He wasn't drunk—and he was disappointed that he wasn't drunk. Talk about a lousy situation.
He should have been drunk, or at least mildly buzzed, but instead he was sadly close to stone cold sober. It was after two a.m., he was alone in a hotel corridor, and the only effects he felt from those rum drinks were an insistent pressure on his bladder and a thin film of sugar in his mouth.
As Casey fumbled in the back pocket of his Levi's for the room card, his disappointment began to morph into irritation toward life in general and Dan Rydell in particular. Today they'd done the first of three shows from Florida and everything had been going so great. Great up until after they'd signed off, anyway—then things had gone to hell in a nice, slow fade to black.
Letting himself in to the overly air-conditioned room, Casey remembered exactly when things had gone wrong. They'd had a plan, the two of them, a serious plan for their first night away from the freezing temperatures of New York. It had involved vast numbers of neon colored drinks and, hopefully, an equal number of scantily clad women. Casey was glad about that plan, because Danny had been way too closed off lately and this sounded like the perfect way to get him back on track.
Casey didn't care so much about the half-naked women, though. That was just a bonus.
What Casey really needed above all else was to get Danny back to his old self. Casey had known for a long time that he needed Dan on a lot of levels, but right now he'd settle for some old-fashioned companionship. The rest—well—he'd waited this long, right? And with their careers back on track and the network in good hands for a change, the two of them were due for a little celebrating.
And that's what he'd thought he was going to get—a night out on the town with his best friend. After the show, they'd raced back to the hotel and up to their adjoining rooms to change, intent on heading out to some club called Dorsey's that the locals told them was the best club after hours. Casey had groaned out loud when they regrouped in the lobby, taking in Danny's blindingly bright shirt and khaki shorts.
"And you were once known as the cool one," Casey had intoned, shaking his head sorrowfully as they moved out of the lobby to catch a cab.
"Cool is a regional concept, Case," Dan had replied. "What's cool in Tampa does not translate well to, say, Denver."
"True. Wear that in Denver and they feed you to the Broncos' front line. Wear it in Seattle and they laugh at you while you freeze your ass off. Wear it in—"
"Wear it in Florida and the women think you're irresistible."
"You are a deluded, sad man, Danny."
"I'm a practical, intelligent man who is still cooler than you and about to become up close and personal with many practical, intelligent people who've been drinking and think we're cool because we're on television."
"So, deluded and hoping to get lucky."
"Something like that—there, he's stopping for us. C'mon."
They'd barely gotten settled in a booth at Dorsey's when the women had started circling; not an uncommon occurrence, but in Florida there was definitely less clothing involved. Nice thing about places like this—the men weren't shy, either, seeing in Dan and Casey a couple of approachable guys who happened to get paid a lot of money for what guys tended to do naturally—talk sports.
Through the first fifteen minutes and a round of glowing green drinks bought for them by a retired middleweight named Bosco, things were cool. They held court as their opinions were solicited on everything sports related and some things not, dispensing wisdom and witticism like cheap candy.
It was during a lull in the action that Casey turned to Dan, tipping his drink towards his partner. "This is great, isn't it?"
Dan nodded. "Among many great things, sitting in a bar in Florida with you, surrounded by beautiful women and having drinks purchased for us by someone named Bosco is in a league of its own." He lifted his own glass and they clinked them genially before taking sips that were immediately followed by a pair of matched grimaces.
Dan smoothed out his cocktail napkin before setting his drink down gingerly. "Casey, would you think any less of me if I ordered a beer?"
Casey frowned thoughtfully. "No, I wouldn't, but I expect Bosco might be miffed."
"Ah, can't have that, can we," Dan replied with a nod. "A miffed Bosco is something to be reckoned with, I believe."
"I'm sure he's the terror of his retirement home," Casey added, giving the elderly fighter a small wave as he moved past their table. "Know what?"
"What?" Dan replied distractedly as he bent over the side of the booth, head angled away to get a better view of a waitress' retreating form.
"I wish Dana could be here."
Dan jerked back, laying his palms flat on the table. "What?"
Casey plucked one of the slender straws from his drink and started chewing on it. "Dana. She's stuck in New York, we're here in sunny Florida and kings of all we survey. I think her appreciation of us would skyrocket if she saw how the masses catered to our every whim, if you can call a drink called Nuclear Nirvana a whim." He wiggled his eyebrows, inviting Dan to see the many possibilities of Dana-torment inherent in the situation.
