#Danny thinks Bruce is partying too hard because he keeps coming into work with eye bags

[bet-on-me-13]

Danny holds an Intervention for Brucie Wayne.

So! Danny is the head of R&D at WayneTech, and he often works closely with Bruce and Lucius when they want him to make "Proof of Concept" Gadgets and Vehicles. He doesn't question the absurdity of some of the stuff he builds, he was raised by Mad Scientists after all, all of it seems perfectly normal to him!

But he has noticed something concerning about his Boss.

He really needs to get his Partying in control. Every time he comes into work he has eyebags covered by makeup, some bruises from tripping while drunk, and he is always super cagey about what he did last night. Danny asked some of his coworkers about it, and they noticed it too.

They also bring up that he sometimes comes into work with a really foggy mind, which is probably the aftereffects of doing some kind of drugs at whatever party he was at the previous night.

Even his Hangovers seem really bad! Worse than usual, but he powers through them and keeps acting like his normal Himbo self! Danny realizes that Bruce needs to calm down. He has Kids to take care of, and Alfred needs less work on his plate

So he contacts a bunch if Bruce's Friends, his Family, and even a few coworkers who brought up their concerns to him, and he stages an Intervention.

...

Bruce didn't know what to expect when he walked into the conference room at Wayne Enterprises. He had been called in by Danny, his head of R&D, for a Meeting earlier that day, but Danny had failed to explain the purpose of the Meeting.

He had barely made it on time. He had spent the entire night chasing down Scarecrow, and a slip up had caused him to get hit by some Fear Toxin, which took forever to work its way out of his system. It didn't help that the Antidote gave him a splitting headache.

Bruce opened the door to the Conference Room, and was met with a mishmash of faces. Clark was sitting close to the head of the Table, with Lois at his right, and Diana to hers. In the crowed he could also see Dick and Steph holding in barely contained laughter, with Tim looking a little lost to the side. Damian looked as if he would rather be anywhere else, Duke was looking as list as Tim, and Cass was just smirking at him with a look of amusement.

He could also see the faces of various employees of Wayne Enterprises, among them being Lucius and Tam.

What was going on?

The door closed behind him, and he turned to see Danny standing behind him.

"Bruce, this is an Intervention."

[queenbirbs]

the mountain between us | Ethan x MC

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC (Sloane McTavish)

Rating: E

Warnings: language, adult content, N*FW, description of a panic attack

Word count: 8.1k

Summary: In which the return to Edenbrook doesn’t go as planned, or: Ethan and Sloane get the hell out of Dodge Boston. 

Notes: This story continues off my previous fic, waiting for rain , although this can be read as a stand-alone. It is a sort of AU of chapter 12, in which Danny has a separate funeral of his own (I mean, I get why PB wrote it to save time/redundancies, but I don’t see them somehow managing to secure burial plots right next to each other? Anyway, the wonders of fiction aside…). 

------

She makes it to the diagnostic office with two seconds to spare. 

The muffled thump of the door meeting the casing is like a gunshot, echoing in the quiet room. She stumbles past the table and over to the couch, trying to get out of direct line of sight. The leather creaks under her weight as she collapses onto the cushion. That constant undercurrent of dread builds into a wave, washing over her. Her hands start to shake and soon, the rest of her body follows suit. The faux-wood grain of the coffee table before her is the only thing in focus; the rest of the world is warped, as if she’s viewing it through binoculars. Her heart feels as if someone has a fist around it and is trying to pull it free through her throat. 

“Stop… fucking… crying,” she hisses, wiping furiously at her cheeks. But her lacrimal glands pay no mind to her threats, nor does the rest of her when she begs it to stop panicking. 

All this, she bemoans, over plastic wrap -- just a patient’s sandwich that he asked for her help unwrapping. But the moment she touched it and felt it crinkle under her hands, she was back in that tented room, shrouded by the thick plastic draped over the walls, sealed in and suffocated by the opaque sheeting, waiting and waiting and waiting to die.

She doesn’t remember what terrible joke she made about not being a fan of tuna, nor does she remember the trip from the oncology ward to here, several floors down. None of her friends must have seen her, because none of them have followed her in here, at the ready with their hugs and assurances, suffocating in their own loving way.

“You’re the worst… person on earth,” she whispers, clenching her jaw in an effort to stave off another round of tears.

“Sloane?” 

She glances up to see Ethan stepping into the room, his mouth crumpled into that familiar frown of worry -- the one he’s worn ever since she returned. He says her name like it’s a question, as if she has the option to shake her head no and become someone else. It’s a tempting idea. Her reply is at the ready, as natural as breathing now. Not that she’s doing a very good job of doing the latter.

“I’m fine.” 

“I see that.” Though the words should be harsh, his tone is anything but -- weighed down by all the concern in the world, it seems. His gaze roves over her, observing and diagnosing her like the specimen she is, walking through Edenbrook’s halls once more. “You’re having a panic attack,” he says, more to himself than to her.

“Correction: my second. First was in the supply closet. Decided I wanted a change of scenery.” 

Although it’s a struggle to get the words out, her audience doesn’t seem to appreciate the joke.

“Do you want me to sit with you?” he asks.

“Please.” The plea is whispered into her clasped hands. She tightens her grip, trying in vain to stop the tremors working through her. 

Ethan crosses the room and takes a seat next to her, giving her the illusion of space by twisting at the waist to look at her. In blocking her view of the hallway, he also blocks them from seeing her. His hand comes to rest on the space between them, a show of support that doesn’t make her feel crowded or trapped. She could kiss him right now, if it weren’t for the whole world-feeling-like-it’s-falling-out-from-underneath-her sensation. Her lungs ache with each choppy, shallow breath she drags in. 

“I’m here. You’re safe with me.” 

