slacks to cup his ass and squeeze and there they 
both were. There was no miraculous change in Danny's face -
- he still looked as tired as Casey felt -- but his eyes 
were bright, happy in the dimness. 

"Three and a half years."

Casey blinked. "Hmmm...?"

Danny leaned in and pressed his lips against Casey's 
cheekbone, not a kiss, just a rest. Perhaps it was one of 
Danny's favorite spots... "Since we last went on a road 
trip. Vegas. All that desert before Vegas. Dehydration. 
More desert. Gambling --"

"Mmmm... baccarat...."

Danny snorted. "The James Bond thing lost its charm after 
you dropped that grand, Case. But you did look good in the 
tux."

Casey felt conflicting urges to chuckle easily and stiffen. 
On the one hand, it had been a good night despite the 
expense. Glittering girls, foreign cigarettes, champagne, 
Dan playing the amazed tourist watching Casey be smooth... 

But they hadn't been sleeping together at the time, and it 
was strange to think of Dan wanting him then.

*Knowing* he'd wanted him, and not saying anything, not 
touching... Casey distracted himself by nuzzling the other 
man's face into the proper position for a kiss. Danny 
tasted like the ribbon-mints on Jeremy's desk, good but 
vaguely wrong. Such an old, *staid* taste... Casey deepened 
the kiss, pressed closer.

When the other man groaned into one of his kisses, there 
was always a change. His taste became more acrid, less 
soothing. It was the important reminder that this wasn't 
just a part of his life, it was *kissing Danny*, another 
man with wants and needs that had -- mostly inexplicably -- 
included him for God knew how long.

Casey wondered when he'd actually get up the nerve to ask 
how long it had been, what day, what night, what touch, 
what look. And then he'd have to revise all of his memories 
forward again. Tinge them each with the discomfort of 
unknowing observation and the regret of missed chances...

But not now, because Danny had tilted his head and leaned 
back just enough. The motion had always seemed weighted. 
Such a subtle thing, yet unmistakable in its request. Lean 
in, take that willing mouth until you've forgotten how to 
breathe altogether and have to feel each instinctive intake 
of breath like a squalling infant, unfamiliar and hurting.

The motion was a coaxing, a gentling of trainer to pet, all 
light touch and simple faith in his own ability and there 
was nothing to do but follow, plunge his tongue a little 
harder, squeeze one hand between them to cup Danny's cock 
and rub and rub and there --

That extra degree of heat that meant the other man's cock 
was leaking, straining against his boxers, staining.... And 
then Danny's hand was on his cock and that was when he 
noticed that his pants had miraculously slipped to his 
ankles and his own boxers were nothing but a frame for his 
eager, needful cock.

"Danny --" It was more moan than speech and it always 
seemed too much to sound like that for a friend, but when 
Danny slipped his fist around Casey's cock and stroked it 
so *naturally*...

Casey wondered if Danny had jerked himself as raw as he had 
in that month between the first drunken spill of their come 
against each other's bellies and the day they'd actually 
talked about it. A briefly beautiful image, cut off only by 
Danny pushing him back on the bed in a sideways sprawl.

God, the position felt decadently good on his tired spine, 
and when Danny lowered himself between his legs he thought 
he'd might like to die just like that. Danny caught his 
gaze, held it. So darkly compelling as to make it hard to 
notice the boxers leaving his hips at last. So hot as to 
make it impossible not to close his eyes when Danny bent 
his head.

A heartbeat of just the other man's breath curling humidly 
around the head of his cock, another to wonder if this was 
the night Danny would cut the crap and be obvious about all 
the experience he'd clearly had. Another to wonder what it 
would be like to beg the other man.

But then Danny slipped down and down and grasped Casey by 
the root and fucked his own mouth in slow, even strokes. 
Casey braced himself on his elbows, opened his eyes and saw 
himself disappearing into that southern heatwave, saw the 
other man's lips stretch and redden to accommodate his 
length and moaned and had to close his eyes again. 

It was all right; Danny would take care of him. God would 
he take care of him... Casey's entire body wanted to sway 
and turn into a thrust, wanted to put all of its power 
behind his hips so he could drive right down Danny's throat 
and *stay* there until his body had frozen into some Greek 
statue of strain, or perhaps just until the heat and 
pressure forced him into the orgasm that seemed only 
seconds away. 

But he managed to control his hips and Danny rewarded him 
with the motion of his clever tongue. Snakes wished they 
had tongues like that, and who knew there could be such 
grand corruption under that seal-dark hair, behind the eyes 
he knew better than his own?

Times like these, the blackness of all he didn't know about 
his best friend, his least-inconvenient lover... it was a 
yawning abyss and all Casey wanted to do was fall. There 
was no need to understand all he'd learn, he just wanted 
Dan to *show* him, give it to him like everything else. 

Casey wanted to take and take until Danny had nothing left 
and had to stay with him forever, if only to remain close 
to his own soul. 

And he heard himself groaning, knew his words weren't quite 
incoherent enough, knew he'd have to answer for them 
someday, but then Danny moved his hand and swallowed oh 
Christ swallowed and Casey couldn't hold back anymore, had 
to thrust, had to groan, had to empty himself down the 
sweet hot column of Danny's throat and lose everything 
resembling consciousness in a haze of white noise and deep 
red need.