But there was no agreement forthcoming. In fact, there was no sound at all as Danny slumped deeper into the booth, eyes shifting through the crowd. Casey watched him, uneasy at the lack of comeback. In the space of a few seconds, Danny had retreated back to that place he'd been inhabiting off and on since before the sellout scare. He was about to say something, anything to get Danny back with him, when Danny turned to him with a little smile.
"Promise me something, okay?"
"Yeah, sure, Danny, whatever," he replied, his uneasiness growing. The sounds of the crowded bar swirled around them, leaving their table in a curious circle of quiet. Dan eyed the multitude again and Casey hunched over the table, watching the garish lights of the bar play across the planes of the face he knew so well—and had loved for a very long time. Over the years, affection for a partner had changed into love for a friend into—something more. Something he had a feeling was reciprocated, if Danny could just let himself see it.
There'd just been too many times, Casey thought as he waited for Danny's reply, too many instances when they were closer than a couple of guys should be—at least a couple of guys that tried to have meaningful relationships with women, only to get shot down each and every time. Sometimes those transient connections between them occurred late at night, when they were coming down from the adrenaline high of a great show. After changing back into their street clothes, they'd linger in their—okay, Danny's—office, lost in their own world while everyone else went home.
Casey loved those dark hours, stolen from the normal chaos that governed their lives. It was in these moments, when they were winding down and the comfortable fatigue was starting to drag at them that Casey had come to look forward to as the highlight of his day. They'd sit next to each other on the couch, talking or silent, neither of them wearing shoes because the first one who slipped on his sneakers was signaling he was ready to go home. It was no coincidence that nine times out of ten, it was Danny who made the first move toward the Nikes.
Tonight Casey saw the unhappy set to his mouth, a too common weariness pulling at the delicate skin around his eyes that the strobe lights couldn't camouflage. But when Danny spoke, his voice was carefully casual, like a man discussing the merits of calamari versus potato skins.
"Promise me that you'll never forget about that night in Lubbock when we went out to that cowboy bar, okay?"
Although he was thrown off balance by the reference, Casey chuckled and grabbed a couple of peanuts and popped them into his mouth. "You mean the night we almost got our asses kicked by those A&M players?" he said as he chewed. "Not likely to forget it, I guess. Why?"
Danny grinned but it was an obvious effort. "Because we were no one that night, you and me. Couple of nobodies mouthing off to a bunch of Aggies who were pissed off because you described their defensive front line as 'porous.' They didn't know what it meant but they were pretty sure it wasn't good and they were damn serious about expressing their displeasure by cracking a few of our ribs."
"I swear, to this day, we could've taken them." Casey took a deep breath and downed the remainder of his drink. Eyes squeezed shut, he slammed his palm down and then glanced around for the waitress before meeting Danny's reluctantly amused gaze. "But I was right, right?"
"About you and me being able to take on five drunk, three-hundred-pound ag majors you were completely wrong, but you were very right about porous being an apt description. But my point here is—"
"No, I get it." Casey pushed his empty glass aside and rested his elbows on the table. "Those were good times. Dangerous and stupid, but good."
He watched with dismay as Danny lowered his eyes. He could feel him drifting farther away and he knew he was at fault—but sometimes the workings of Danny's mind eluded him. As Danny starting sliding out of the booth, he knew this was one of those times.
"Where you going?" he asked, hoping that all Danny needed was a trip to the men's room.
"Back to the hotel. Guess I'm more beat that I thought."
"I'll go with—"
Danny held up his hand. "Nah, stick around." As he came around the table to stand next to Casey, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts and gave him a tight grin. "There're some incredibly beautiful women in this bar, man. Think you should enjoy yourself. I'll see you in the morning—tee time's at ten, okay?"
"Got it," Casey replied faintly. He'd watched with absent admiration as Danny effortlessly worked the room all the way out the door, taking special care to thank Bosco for the drink he'd barely touched. Within minutes of his departure, Casey had been surrounded by some of those beautiful women—but rarely in his life had he felt so alone.
The hotel room felt dry and stale after the warmth of the humid bar, so after dropping his key card and wallet on the dresser, Casey moved straight to the glass door that opened on to the balcony and slid it wide open. Immediately soothed by the salt-tinged breeze, he watched the white caps break gently against the flat shore for a few minutes before turning back toward the room to get ready for bed.
He wasn't tired and his brain was working overtime on the problem of Danny. Or Danny's problem. Or his problem with Danny. Any and all of the above, but the final answer was that Danny's problems were his problems and he'd give anything to bring back the light in his partners' eyes.