Untangling her laced hands, she reaches down and rests her hand atop his. With a gentle motion, his fingers shift to nestle alongside hers, grounding her with the pleasant warmth of his touch. With her eyes closed, she focuses on the smooth breaths he takes, mimicking them as best she can. Seconds turn to minutes, marked only by his murmured phrases of assurance and his pulse, sure and steady under her palm. Gradually, her breath begins to ebb and flow, rolling in and out of her lungs in languid sweeps. 

She opens her eyes. The office fades into focus. The track lighting is still too bright, so she turns to Ethan. The sympathy welling in his eyes almost makes her want to shut hers again. His gaze tracks over her in a fitful dance; he’s mapping out each tear that stains her cheeks and neck.  

“I’m okay,” she tries this time. 

His eyebrows scrunch down as he studies her. 

“No, you’re not.”

“Okay, fine, I’m not.” Sloane leans forward and rubs at her cheeks. If she puts her hair down, she could maybe make it to the bathroom and wash away the evidence before a staff member notices. “Have you thought any more about Aurora’s proposal?”

“The one you two dropped on me at the private memorial we had on Tuesday morning? No, I can’t say that I have.” Shaking his head, he pinches at the bridge of his nose and sighs. “God, Sloane, I don’t want to talk about the hospital. I don’t give a damn about it right now. I only care about you.” 

The cushion creaks as she shifts, uncertain how to drive the conversation away from her. She goes with the best tactic: avoidance. 

“Well, thanks, then. But I should go. I’ve wasted enough time as it is. I’ve got to pick up some labs and check up on Mr. Evans and see what Baz wanted from--” 

Ethan puts his hand on her shoulder and squeezes, once, then again. 

“Stop. Stop worrying about everybody else for a second.”

She snorts out a humorless laugh at that. “I’m serious,” he continues, pressing on her shoulder and urging her to look at him. “I know that you practically begged Naveen to let you come back to work, even after I told you no, but I think you need to give yourself more time. I think you pushed yourself too hard.”

“I was stuck here for three days, and then stuck at home for another four. I’m done waiting around. I can only take so much medical leave. And I can’t just… sit at home cowering in fear.”

“So you thought doing it at work would be better?” he asks candidly.

“Fuck you.” 

Sloane jumps to her feet and rounds the table, leaving him to throw his pity party for her all by himself -- then freezes. Outside the glass walls, the hallway is teeming with people. Nurses and orderlies and patients mill about, pushing gurneys and cleaning carts and wheelchairs. Several nurses at the station spot her and then, like marionettes on shared strings, turn towards each other at once, their chins tipped low as they converse. She feels like a zoo animal, on display for the hospital to ogle at. 

“Go home, Sloane,” comes Ethan’s voice from behind her. His footsteps drag across the rug as he approaches. “For another day or two, at least. Please.”

She turns from the hallway and brings her arms around her chest to hug herself tight. 

“I… it’s no walk in the park there, either. Being there alone is frightening enough, but when everybody’s home, they walk on eggshells around me. Even Jackie, who I can always count on to be a certified bitch, has been coddling me. It’s... I hate being home. It’s like they’re too afraid to say something that might -- I don’t know, offend me? -- so they don’t say anything at all. It’s like living with a ghost, except I’m Bruce Willis in this scenario.” She stops short, figuring she’ll have to explain that one, but he holds up his palm to keep the synopsis at bay. 

“I understand your reference. You know, I have seen a film or two.” 

“Coulda fooled me.” 

She tries for the usual smile that wants to form when making fun of his limited pop culture knowledge. Her bravado falls away, though, as he comes to stand close to her. His arms cross over his chest, as if attempting to keep his hands to himself in front of their audience. “You know what it was like for me,” she continues, “being in that room, doing nothing--”

He cuts her off, his blue eyes suddenly ablaze.

“That isn’t what I saw. You stood by Rafael’s side. You helped him when you yourself couldn’t walk without falling over. You lost every semblance of control during the worst moment of your life, and you still were able to relay the changes in your symptoms. You saved Rafael’s life--”

“That was all Tobias and the team’s--”

“You know as well as I do that patient care is more than an antidote in a syringe. You think that if we’d stuck him in a room alone, away from you, or inside one of those glass boxes that he would still be alive? Think again, Rookie.” 

The passion and heat in his voice, along with the return of her nickname, sends a tingle up the length of her spine. “I watched you struggle to be by his side. I watched you have all your faculties ripped away. Which is why I’m so worried that you’re pushing yourself too hard.”

“Ethan--” she starts, but he barrels right over the deflection attempt.

“If you had a patient who was experiencing the same symptoms at work, would you tell them to get over it? Would you tell them to push past their fears and their anxieties, in order to stay on the clock?” 

Her lips purse at his point, knowing that he’s right. But she doesn’t want to let him win this one.

“Doctors do a lot of things they tell their patients not to. We’re the biggest hypocrites of them all.”

“No, I think that honor falls on politicians,” he quips.  

The little laugh feels foreign in her mouth. She can’t help but notice the way his eyes light up in response to the noise. 

“I have an idea.” She raises a brow in interest, spurring him on. “Let me take you somewhere. Anywhere you’d like. We can leave today, spend a long weekend away. We’ll swing by your place, pack you a bag, and go.”

“And you think we can just… leave? Slack off on our duties like that? What about our patients?”

The corner of his mouth hitches up in a smirk. 

“You’re talking to the person who does the scheduling. And I happen to know your boss wouldn’t mind. My boss has been not-so-subtly sending me couples vacation rentals after seeing our appearance on national television.” 

Taking a deep breath, Sloane considers the offer as he watches her, not an ounce of hesitation on his face. That tingling sensation returns, banking higher and higher within her. 

“Okay,” she agrees, hating how her heart beats a little faster at the brilliant smile on his face. “I like the way you think. Let’s go.”

------

Within two hours, they load up Ethan’s car and make their way out of Boston, Jenner wiggling happily in the backseat. 

The city center gives way to the urban sprawl. That soon becomes overtaken by suburbia and its penchant for shopping outlets and tract housing. Sloane can’t help the sigh of relief that comes when they reach Medford and the city skyline drops away in the rearview. They leave the coastal lowlands of Massachusetts behind, heading north along the interstate and up into New Hampshire. Though she packed a bag with what little information he gave her, she’s curious still when they stop at a food truck for lunch. 