Casey stayed right there until he felt the bed settle. Dan 
had just left him there in a haze of his own satiation to 
crawl into bed. Indignation would require energy and even 
less shame than he had, so he simply scooted into better 
position and draped himself over the other man.

Danny was propped against the wall, naked and hard and he 
hissed when Casey touched him. His muscles jumped under 
flushing skin. Casey leaned in further and sucked one rose- 
brown nipple into his mouth, bit down, sucked harder. Heard 
Danny's breath catch on a low note and lapped at the small 
hurt. 

Ran his hand down the leanly muscled stomach, ran one 
finger up the vein of Danny's cock. He was so hard, so 
damned hard and sticky and wet with his own pre-come...

"What do you want, Danny? You want me to touch you?"

"Oh, fuck..."

Casey wasn't sure where his words came from, had no real 
desire to be cruel, but.... Danny was so hard for him. He 
brought his finger to his mouth, tasted the uniquely clean, 
male, and addicting fluid. Watched Danny watch his mouth 
until the other man just couldn't anymore. And then Casey 
had no power left to tease. 

He shifted until he had the other man's cock within his 
field of vision and began to lap, groaning despite himself 
-- doing this for Dan always left him with an intellectual 
lust at the very least, no matter how tired and satisfied 
his flesh was. 

And it was so good to lap at him, to have him spread and 
arch and whisper a thousand words Casey couldn't possibly 
hear over the blood still pounding in his ears. Casey 
cupped the tightening sac in his palm and pushed his face 
against Danny's groin. The hair was thicker, blacker here 
and neither of them had showered and Jesus but he never got 
tired of going down. Any woman; certainly Dan.

Smelled good, tasted better, and the sounds --

Casey didn't wait any longer. He sucked in the head and 
settled his hands on the subtle flare of the other man's 
hips, but not really pressing down. He loved feeling Danny 
push his arms up with each thrust, the sheer muscular 
power. If you were going to have sex with a man there was 
no reason not to take every advantage you could.

He dug his fingers in and slid a little further down, 
feeling marvelously shaped and battered by Danny's cock 
despite the other man's controlled movements, but wanting 
more... He shifted again, trying to keep the other man's 
cock cradled, and finally he was able to slide a finger 
down behind Danny's balls and circle the tight pucker. 

Danny yelled and bucked and it occurred to Casey that he'd 
only been there once, another drunken night and he couldn't 
remember much beyond perfection and they had to do that 
again. Definitely. 

He circled again, pressed down a little harder and Danny's 
hand fell trembling yet firm on the back of his head and he 
had just enough time to remember to swallow before Danny 
pushed down and thrust up. It was a little too much too 
fast, he nearly choked, but Danny just did what Casey had 
fantasized --

Thrust in and *stayed* there. Casey learned to breathe and 
started to work his throat and he *could* understand what 
Danny was saying, because it was only his name, over and 
over. Cried out in a tone so raw it was nearly mournful. 

They always got so close to too much, but Casey felt 
reckless enough that too much was just another beautiful 
thing. He pushed his finger in, one merciless stroke that 
ripped another cry out of Danny's throat. Pushed up and 
felt his whole body twitch at *that* yell and then Danny 
was shooting, hot and pulsing, thick on Casey's tongue.

Casey swallowed as much as he could and then pulled off, 
letting Danny shoot the rest on his own heaving torso. So 
hot to watch him come.... Did Dan get off on watching him 
come, too? Was asking that question allowed?

Casey shook his head, slipped out as gently as he could, 
and dipped his fingers in the blood-hot spatters and spread 
it around, absently. Waited for Dan to open his eyes, drank 
his fill of the other man's flush. New York was so *bright* 
at night.... Casey could see everything he wanted to see.

And then Danny was watching him, seemed to be searching for 
something. His forehead creased in a frown too small to 
reach his mouth and Casey leaned in to rest his lips there. 
Not a kiss, just a favorite place... Dan's hot breath was a 
tickling caress on Casey's throat. 

The position was awkward but he stayed there anyway. After 
a while, Danny's hand settled on his bicep, rubbed and 
squeezed gently. Petting him.

The clock said 3:38. 

In less than eight hours, they'd be heading to some lake 
Casey had never heard of. There'd be drinking, maybe some 
fishing. But they both knew it was really just an excuse 
for what they'd done tonight. Just good friends who worked 
together, deciding to spend the night together so they 
could get out more efficiently in the morning for their fun 
guy things. 

And then it was back to their lives, probably with nothing 
more than a few shoulder squeezes, back-slaps. Unless they 
could squeeze out another brief encounter, unless they 
couldn't help themselves. 

Casey pressed briefly harder against Dan, who just squeezed 
him. He hated this... this burst of reality that hit him 
every once in a while. He rolled off, and settled in, tried 
to let the thick scent pull him away. It wasn't reality, 
really. It was reality he couldn't quite believe that he 
could change to his liking. 

It made him feel old, weak, out of control --

Dan reached over and smacked him lightly. Sometimes Casey 
thought Danny knew him even better than ten years of 
friendship would make natural. It wasn't *always* 
frightening... 

Casey grinned ruefully. "Got it." 

Dan grunted and turned on his side, Casey ran his hand 
across the smooth expanse of skin and muscle, settled 
himself in more comfortably, and went to sleep. 

******
End.
******