TV held no attraction for him, so he stripped down and pulled on a pair of sweat pants and a tee shirt, thinking he'd get some writing done before he went to sleep. That lasted all of five minutes as his eyes kept straying to the balcony. He didn't get to the shore much—not nearly as often as Danny, who loved to sail and was always trying to get him to go along. Not that the two of them alone on a boat beneath clear blue skies wasn't appealing, but Danny would expect him to actually help with ropes and sails and other manly tasks, something Casey figured he'd be completely inept at doing.
He turned the laptop off and set it aside with a sigh. Switching off the nightstand lamp as he rose to his feet, he wandered onto the small balcony and leaned his elbows on the metal railing; the hotel had a pool but he was high enough up that he'd have to lean over to see it, leaving him with an unobstructed view of the private beach. The night was clear, illuminated by a bright half moon, and he could see a fog bank building on the low horizon. With only the muted sound of the waves to keep him company, he figured it was a perfect place to brood.
And he was right.
"Nice up here, hunh?"
The soft voice coming from his left startled him briefly, but he had a smirk firmly in place as he turned to face Danny, who was reclining on one of the lounge chairs on his own balcony. It was hard to see him clearly—the only light they had was a small fluorescent light attached to the building between their two rooms and the ambient glow of the moon. Still, it was easy to see that Danny hadn't changed yet—the orange and green stripes of his shirt seemed to provide their own special glow.
"Thought you were tired."
A creaking sound was his response as Danny got up and mirrored his position at his own balcony railing.
"I thought I was, too, and yet here I am." He almost missed the sidelong glance that Danny shot toward him before turning his gaze back to the ocean. "What about you? You came back pretty early. No one there worth dallying with?"
"Dallying? Considering I'm not a member of the court of Louis the Fourteenth, I'd say no, no one was dally-worthy at Dorsey's."
Danny's hastily stifled chuckle brought a goofy grin to his own face—this was an inane conversation, but it felt good anyway. A comfortable silence fell between them as they both stared out over the waves and watched the fog creep closer. Casey was just about to suggest that Danny join him for a raid on the mini bar when Danny straightened up with a small laugh.
"You remember that guy?" he asked conversationally. "The one who started his radio broadcasts with 'Good evening, Mr. And Mrs. America and all the ships at sea—'"
"Yeah, sure. Walter Winchell."
"Yeah, him. You remember him?"
"Uh, aside from the fact that he was probably mentioned in each and every journalism class we ever took, not really. I think he was just a little before my time to actually remember him."
"True. Mine too, probably."
"Probably."
"But it's the ship thing I'm wondering about. You look out there—and you don't see anything, but you know—you just know—there's hundreds of ships out there. Big ships and little boats—and you'd think they'd be bumping into each other all over the place. But they don't, you know?"
"Bump into each other?"
"Right. They're all out there—but you can't see them and the really funny thing is that they can't see each other, either, even though you know they're close."
"You're losing me, Danny."
A wistful sigh drifted to him over the muffled sound of the surf. "Tell me something I don't know, Case."
Casey grasped the railing, hands clenched around the cold metal. From camaraderie to obscurity in ten seconds—that had to be a record. "Okay. Okay. You're turning all cryptic on me here and I need you to explain why. Small words, short sentences, that's all I'm asking. And stop quoting dead guys."
He was met with silence. An unwelcome, unwarranted anger was about to rise to the surface and make him say something he'd regret when Dan spoke again.
"I was hoping to have you to myself for a while." The words were said matter-of-factly, again stripped of emotional overtones. "No Dana, no show, no Lisa. Just you and me—the way it used to be."
Above the hushed roar of the surf, Casey heard what he dreaded most—pain. What made it worse was that he finally realized that he was the one who'd royally screwed up. Danny—in his unique, Walter Winchell, Texas Aggie way—had been trying to tell him something all night, maybe even longer, but he'd missed it—until now.
"See," the low voice went on, "The thing is, I've always had to share you. Ten years with Lisa. Then the Dana thing. I'm not counting Sally because that was just some midlife crisis that showed up twenty years too soon. And Pixley and Marie and Denise and that girl in the bar at the Millennium—that was all okay because none of them mattered. Not like I—see, it's just that—I just wanted to be the center of your attention, that's all." Casey turned to see the bare outline of a shrug lift Dan's shoulders as he continued to stare at the slow-breaking waves.
"But you're my best friend, Danny. I spend more time with you than anyone else." Casey said the pro forma words, ignoring the little spurt of hope in the pit of his stomach. If he was right, if he'd finally figured out what Danny's problem had been all along—God, could he have been more blind?
"Don't say I'm like a brother to you, okay?" Dan said the words flippantly, but Casey again heard something else skimming the nonchalant tone—a melancholy plea for understanding.
"Wasn't going to."