“You realize you could hit the navigation screen on the GPS, right?” Ethan points out. “It’ll tell you exactly where we’re going.” 

“That’s cheating. I thought you taught me to be a better doctor than that.”

“No, I taught you how to be a smarter doctor. Besides, you’re the one knowledgeable about technology.” When she doesn’t immediately outright ask, he settles back in his chair and pets Jenner when she approaches for attention. “All right, then. Diagnose it.”

Sloane’s fork pauses on its way to her mouth. She shoots him an incredulous look, but when he simply cocks an eyebrow, she takes the bait. 

“We’re headed north. At first, I thought Maine, especially with what you suggested I bring, but we’ve gone too far west now. It wouldn’t make any sense to make a big right turn and head east. And we’re not going as far as Canada, because you didn’t tell me to bring my passport -- which I do have, by the way, though I’ve only gotten to use it one time.”

“I know,” he tells her. “There’s several photos of your semester abroad on your Pictagram page.” 

“Those photos are from my senior year of undergrad. That means you scrolled for quite a while, Dr. Ramsey.” It’s impossible to miss the blush burning along his cheeks and up his ears. Sloane tips her head to the side, eyes wide, her words teasing: “Were you that interested in Stockholm?”

“It’s a lovely city.” 

That thick, bottom lip of his ticks up in a grin. The little cafe suddenly feels too warm for her, but she resists the urge to tug at her sweater.

“Right. So, not Canada. I have to admit, I’m not well-versed in what New Hampshire or Vermont have to offer, other than maple syrup and hiking. Ooh, and Ben and Jerry’s.” Twirling her straw wrapper around her finger, she looks him over for another minute before giving up with a shrug. “Nope, I’ve got nothin’.”

“Some dedicated physician you are.” 

His grin widens as the balled-up wrapper hits his chest. 

------

They leave the interstate behind after entering Vermont.

Instead, the state highway takes them through the proper countryside. When the satellite radio fails to connect, Sloane steals the aux cord and plugs in her phone. Ethan’s protests quiet down soon enough when, instead of the pop drivel he expects, Nat King Cole croons out of the speakers. 

The Taconic mountains roll along beside them, as if shielding them from the outside world; Sloane appreciates the gesture. Clusters of horses and cattle float along in their fenced-in pastures, the grass rippling under a light wind blowing off the mountains. Towns seem to sneak up on them as the road curves through the valley. Tiny stores and tiny gas stations and tiny churches, Johnson’s Hardware and Morgan’s Jewelry and Lee’s Drugstore line up along the roadside. Hanging signs advertise berry farms and local maple syrup, their arrows pointing up into the hills. Then the highway curves again, and the towns disappear from the rearview. 

Sloane watches it all from her reclined position against the center console, her hand in Ethan’s as he drives. Jenner’s wet nose bumps against her cheek when the Boxer mix demands affection. Though they swore off it back in Massachusetts, they talk about work, which leads them to medical articles, which leads them to the inaccuracies in medical dramas. Serenading about her need for a Sunday kind of love, Etta James joins them as they cross into New York. 

It doesn’t take too long before the feminine voice of the GPS announces that they’ve arrived. Sloane does a double-take at the welcome sign as they pass it. 

“Wait -- isn’t this where that horror movie was set?” she asks. 

“The film took place in Maine, actually.”

“How are you suddenly an expert on horror movies from the late nineties? And how did I not know that? Did I finally find your film niche?” 

“My friend forced me to attend his Halloween party in high school,” he admits with a sigh. 

They pass by the shops and bars and restaurants that line Main Street, all the brick facades and rugged decor blocking the view. Locals and fellow tourists clog the sidewalks, meandering in and out of the storefronts as they enjoy the afternoon sunshine. Eventually, the buildings fall away, and the world is filled with nothing but a cloudless sky and clear water that stretches wide beyond the guardrail. Just over a stretch of land, Lake Placid burns a deep blue in the sunlight.

Sloane keeps her eyes on the sights, but shifts her attention back to the man in the driver’s seat.

“Okay, now I have to know: what was your costume?” 

“A doctor,” he says, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. 

She chuckles at the image of a teenage Ethan in his white coat and his patterned tie, swimming in his tailored shirts and trousers, lecturing his friends on the risks of alcohol poisoning.  

“Oh my god, of course you did. Did you at least dump fake blood on yourself or something?”

“No.” His brow crinkles as he glances over at her, confused. “Why would I have done that?”

“To look scary.”

A smirk appears on his face at the idea. “Right. And what did you dress up as when you were sixteen?”

“I’m pretty sure I went as Daphne. My girlfriend Ruby went as Velma.”

“What, you didn’t douse yourself with fake blood?”

“Honestly, we should have. That would’ve looked badass.”  

Ethan shakes his head at her, but she can see that smirk of his hasn’t disappeared. Turning off the main drag, he takes them down a one-lane road that winds back into the wilderness. After passing the town lodge, the occasional driveway and accompanying mailbox are the only signs of human life among the towering pines.

The house is tucked back off the road, a pretty little cottage painted robin’s egg blue. Two rocking chairs frame either side of the front door. Once Sloane releases her, Jenner darts out and takes full advantage of the lush front lawn, sniffing along the shrubs and tree line. Leaving Jenner to her exploring, Ethan hauls in their bags with Sloane following behind. The rustic decor leans too far towards kitschy for both of them, but she finds the log bed frame and large, dramatic painting of a howling wolf charming. The real draw, though, is the wide back deck, where the sea of trees parts to offer a stunning view of the lake. 

It’s the perfect place, she decides later while sipping from her second glass of scotch, to watch the sunset. From his position, Ethan seems to agree. His arms are wrapped around her waist as they spread out across the porch swing. Bundled up in scarves and blankets to ward off the evening chill, they watch the sky turn from blue to orange to black. The stars, when they fade into view, are thrown into sharp relief against the night. It’s almost dizzying to be able to see so many. 

