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Dan and Case went to his place,
Where there was beer and laughter,
Dan fell on the bed and bumped his head,
And Casey came tumbling after.
Or something.
Anyway, now Dan is lying in bed next to a naked Casey and there has to be a reason that they got there. Other than the fact that he's wanted to get into Casey's pants for some number of years that he's not going to count because then he'll have to face the fact that he's old, old, old and it's way too early in the morning for that. At least, he's assuming it's the morning but he's had blackout curtains since forever because he can't sleep if it's light and working the hours he does that's a problem in the summer months. On second thoughts it might not be morning because he is most definitely rambling and rambling is what he does when he's drunk. Or nervous. He glances at the apparently sleeping man in the bed next to him and his heart thumps in a way that is not entirely pain free. Oh, he's definitely nervous.
He stretches out a hand to touch Casey's hair but stops before he reaches it, hand hovering in mid air. He's not sure he's ready to deal with the consequences of an awake and probably freaked out Casey. Alcohol can only explain so much. For example, it can explain the headache that's settled in between his eyes and appears to be making itself quite comfortable there, but it doesn't explain the throbbing at the back of Dan's head somewhere in the general vicinity of the top of his right ear. Dan pulls his hand back and aims a cautious prod at the area. Ouch!
His head is in Casey's hands, bodies manoeuvring through the dark, hands too busy finding their way under things to be concerned with putting the light on. He stumbles hard against the bed, falling awkwardly, hits his head on the bed post. Casey collapses on top of him, giggling, apologising, promising to make it better. Makes it so very, very much better.
Dan can't say who instigates the first kiss. Actually, that really gets him pissed when people are telling him their stories and are all 'it just happened.' No. It didn't. Someone says something and then someone moves in a certain way and then signals are passed and then whatever 'it' is happens. It's never out of the blue, never from thin air, it's just descriptive laziness and an unwillingness to accept responsibility in case anything goes wrong. Or so he's always thought. But he thinks about him and Casey and he can't say. They're laughing at The Daily Show which Dan has taped and sharing some new-fangled European beer, just being Dan and Casey, Casey and Dan, and then his arms are around Casey's neck and Casey's tongue is in his mouth and it's like coming out of suspended animation, everything switched on and turned up to eleven. It just happens.
Jack doesn't throw them out of the bar; it's more of a suggestion. Casey doesn't exactly invite himself back to Dan's place either and neither does Dan, but there must have been a suggestion because he's there, they're both there. And Casey has toed off his shoes and is sitting on the couch, knees bent, head lolling backwards and looking exactly like he belongs there. Dan hands him a bottle of beer and sits next to him, legs splayed. It's comfortable here. It's home. He reaches for the remote.