"Good. 'Cause that's a little too cliché for us, right?"
"I don't think of you as a brother."
"Good."
"Never have, you know."
"Yeah. Hey, I'm gonna turn in." Casey watched as Danny turned toward his room. Panic got him moving over to the railing that paralleled Danny's, the two separated by less than two feet.
"I don't feel brotherly love for you, Danny."
Dan's hand paused where it rested on the latch of the screen. "Gotcha, Casey. Good night."
"No! Wait, I'm coming over."
Dan waved a dismissive hand in his direction. "It's late. I'm going to bed."
"I'm coming over."
"You're not coming over."
"I'm coming over, Danny."
"I won't let you in."
"No need."
Taking a deep breath, Casey threw his leg over the side railing and pivoted until his back was to Danny, wedging his foot securely between the metal slats before swinging his other leg over.
"Jesus, Casey, what the hell are you doing?"
Casey squeezed his eyes shut and counted to three. Logically, he knew there were less than two feet between the balconies; all he had to do was turn and step. If he didn't think about it as two feet with another twelve stories beneath him, he'd be fine. Behind him he could hear Danny making little noises of distress and that spurred him to move.
One more deep breath and he did it, taking that one big step and then coming over the railing on Danny's balcony with a little yelp. Dan's hands on his shoulders steadied him as he wobbled a little and he felt a surge of adrenaline pour through his veins.
"Pretty cool, hunh?" he said, grinning at Dan's wide-eyed expression.
Dan let him go with a little shove. "You are crazy, man, you are certifiable! What the hell were you thinking?" He took a step back, shock resolving into anger in his eyes.
Casey grinned and ran a shaking hand through his hair. He felt like a superhero, like a man who'd just saved the world. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."
Dan moved back again, crossing his arms over his chest. "You didn't scare me."
Casey's smile widened and he took a step towards him. "Okay. But you have to admit, that was pretty impressive."
Dan stared at him for a minute, then rolled his eyes. "Yeah, ok, we're talking a foot, tops, but it was pretty cool."
"A foot? Danny, that's at least eighteen inches. That was death-defying, my friend."
"Yeah, well, defy death again and go back to your own room."
Casey didn't reply as he stepped around the lounge chair toward Dan, crowding him until he took a backwards step deeper into the shadows of the balcony.
"Nope. Not until you understand." He stepped closer until Dan was backed into the dark corner, wedged between the stucco wall and the railing.
"Understand what?"
"That I don't love you like a brother."
"I think we've established that—" Dan raised a stiff forearm and tried to push his way past Casey, but Casey grabbed him by the shoulders and pinned him against the wall.
"Listen to me," he whispered urgently. "You remember when you first wanted to go out with Rebecca and you tried to get me to help you?"
Dan licked his lower lip, his gaze falling to Casey's mouth. "Yeah? So?"
"D'you know why I didn't?"
Casey watched as Dan raised his eyes slowly, his heart hammering as he waited for Dan's answer.
"Because you don't love me like a brother?" He said the words with a healthy amount of trepidation, enough that the grin on Casey's face softened into a smile of hopeless affection.
"Very good. And if I don't love you like a brother, then—"
"Then you love me—"
"Exactly," Casey whispered, and lowered his mouth to meet Dan's. There was a moment's sweet, surprised acquiescence as Danny's lips parted on a shuddering sigh—then Casey felt him shift and break the contact with a hard shoulder to his chest, shoving him aside.
"Danny—"
Danny crossed to the end of the balcony and pivoted, arms spread wide as he faced Casey with a weak attempt at a mocking smile.
Casey could see it coming a mile away.
"Casey—no, man, you got it all wrong, I don't need—"
Casey took two long strides and clutched Danny's arms, shaking him hard. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was surprised at how much he was risking—but it was already too late. If he was going to win Danny, he had to do it now, he had to make the facts incontrovertible—he had to make Danny see the truth with his heart before his head took over and ruined everything.
"Damn it, I'll tell you what you need." He stopped and briefly closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts. Dan remained still beneath his hands and when he looked at him, he saw an odd hunger in Danny's eyes that he'd missed before. "Okay. Listen up. You need—you need someone who gets all your good jokes and groans at your bad puns. You need someone who knows you're softheaded and bighearted and who also happens to think you're sexy as hell. And you know what else you need?"
Danny stared back silently, his throat working to swallow as Casey pressed on.
"You need a lover who'll always be there for you. Where have I been, hunh? Right here, right in front of you. Jesus—who knows your faults and doesn't try to change you because of them? Yeah. Bingo. Look, I won't lie to you, Danny. Sometimes you annoy the crap out of me—but I'll never play mind games with you and I'll never betray you. Not on any level."