It reminds her of back home, of lying on Ruby’s hood in her grandparents’ driveway under the pretense of looking for falling stars, but actually making out under the cover of darkness. 

Curled up atop their feet, Jenner sighs in her sleep; Sloane mimics the noise, stretching out against Ethan. Her eyes flutter closed at the sensation of his lips against her temple.  

“Do you remember the Stevensons’ house down in North Quincy?” he asks, continuing before she can respond, because he knows that she doesn’t forget a patient. “This place reminds me of that. But the desire for peace and solitude makes a lot more sense to me, now.”

She shifts in his arms to rest her cheek against his shoulder. 

“It reminds me of where I grew up, in this one-horse town in Virginia.” It’s a detour of the conversation he wants to have, but she can’t help but avoid talking about That for just a little while longer. “I mean, really, a real hole-in-the-wall kind of place. My grandparents lived there for sixty years, though, so that was home. When I was nine, my mom dropped me and my brother off at their house and never came back. So, it became our home, too. They took us in and let us have the run of the land -- which was easy to do, since we were surrounded on all sides by mountains. I was happy there -- happier than I’d been with my mom. But I spent a lot of time daydreaming about living in the big city, going to all the college parties that I saw on television, and travelling the world.” 

His grip tightens around her. “And then you didn’t,” he murmurs. 

“No, I didn’t,” is all she says, knowing he’s replaying her deathbed confession in his head, just as she is. “Though I blame that more on becoming infatuated with this diagnostician who wrote all these amazing books, and who inspired me to go to medical school and one day become one of the country’s greatest doctors.”

“What do you mean?” At her hum of confusion, he clarifies. “You already are, Sloane.” 

Tears spring to her eyes at his declaration, but she hides them by burrowing closer into his warmth. 

“But yeah, despite growing up in the middle of nowhere, it’s nice to be there again. I mean, you can’t get views like this back in Boston.” She waves a hand towards the thick spread of stars above them.  

“Your file didn’t list your grandparents as contacts.”

The invitation to talk about her past lies in the proverbial space between them; she takes it.  

“They passed within a few months of each other when I was seventeen. They left what little they had to me and my brother, and I used that to get to college.” 

She tells him about the farmhouse and how it would become so big and lonely; and the vintage, rose-patterned sofas that would collect dust; and the little kitchen at the back that would never smell of fresh coffee and banana bread again. 

She doesn’t tell him about how it felt like being abandoned all over again. 

Time has healed the wound’s edges, but it flares to life on occasion. Over the years, she’s learned to sit with the grief, to take long moments to study it and inspect it and move through it. It’s how she knows, despite the horrific tragedy at Edenbrook, that she’ll be okay. Maybe not right now, or next week, or next month, but someday. 

From inside, muffled through the French doors, comes Gladys Knight singing about life’s ups and downs. Sloane closes her eyes, focusing on the song and on the steady brush of Ethan’s thumb as he strokes her arm. Across the dark expanse of the woods, a whippoorwill calls out, its warble echoing off the water. 

At some point, she stirs to the sensation of movement, of warm lines of pressure along her back and behind her knees. Ethan is talking to Jenner in that low, gravelly voice of his, as if trying not to wake her. Before she can tease him for it, the blanket of sleep wraps around her once more. 

------

After a lengthy argument on staying in bed versus exploring the town, Ethan takes the loss with a surprising amount of grace. 

Oh, he grumbles a bit as he tugs on his sweater and makes several comments on how proper vacation etiquette does not include rising before nine a.m. But once she gets him downtown to the farmer’s market and gives him the task of finding the ugliest souvenir for her to give to her roommates, he perks right up. 

Under a stretch of white tents, card tables are laden with wares and plants and produce. Buckets of brightly-colored croton and chrysanthemums flare against the white tablecloths. Necklaces, fishing lures, and welded sculptures glint, swing, and jingle, catching the attention of passers-by. Wines and cheeses and honey are bottled and wrapped and canned, their labels touting how local, how fresh, how organic they are. From somewhere along the thoroughfare comes the smell of hot apple cider as it drifts between the stalls. 

Sloane is marveling at a collection of wind chimes that she has no use for whatsoever when she feels a hand settle on her lower back.  

“I found it.” There’s a strange sense of pride in his voice as he lifts a nondescript, brown paper bag up for emphasis. Jenner knocks her body into his legs, as if reminding him of her role in the game. “Alright, well, technically Jenner did.” 

“What is it?”

“As per your request, the most hideous object known to mankind.”

“I don’t think I was that--”

“Fine,” he concedes, “known to this region -- or state, at the very least.” 

Out from the Lake Placid News’s crumpled pages comes a tankard of a coffee mug with Don’t confuse your GOOGLE search with my Medical Degree! printed along the side. Then, stamped underneath as if an afterthought: Adirondack Mountains, NY. Sloane stares at it with a sort of horrified amazement. 

“It’s…” she trails off, unable to form words. 

“I know,” Ethan agrees, turning the mug around to read over it again. Looped around his wrist is another smaller bag.

“What else did you get?” 

“That one’s a surprise.”

Jostling the tote bag on her shoulder, she gestures to the cork sticking out. “I bought us some wine to go with dinner. C’mon, show me what you bought.” It may sound like she’s whining, but she’s not. 

“Are you unaware of how surprises work?” he questions, raising a brow at her insistence. 

“Okay, fine.” She lets the topic slide, grinning and rolling her eyes at his desire for secrecy.

Reaching towards him, he answers in kind by sliding his arm through hers. They spend the rest of the morning strolling through the stalls together. He buys a nice bottle of bourbon for Naveen; she buys a little box of self-care items for Sienna. When Sloane comments to the shop owner on the pretty photo printed around the candle, he mentions that it’s his own photograph of a nearby trail. 

“It’s a short hike, no more than three miles roundtrip,” Terry tells them as he wraps up her gift. “You pass Lake Placid Lodge and keep going about four, four ‘n a half miles, and the trail is at the end of the road. You can’t miss it.” 

------

Terry was right. 

It’s impossible to miss the trail, given that four-hundred feet past their cottage, the road dead ends in a gravel semi-circle. Two boulders and a single post mark the trailhead: Kiver Mountain, 1.4 miles. After dropping off their purchases and changing into more terrain-friendly shoes, they set off on foot from the cottage.  

Despite autumn’s grip on the foliage above, the last vestiges of late summer remain on the forest floor. Thick, leafy undergrowth makes the trees appear as if swimming in a downy sea of green. The hike’s elevation gain is slow and steady, which Sloane is grateful for, considering that eighty percent of her exercise comes in the form of running up and down hospital hallways. The other twenty percent is spent with ‘the boys’ in their dungeon gym that hasn’t seen the wet side of a paint roller since the Clinton administration. The views there, however, certainly make up for the lack of decor.  

It’s the same view she’s enjoying now, what with Ethan in front of her. There is something to be said about wearing the proper apparel for such an activity, she’s finding.

“Sloane?” 

Her gaze shoots up just as Ethan twists to look over his shoulder. “Were you listening?”

“No, sorry, I was--” she fumbles for something to say. The altitude must be getting to her, she reasons, because the next words out of her mouth were about to be ‘staring at your ass.’ “--um, I thought I saw a… snake.”

“They’re usually more afraid of you than you are of them.”

“You’ve never experienced me with a snake before.” 

“I’ll make sure to warn them of your presence if I see one, then.”   

“All snakes in the surrounding area just gave a collective sigh of relief.”

Her poor attempt at humor earns her an exasperated sigh, though she does catch the chuckle that follows. Ethan keeps talking, but she doesn’t really hear him. Mostly due to the fact that Jenner and he keep going, while her attention is caught by a small, branching path through the trees.

It’s been a long time since she spent a weekend away from the city. When her friends spent fall break camping or borrowing a friend of a friend’s uncle’s boat to cruise around on the lake, she stayed holed up at her desk, studying and outlining. Her first copy of Diagnostic Principles looks like she closed it around a rainbow, what with all of the colorful sticky notes peeking out from the pages. That same copy moved with her through every dorm at Duke, all the way across the Atlantic for her semester at Karolinska, and then at every off-campus apartment at Johns Hopkins. 

After she left for college, the closest she came to the wilderness were the views on her Pictagram feed, or the nature documentaries Aurora likes to watch. Here, as Sloane pushes past bristly limbs, the scenery stretches out before her, live and in full-color. Drenched in sunlight, the valley stretches wide to whatever direction she’s facing. A trio of birds swoop down from above her, heading towards the staggering shelves of trees that line the distant hills. At the furthest edge, the blue shadows of the mountains melt into a spatter of gray clouds. It’s all very picturesque, so much so that when she hears a noise on the path behind her, she expects to turn and see a frolicking deer. 

“Did you not hear me calling your name? What are you doing?” Ethan demands, his jaw firmly set as he looks her over. Trotting along beside him, Jenner sniffs at the ground, unaware of the impending argument. Sloane hops down from the outcropping she climbed for a better view.

“Sorry, I was--”

“You shouldn’t go off on your own like that.” The heat of frustration burns along his reprimand, surprising her with its intensity for such a small offense. “This isn’t a walk around the block back home. I was-- you can’t disappear on me like that.” 

Sloane tries to let his tone roll off, but she also isn’t going to roll over for him. She sucks in a breath and mentally counts to five. 

“Wow, okay. You’ve never fought me before about something so absurd. What’s this really about?”

In an instant, the fire is gone from his eyes. Ethan wipes a hand across his face and over his jaw; he gives his head a little shake, as if rousing himself from the spell of anger. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, the blue of his eyes burning cool now. “I hoped that if we got away from the hospital that…” his words trail away under the birdsongs echoing around them. 

Sloane takes Jenner’s leash and motions for Ethan to keep moving up the trail. She gives him an encouraging look when he glances over, embarrassment tinging his cheeks. The gentle slope becomes steep stone steps that they trudge up, climbing higher and higher, wary of the loose ones that wiggle under their feet. 

“I thought that I would get better at this,” he finally says.

“This?” she prods.

“At coming to terms with what happened. And not just with you, although that’s a large part of it, obviously. But when Naveen was sick, when he was damn near death, I could still work. I could still be Doctor Ramsey. But when you…” he swallows and shakes his head again. At his sides, his hands clench into fists. “I was terrified, and I think some parts of me still are. But when I was in that lab with Travis, and I saw him lying on that bed near death, I felt vindicated in some horrible way. I was happy that he was in pain, for what he did to you.” 

“Ethan--”

“He refused to give me any information,” he bowls over her attempt at reassurances, his voice strained. “Then he begged me to ease his suffering. It was his dying request and I walked away. As someone whose friends he had killed and injured, I can compartmentalize that. But as a physician, how can I continue treating patients? How can I work with them when I not only failed, but refused to ease another patient’s suffering?”

They reach the top and step out onto the cliff.

Over the edge, purple-tipped shrubs choke the rock shelves that stagger down the cliff until they reach the forest floor below. The valley dips low before them, cradled by a long line of mountains in the distance. They roll along in a lazy sort of wave, deepening to a hazy blue the farther they stretch. True to its name, the water of Lake Placid is calm and still, reflecting the foliage’s vibrant array of colors, fuschias and reds and oranges peppering the mountains that flank the lake. Pale crags of rock decorate some of their peaks, so bleached from the sun that they almost look like snow.

Keeping a firm grip on Jenner’s leash, she breaks the silence they’ve fallen into. 

“Unfortunately, you suffer from something incurable.” At his answering noise of interest, she wraps an arm around his waist and hugs him close. “You’re human.”

His hand sweeps across her back, holding her tight. 