Dan's eyelashes swept downward, veiling his expression from Casey's searching gaze. He loosened his grip on Danny's arms and settled for a clumsy up and down caress that practically begged a response. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the fog begin to gather around the hotel, tickling the back of his neck as he waited for Danny to send his life down one path or another, hoping it would be a path they'd share but resigned to walking it alone.
When Danny finally looked at him, Casey felt his next breath compress deep inside his chest. It was either love or disbelief he saw in those eyes, and until Dan said something, he wouldn't know which it was.
"You said 'lover,'" Danny murmured. One side of his mouth quirked up and Casey let himself exhale.
"Yeah, Danny, I did."
"What makes you think I'd be interested?"
Oh, Jesus. Casey had listened to Danny flirt with anything that moved for years—he knew that tone of voice intimately, but to hear it aimed at him was painful and exhilarating at the same time. He knew intuitively that Danny would try to use flirtation as a way to move the situation to a lighter level, and as tempting as it was to retreat to that level and slide over the hard stuff, he'd come too far to let that happen.
"Sorry, Casanova—I've seen you watch too many water polo matches to think you do it only for the love of the sport."
He was rewarded with an involuntary huff of laughter as Danny dropped his gaze once again to the middle of Casey's chest. Casey was still holding Danny lightly but suddenly he realized that they were stuck—and without Danny ever saying anything concrete one way or another.
Enough was enough.
"C'mere." He spun Danny around and maneuvered him over to the railing, facing back out toward the ocean. He stepped up close behind him and wrapped his arms around Danny's waist, effectively trapping him. Placing his lips close to Danny's ear, he spoke as quietly as he could, hoping Danny had to strain to hear him.
"I want you to forget about those damn ships out there, okay? And I want you to forget about all the other crap you're trying to come up with right this moment and tell me one thing. Just one true thing, that's all I'm asking."
Danny stiffened but gave a jerky nod. "Yeah, okay. I'm listening."
"Good. All right then, tell me—tell me the one thing you've wanted all your life. No jokes, no witty repartee, no banter, no bullshit. Right now, Danny, tell me right now."
Casey tightened his grip and closed his eyes, balancing his chin on Danny's shoulder as he waited for his reply. Danny was absolutely still for the space of maybe ten heartbeats, then his hands were sliding around Casey's arms, grabbing his elbows and pulling him closer as he leaned backward to tuck his head beneath Casey's chin.
"You know what I want, Casey. You always have. Only thing I've ever truly wanted—was to be loved. To be important to somebody, the center of their world."
Casey's heart plummeted—it was the easy answer, a glib response, the one reply he'd dreaded. He was so sure he'd ruined everything, so ripped up inside that he almost missed Danny's next words, whispered on a broken laugh that was closer to a sob.
"God, yeah, to be loved—by you, Casey. Just you. Only thing I've ever wanted, I swear to God."
The words raced straight to the pit of his stomach, exploding out ward in a shower of energy that had Casey yanking out of Danny's embrace and spinning him around to catch his wrists with cold, shaky fingers.
"Don't mess with me, Danny. I think I've made it pretty damn clear that what I feel for you goes way beyond fraternal anything. You got anything less than that for me, let me know right now and I'll walk away and we can blame this whole incident on weird green cocktails, okay?"
He had to blink twice before he saw it, but between one breath and the next it was there, flooding Danny's eyes, infusing the wondering smile that lifted his lips, warming the hands that traveled upward to sheathe Casey's between with tender fingers. It was love, expanding and enfolding him even as he felt his head gently led forward until their lips almost touched.
"Danny," he whispered, eyes shut again as he searched for the right words. "Don't—don't take this the wrong way, but—"
A kiss was dropped on the side of his mouth.
"Don't worry, Casey. See, I'm in love with you, too. And that makes everything okay."
Casey sagged against him, pulling him close until they were in the kind of embrace he'd dreamed about for years. They were both physically affectionate but between them it was always tempered by private histories and public surroundings. Masculine hugs and back poundings were the extent of what was accepted and they'd never crossed the line, not even when they were alone.
Now Casey knew why—because if he'd ever had the chance to hold Danny like this before, he seriously doubted their friendship would've survived. The man in his arms was warm and strong, holding him with equal if not more fervency as they allowed their bodies to become aware of each other in a whole new way. He turned his head so that his nose brushed against the cropped hair, inhaling a scent he thought he knew so well but now he realized that he'd not know at all. Danny carried the scent of the ocean on his skin, mixing with the remnants of the spicy cologne he'd put on earlier. Almost to his surprise, Casey felt himself becoming hard—he'd always known on a very elemental level that he was attracted to this caring and neurotic depository of trivia, but the actual, physical evidence was something of a shock. After years of training himself to quickly suppress or divert his body's reaction to Danny, it was a heady experience to realize that he could finally allow himself to feel it all without reservation.