“I’m sorry.” 

She shoves down her need to use humor as an emotional crutch by mentioning this must be a record number of apologies for him. Instead, she lets her head rest on his shoulder. 

“What for?” 

“For burdening you with my problems, which pale in comparison to what you went through. It’s not fair to--”

“Hey,” she cuts him off, hugging him tighter for a beat. “You can’t work through the trauma if you discount it like that.”

“You sound just like Naveen.”

“Smart minds think alike.” 

Her heart squeezes at his familiar, half-formed huff of laughter. They spend a good length of time at the top, enjoying the peaceful view and watching clouds roll in from the west. Eventually, her stomach growls and he teases her about doing strenuous activity on an empty stomach. Jenner leads the way as they start back down the trail. 

The two boulders and trailhead sign come into sight just as the rain arrives. 

Fat raindrops plod the canopy above, drumming through the leaves and onto them. Ethan lets out an undignified yelp when cold rain lands on him, prompting a full-throated laugh from Sloane. They race down the path, sprinting between the boulders and down the road. Jenner barks with excitement when she tugs free of Sloane’s grip and barrels ahead of them.  

They reach the cottage, Jenner at his heels when Ethan rushes inside for towels. He makes it to the hall closet before realizing that Sloane isn’t following. Retracing his steps, he returns to the little porch and finds her standing out on the front path. Her arms are stretched out beside her as the rain soaks her clothes and hair. He sets the towels down on the rocking chair and approaches her, raising his voice to be heard above the downpour. 

“What are you doing?” 

“It’s silly,” she answers with a shrug. Contentment and grief coat the words; it’s an effort to push them free of her throat. This close, he can see the rivulets of water running along her trembling lips. “But I was waiting for this. It’s been sunny every day since… and all I wanted was for it to rain.” 

It’s not difficult to recall her angry words as they drove away from Danny’s funeral. 

“It’s not silly.” Reaching for her, he takes her hand and guides her under the porch and out of the storm. “Silly would be how I worry about you constantly now -- that if I leave you alone, or you go off somewhere without me knowing, that it could happen again. I’m terrified, Sloane, of losing you again. Every patient room you step into could lead to another disaster, and it might be another one that I can’t fix.”

He keeps busy while he talks, picking up a towel and wrapping it around her shoulders. With another he dries her hair; his fingers clench and release the wavy strands like he saw her do a lifetime ago in their shared hotel room.  

“It’s why I’ve been keeping tabs on you this week,” he says with no small amount of embarrassment. “Why I’ve been following you around the hospital. It’s how I knew to go to the office yesterday. And I know that’s awful and overbearing of me, and I understand on every sensible level that you’re safe. But there’s that one percent of something that keeps me at it.”

Sloane reaches up for the towel in his hands and tugs it away, letting it drop to the ground. He cups the back of her head and settles her against his chest, right against his heart where she belongs. 

“I’ve spent enough years being a cynic and a pessimist, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.” Ethan clears his throat, swallows, and steadies on. “But when I held your hand that night, I didn’t think about what the next hour would bring, because I wasn’t sure if that next hour would include you. And to have to stand there and watch you -- you, who’s always brave in the face of death and danger -- accept your fate in those last hours, that scared me more than anything.” 

“I knew it would hurt more if I begged you all to save me.” She feels the shaky rise of his chest, the tension of the muscles as he goes rigid at her words. “But I’m glad I wasn’t alone.” Her cheeks are wet with tears -- whether his or hers, she isn’t sure. “I -- my grandma, we didn’t make it to the hospital in time before she passed, and she died alone, and I know that hurt my grandpa more than anything. So I’m glad you were with me.” 

When he speaks, the passion and heartache in his tone unfurls something in her chest. 

“I don’t want to waste what time we have left. I’m tired of playing pretend. I’m tired of holding myself back. I don’t know what to do, other than tell you that I care about you, and that I want to be with you. And I know it’ll be messy, and I don’t have all the answers for how we go about it, but I know that I want you so goddamn much, Sloane, that I don’t care anymore.” 

Gripping his wet shirt, she pulls him down for a kiss. He answers in kind, his lips dragging against hers; his hands come up to frame her face, to keep her close as he drops another kiss, then two, then three against the corner of her mouth. The roar of the rain turns to a muffled drum as they fumble their way through the door and down the hall. 

The bedroom is lit only by the tall windows, reflecting what weak sunlight manages through the cloudy sky. A wall of fog floats between the trees, blocking out the rest of the world. Sloane leans down to the nightstand and flicks on the Tiffany lamp. Honeyed shafts of light fill the space, warming the room with their glow. 

Ethan peels their wet clothes away, stripping the both of them bare. His lips cruise every inch of her damp skin; she shivers at the cool, stagnant air of the bedroom, then again at the heat of his mouth as he kisses her shoulder, her breast, her belly. He guides her to the bed and she sinks onto the soft mattress, the sheets smelling of them: his soap and her shampoo, his aftershave and her lotion. It’s a scent she wants to wake up to every morning. 

“I never got to take my time with you,” he laments as he lays her down. Goosebumps follow in his wake as he runs the backs of his knuckles down her throat. He cups one breast and then the other, brushing the pad of his thumb over her pebbled nipples. Mesmerizing, he thinks, of the sweet noises she makes and the way her hips shift in time to his touch. 

“We’ve got time,” she assures him, her fingers trailing up and down his ribs. She’s unable to hide her grin when he squirms, obviously ticklish around his sixth and seventh rib. Lifting up onto his knees just enough to capture her hands, he presses her to the bed and takes a long moment to admire.

Frizzled from the rain, her strands spread across the pillow and dampen it -- no doubt the one that he’ll end up being forced to sleep on. The light dusting of freckles across her nose and shoulders are more pronounced in the yellow light. There’s the scar along her inner thigh from climbing over chicken wire to feed the hens, the burn mark on her inner arm from fumbling a hot pan of cinnamon rolls. He kisses the sharp cut of her cheekbone and the soft skin of her stomach, reveling in every facet of her. He takes a deep breath, and then another; they feel like his first real ones since approaching the window of that damned room. 