When Danny shifted and placed a hot, open-mouthed kiss against the over-sensitized flesh of his neck, Casey jumped and raised his head so he could look into Danny's eyes.
"Oh, man," he breathed. "Oh, man, this is gonna be good."
"Yeah," Danny whispered back. "It really is."
Casey cupped Danny's face and bent forward until their foreheads touched. "Good, I'm glad you agree, because right now, I have no idea what do to next."
Danny's soft laughter washed over him. "You're kidding me. Jesus, Casey, you're not going to tell me now that you don't know what a couple of guys—"
"No, no, I know what to do with a guy. Hell, I know what to do with a woman, too."
"Ergo Charlie."
"Ergo Charlie, indeed. It's you I'm having a hard time with." He pressed his cheek to Danny's, knowing his own was hot with embarrassment. Only the feel of Danny's thumbs rubbing soothing circles on the small of his back kept him from total humiliation.
"Why?"
"Why? 'Cause this is you—and me—it's us, okay? What if I do the wrong thing and you start laughing, or I do something you don't like, or—"
Dan placed a finger against his lips, putting the brakes on his runaway mouth.
"Okay, Casey, okay. You got us this far—I'll take it from here."
"Hunh?"
"Kiss me."
"What?"
"Now, Casey."
Reacting blindly, Casey pressed his mouth to Dan's. It began so clumsily that he was afraid he was going to get the laughter he'd dreaded. Instead he heard Danny's breath hitch as their bodies strained together—and then the kiss fell into place, like a key sliding into a lock. Danny cradled his head with one hand, his sweet, hot tongue probing into Casey's mouth so gently that his head began to swim in confusion. He'd expected—hell, longed for—the blatant eroticism of kissing Danny, but he was thrown by the amount of affection that went along with it. There was another moment of disorientation as a cool draught of air pressed against his back, then he realized that Danny was pulling his tee shirt up from behind.
Casey drew away with a gasp, throwing his hand back and searching for the latch to the screen. Danny was still tugging at his shirt as Casey backed them into the dark room, pausing only long enough to toss the heavy drape across the open door before gathering Danny back to him.
"I can't see you," Danny muttered against his neck. Casey's tee was now rucked up to midchest as Danny's warm, calloused hands stroked over his ribs and back.
"Sure you can," Casey whispered. "With these." He captured Danny's hands and kissed each palm, then ran his hands up lightly muscled arms until his fingers dipped into the vee of Danny's shirt.
"God, yeah." Danny's voice was rough, his fingers straying back to the ties of Casey's sweat pants. "Yeah, Casey, take it off me."
Casey's voice was no better. "Okay." He gathered the shirt in two fistfuls and ripped the shirt down the middle, sending the buttons to quiet oblivion on the plush carpet.
"Jesus, Casey, what—"
He flipped Danny around and stripped the shirt off his shoulders, silencing Danny's laughing protest with a kiss to the base of his neck.
"Sorry," he murmured as his tongue danced across Danny's shoulders. "Really, really ugly shirt, Danny."
"Yeah, well," he heard faintly. "I'm gonna get another one if you promise to do that again." He felt one of his wrists taken in a frantic hold as Danny guided his hand downward until he could feel the hot evidence of just how much Danny liked the whole shirt-ripping thing pressing against the seam of Danny's khaki shorts. Taking the hint—and eager to dispense with more of Danny's clothing—Casey unsnapped the top of the shorts and took a moment to stroke his thumbnail down the length of the zipper, marveling at the heat that was pouring off Danny's damp skin. The lightless room brought his world down to only what he could feel, taste and hear, and the enormity of what was happening suddenly pressed down on him. He faltered, afraid he was going to lose himself too quickly in the rush to experience everything all at once.
And just like always, onscreen and off, Danny was there to catch them both, turning in his arms and awarding him a deep kiss before guiding him to sit at the foot of the bed. He heard the faint rasp of a zipper parting and when he reached out his palms cupped the newly bared skin of Danny's hips. An easy tug brought the softly furred abdomen within reach of his lips and he feasted lightly, letting his hands roam backwards to caress the firm ass and strong legs he'd been admiring surreptitiously for years.