Her hands, along with the rest of her, squirm underneath his hold.   

“Ethan.” 

He doesn’t ask what she’s demanding; he takes one of his hands back and urges her thighs apart, pressing the heel of his palm against her and circling her wet heat. Her response is almost as erotic as the act itself; her knees jerk up, her muscles stuttering as her body rolls into his touch. Her freed hand snakes down her body to circle his wrist, her nail digging into his pulse point as she directs him how she likes. Increasing the pressure, Ethan can feel his cock growing harder as he watches her enjoyment. He’s too enthralled by her; his grip loosens on her other hand. In a flurry of movement, she’s got an arm around his neck and hauls him down to her for a messy kiss. He retaliates by changing gears; he slides two fingers inside her, delighted at the strangled moan that escapes her. 

“Is it good?” he asks, unable to stop the smarmy grin on his face. 

“Yes,” Sloane breathes out. She rolls her hips down when he curls his fingers and strokes her with all the precision in the world. “Yes, it’s good, it’s--” the words are lost to the crest of another wave as it pounds through her. She squeezes his wrist in a vice-like grip, keeping him where she needs him, and croaks out his name as she comes. 

He eases the glide of his fingers, but doesn’t stop until he’s got her climbing again.

“God, you’re still so tight.” He nuzzles the arm she has planted against his shoulder, nipping at the sweat-tinged skin. Her fingers dig into his flesh in time with his thrusts. “So responsive, all for me.” 

“Please,” she begs, “please, Ethan, I need--”

In a flash, he slides down her body, scoops up her hips, and drags the flat of his tongue across her. Sloane cries out, arching up into the wet heat of his mouth. His knees ache as he kneels before her and worships, coaxing hymns from her lips until she’s dragged under once more. Ethan eases her down from her high, running his fingers up and over her hip as her equilibrium returns. He rouses from his own arousal-induced haze at the sensation of fingers stroking through his hair.

“Come here.” 

He goes, without question, into the circle of her awaiting arms. She meets him with a messy kiss, her tongue tracing the corner of his mouth. His blood pulses hot underneath his skin, knowing she’s tasting herself on his lips. One of her curious hands skims along his stomach and down to wrap around his cock. 

“I want to make you feel good, too,” she murmurs, stroking him with a quick, little twist at the base, her thumb swiping across the swollen head. He barely holds it together, clenching his jaw to keep from thrusting into her hand like some horny teenager. “I… ever since that last time, you’re all I think about.”

“It’s the same for me,” he admits, too many emotions bubbling to the surface that he isn’t comfortable with declaring right now. Pressed against the long line of her body, he feels the vibration of her laughter when it comes, ringing through the room. 

“Well, yeah, that too. I was mostly talking about when I masturbate, though.” 

“Oh.” The word tumbles out before his brain has a chance to catch up and say something suave. It gets another giggle out of her, though -- and he finds that the taste of her laughter is even better than the sound of it. “Christ, Sloane,” he groans when he breaks their kiss, “tell me what you need.”

“You,” she says in a matter-of-fact way, as if he were stupid for expecting another answer.  

Ethan slides an arm across her back, cradling her close, needing to feel her against every inch of him. He pushes into her soaked heat, his breath escaping him in a moan when she digs her nails into his shoulders. Giving her a moment to adjust to the stretch, he nips at the soft skin of her breasts, pleased with the rosy marks that bloom from his attention. One of her hands drifts down to his ass and squeezes. 

“Move,” she begs.

At her command, he does; he wraps his free hand around her hip and uses the leverage to drag his cock in and out of her with short, heavy strokes. Her legs come up to encircle his waist, her body rocking up to meet his. The new angle is sweeter, deeper than before. Sloane gasps at his next thrust. Words fall free from his lips, nothing more than murmurs of praise. She writhes and keens underneath him; he has enough wherewithal to slide a hand down between them, knowing exactly what she needs. The rhythmic clenching of her sends him overboard with her, the both of them are dragged under the warm sea of pleasure. He pulls out and collapses next to her, nestling close when she slings an arm across him. The room spins around them as they wait for their breathing to turn to normal. 

As his heart rate slows, he finally hears it: the rain, beating steadily against the tin roof, a cocoon of white noise that shelters them from the outside. Before he can speak, he hears another familiar sound. Sloane rubs her nose against his shoulder and chuckles. 

“What was it that you said about strenuous activity on an empty stomach?” 

His laughter echoes through the room. After some poking and prodding, he manages to convince her to get out of bed and meet him in the kitchen. Ethan is reprimanding Jenner for dancing around his feet and gathering ingredients when she wanders in, dressed only in his button-down and a pair of wool socks. He manages to not whack his head against the upper cabinets, but only just barely. 

“Hey, you never showed me what you bought.” 

He follows her finger to the little brown bag, still sitting on the bar where he dropped it off earlier.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” he says. 

“And satisfaction brought it back,” she replies in a sing-songy tone.  

“Go ahead. Open it.” 

He watches her sift through the tissue paper and lift the object out. The snow globe catches in the kitchen’s recessed lights. Inside the glass is an overly-contrasted photo of Lake Placid, looking out towards Whiteface Mountain and the surrounding Adirondacks. “I figured you could add this to your collection.”

Sloane looks up in confusion. “My collection?”

“When I visited your apartment, I noticed the one you had from Stockholm on your shelf. Now, the next time you travel, you’ll know what tacky souvenir to buy yourself.” 

“Why would I do that, when I have you to do it for me?” she teases. 

Setting the snow globe down on the table and away from Jenner’s interested nose, she crosses the kitchen and slides her arms around his waist. The kiss she gives him is gentle and sweet, her lips curled into a smile as they press against his; he wishes for a thousand more. “But that’s a good idea. Too bad I didn’t get one in Miami.” 

He switches on the gas stove, glancing back at her with an impish grin. 