Shaky fingers combed through his hair with a teasing touch before his tee shirt was finally pulled over his head and tossed away. Casey reached out again, his hands eager to continue exploring, but they were gently pushed aside. He moaned a protest but shut up when he felt those same fingers tugging at the drawstring of his sweats. As he lifted his hips to help get them out of the way, his hands still roaming over any patch of skin he could reach, Casey's last shred of apprehension blew away.
He had Danny's taste in his mouth now.
"Scoot back."
The terse words were accompanied by a sweep of Danny's mouth across his, then the bed was dipping behind him as Danny crawled past him. When Casey turned to lay full length on the bedspread, Danny's arms were there to welcome him, hauling him into an embrace that was equal parts comfort and lust.
And then it was pretty much just lust.
The abrupt collision of heated skin along every line of their bodies drove hesitancy and awkwardness out the window. Casey wanted Danny's hands in very specific places and guided them there himself, then returned the favor when Danny panted his own requests in his ear. Expecting a headlong rush into oblivion, Casey was pleasantly shocked to feel Danny set a slow, languorous pace that allowed them time to test and discover, relying on years of trust as their foundation now to ensure each other's sensual pleasure before finding completion for themselves. That was how Casey learned that Danny loved having his ear licked, and how sliding his hand between Danny's legs and caressing him there nearly sent him through the roof.
Danny returned each stroke with one of his own, obliterating Casey's oldest inhibition as he urged him to tell him what he wanted, what he was feeling. Somehow he'd known that Casey had never been vocal in bed, but before long Casey was intermingling broken pleas and breathless praise, gratefully allowing Danny to take the lead. Danny tortured him with his hands and mouth, pleasuring him endlessly, selflessly, bringing him close so many times before finally taking him into his mouth so deeply that all sound and breath left Casey in a silent scream. The act was incredibly intimate, desperately romantic, and Casey fell harder and farther than he'd ever dreamed possible—but then Danny seemed to make all things possible, one way or another.
And when it came his turn to give, Casey did so with single-minded dedication, needing to make sure that Danny fell just as hard so that come the sunrise there'd be no doubts, no distance—and no one else ever again. He spent lengthy moments comparing the texture of Danny's skin, finding it rough down near his heels but wonderfully supple high on his inner thigh. Turning him over, he explored the topography of his back with long, slow sweeps of his fingers that concluded in the dark curves between his thighs. When that ceased to satisfy him, he followed that same path with his lips as Danny writhed beneath him, murmuring inarticulate demands until Casey urged him to turn once more. Pausing only long enough gather his breath, Casey straddled him briefly before using his upper body to convey a lush caress down the length of Danny's torso, then enveloped him with his own eager mouth. Finding one of Danny's hands, he knotted their fingers together, letting rhythm, nature and love take their course until Danny finally howled and tried to twist off the bed. Casey soothed him down with gentle hands on bony hips, laughing softly as Danny sank back into the bedspread with a deep-chested moan of repletion.
"Oh, my God," Danny panted as he hoisted Casey back into his arms for a sloppy kiss. "Oh, God, Casey, that was—no, you are—Jesus, that was incredible."
"Yes, it was," Casey agreed, settling his head on Danny's chest. He smiled as he listened to the racing heart begin to calm and the staccato breathing stretch out into a more natural cadence. It occurred to him that he should feel strange inside, or at least astounded by this desired but unexpected turn of events, but oddly enough all he felt was vague relief and a boundless content. Somewhere between his divorce and the purchase of CSC they'd slowly let slip the best of their friendship—the camaraderie, the security in each other, the unspoken but unquestioned devotion. Now, cradled close with Danny's restless fingers roaming over his neck and shoulders, his eyes drifted shut on the thought that things had finally been made right.
Unfortunately, he still had the workings of Danny's mind to contend with.
"Hey, Case?" The softly spoken words were punctuated with a barely felt kiss to the top of his head.
"Yeah?" he replied, tightening his arm around Danny's waist.
"What happens now?"
If he hadn't heard the thread of uncertainty in Danny's voice, Casey would've been tempted to brush off the question in favor of sleep. But knowing this was Danny—who worried everything like a terrier with a tennis shoe—he roused himself and moved up the share Danny's pillow, turning on the small bedside lamp along the way.
"I assume you're not talking about catching forty winks, right?" Nose to nose, Casey rested his palm against Danny's cheek. "Tell me what you're thinking, okay?"
"I'm thinking—I'm thinking you're going to regret this, you know? Some time tomorrow between the sixth hole and the seventh tee you're going to look at me and think God, what a—"
"Shut up, Danny." Casey spoke amiably, undisturbed by these not unexpected misgivings. "Don't even go there. Okay, you wanna know what happens next? I'll tell you—we do our shows, we go back to New York, we tell Charlie and Isaac that we're moving in together, you take me sailing so that we can make love beneath the stars, then we go to New Orleans for the second remote where we proceed to get drunk on Bourbon Street, and oh, by the way? We're never going to L.A. because I have an unreasonable hatred of that town, Laker Girls or no Laker Girls. Then we look into buying a house in Connecticut—you getting all this down?"
Even in the sickly light of the hotel lamp, there was no mistaking the rueful amusement in Danny's eyes. "Nice fantasy, man."
Casey managed a sideways shrug, using the movement to shift deeper into Danny's embrace. "Yeah, okay, so we don't live together, but everything else is doable. We tell Charlie because he's family and we tell Isaac because—well, because he's Isaac and he needs to hear it from us—and we're going to need him."
He forestalled Danny's burgeoning protest with a swift kiss. "Look, I don't want to lose what we have either, not any of it. But we've got history on our side, Danny—no one's ever questioned our relationship before. At least not to our faces."
"What about—" Danny swallowed noisily. "What about women?"
"You like women, I like women—I think everyone's pretty clear on that subject. But we love each other, right? Okay, I don't have all the answers, but look at it this way. You've hardly glanced at another woman since Rebecca and I've dated enough for both of us. We can ride on our reps for a long time, believe me."
He waited while Danny thought it out, determined to counter every objection with reasonable hope.
"Know what?"
Casey steeled himself, absently wishing they could've saved this discussion until they were more awake. "What?"
"I believe you."
"You do? Which part?"
"I do. All of it, right down to the house in Connecticut and never venturing any farther west than Palm Springs. Maybe we don't get all of it right away, but we've got time." He said it with such matter-of-fact conviction that Casey was glad he'd tossed out all that nonsense, if for no other reason than the transitory pleasure it brought in its contemplation.
"Well, okay then." He heaved up on one elbow, driven by the need to get a better look at Danny's eyes. Behind the gentle teasing he saw something he hadn't seen in months, maybe years—Danny's own peculiar brand of serenity. The shadows in his eyes were only tricks of the lighting and they couldn't conquer the peaceful glow they held, one Casey thought he'd never see again. No, check that—he'd never seen that look on Danny's face, not even when things with Rebecca were at their best.
"C'mon," he murmured, sitting up and pulling Danny with him. He was unwilling to break the intimate spell but the fog had begun to penetrate the thick drape, so they tossed back the bedspread and regrouped beneath the stiff sheets. There was some laughter-filled confusion as they worked at fitting back together, both of them a little shyer now that the first tide of passion had ebbed. But separation was unthinkable, so Danny eventually took over and directed arms and legs into a satisfactory arrangement, Casey going along with a token grumble about being bullied which was completely ignored.
Just as Casey began to drift off, he was struck with a bothersome thought.
"Hey, Danny?"
The dark head stirred against his shoulder. "Hmm?"
"How'm I gonna get back into my room?"
An amused draught of warm air flowed across his chest. "Dunno. Same way you got out, I guess."
"No way. I defied death for you once, oh partner of mine. Next time it's your turn."
"Mmm, okay," came the muzzy reply. "Next time one of us has to tell Natalie that our artistic values will be forever compromised if we don't get ten more seconds when the forties are already twenty over, I'll be the man."
Casey let out a low whistle. "That beats my leap across the abyss hands down."
"Damn right it does." Danny's yawn turned into a lazy kiss to his shoulder. "Ice bucket."
"Hunh?"
"I'll give you my ice bucket in the morning. You can sneak down to the desk and say you locked yourself out when you went to get ice."
"Why would I need ice in the morning?"
"Go to sleep, Casey." A limp hand, apparently trying to pat his cheek, landing against Casey's nose. He gathered it up and retained it as he molded their bodies closer together, the welcome heaviness of Danny's sleeping body a vivid reminder of all that had transpired. He was still happily shell-shocked by the whole thing, but he knew this wasn't a dream fueled by some toxic green concoction thought up by an oversexed beach boy.
Inevitable. That was the word Casey assigned to the whole thing—the inevitable culmination of a ten-year long courtship. Life going forward was going to be more of a gamble than any high stakes game they'd ever played in Atlantic City, but the reward—in the form of the man now snuffling damply into his neck—was worth the risk.
Good evening Mr. and Mrs. America, from border to border and coast to coast and all the ships at sea. Let's go to press.
A thousand thank yous (and still counting!) to Aithine, who every once in a while says "let's do a SportsNight marathon." Without her, this story—well, pretty much any story—would never have been written.
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