“We could always go back.”

“You know,” she hums, “I like the way you think.”

------ 

Author’s notes and what-have-yous: 

There’s probably a reference to something recognizable in here, but the only one I can think of is a line from an Alan Jackson song (don’t ask, I’m just having fun). 

[flowerfan2]

Bound To Be Together - Ch. 9

McDanno, M, A03 A continuous story of Season 9 codas exploring the bond between Steve and Danny as they grow even closer.

(Author’s note... I had no idea that this story would turn out to be so smutty, but what can I do... for this chapter I added the tag “a touch of superhero kink?” on A03...)

Chapter 9: 9.09

Danny is a little disappointed that he had to bring Charlie back to Rachel’s after the release party at Other Realms, but the view as he walks through Steve’s house and out onto the lanai does a lot to cheer him up.  Steve is kicking back in a chair, eyes closed, late afternoon sun turning his skin bronze.

There’s a flutter in Danny’s chest at the sight.  He and Steve haven’t had any time alone together to speak of since Danny got back from Jersey, since he’s had the kids with him all week.   Danny is hoping that tonight he might finally get a chance to see up close and personal what he experienced over the phone.

Steve barely twitches as Danny approaches, however.  Whether he’s tired, blissed out in the sun, or just teasing, Danny figures he’ll play it cool for now.  Unless they catch a very poorly timed case, there’s no rush.

A copy of “The Mysterious Night Sentinel” is lying on the ground by Steve’s feet, open to the “Book ‘em, Danno” page.  Danny grins. Leave it to Jerry to immortalize their catch phrase.  Danny looks from the comic book to Steve, still pretending to sleep, and wonders if there’s any connection.

“Hey, babe,” Danny leans over and presses a quick kiss to Steve’s forehead.  Steve blinks his eyes open, and Danny shifts so that he blocks the sun shining in Steve’s eyes.

“Hey,” Steve says, hands coming up to rub his face.

“You okay?”

“What?  Yeah, I’m fine.”

This isn’t exactly the reception Danny was hoping to get tonight, but he knows Steve well enough not to be offended.  When something is bothering him, Steve doesn’t cover it up in front of Danny, and that’s worth more than a roll in the hay.

 Danny sits down in the chair next to Steve and stretches his feet out in front of him.  “Any chance you wanna talk about this Batman thing?”

 Steve grunts. “Nothing to talk about.”  He turns to Danny and raises an eyebrow.  “Where’s the beer?”

 Steve’s playing the Neanderthal card, but Danny can play along if that’s what he needs.  “You said you had plenty.”

 “Well, maybe I wanted you to get some more.  Or at least, you know, bring me one.”

 Danny pushes out of the chair and heads back into the house.  He could really use a beer. “You’re deflecting,” he calls over his shoulder. “Think about what you’ve done, and I’ll be right back.”

 In the kitchen Danny loads up a bucket with ice and a six-pack’s worth of cold Longboards, and snags a bag of pretzels and a pack of oreos for good measure.  They’ll probably order a pizza soon, but it isn’t healthy to drink on an empty stomach.

 “You’re actually a lot like Batman, you know,” Danny comments when he returns, handing Steve a beer.  The idea has been haunting Danny ever since their conversation in the car about superheroes.  Danny isn’t sure how Steve thought he could avoid the obvious comparison between himself and Bruce Wayne, or between himself and the Night Sentinel, for that matter – parents dead, father investigating dastardly deeds, son out to avenge his father’s death.

 “Nah, I’m just a regular guy,” Steve says flatly.

 “One who trains for years to bring himself to the height of physical perfection, in order to seek out justice.”

 Steve smirks.  “You think I’m the height of physical perfection? Thank you, Danno.”

 “Okay, you’ve got me there,” Danny admits, enjoying the brief look of surprise on Steve’s face when Danny doesn’t brush it off as a joke.  Steve may not be as young as he once was, but he’s perfect in Danny’s book. “But seriously, now that this fascinating chapter in Oahu history has come to a close, are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

 “What’s with this sudden need to deconstruct superheroes, Danny?  Can’t we just let poor Gene Wahale  be?”

 “You’re saying it didn’t feel weird to you, maybe bring up some… difficult thoughts, looking into Gene’s investigation into his father’s murder?”

 Steve pauses, finishing off his beer and taking another one from the bucket.  “If I got all worked up about every case involving a father and son, I wouldn’t get much work done.”

 “This isn’t exactly your ordinary case.”

 Steve scowls.  “Fine, I’m a messed up little kid just trying to be a superhero so I can catch the bad guys who killed my parents.  Now can we just relax and enjoy the evening?”

 “That’s not what I meant-”

 “No?  Then what did you mean?”  There’s an edge of anger in Steve’s voice, and Danny isn’t sure how it happened.

 “Hey, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Danny holds up his hands.  “I didn’t mean to piss you off, or insult you, or whatever’s going on here.”  Maybe his superpower really is irritating people.  “I just wanted to let you know that…” He trails off.  It’s hard to speak all of a sudden, especially with Steve glaring at him.

 “Let me know what?”

 “I think you are kind of like Batman. Your parents’ deaths’ did mess you up, and look what you did in response – you trained to be one of the most elite soldiers on the planet, and now you fight crime.  You save the world – or at least the island – on a regular basis.  You’re one up on Batman, too, because you don’t have a fortune to use to build your crazy tech, you’ve got to go through all the red tape and requisition it from the government.  You are a superhero, Steve, a real one.  Making a difference and saving people’s lives.”

 Steve looks away, biting at his lip.  “There are plenty of people I haven’t saved.”

 Danny knows this all too well, it’s part of the job.  “We try to save as many people as we can. Sometimes that doesn't mean everybody, but we have to find a way to live with that, or next time maybe nobody gets saved.”

 Steve starts to grumble something in response, and then turns sharply towards Danny.  “Did you just quote Captain America at me?”

 Danny grins.  “If you’re Batman, I get to be Cap.”  

 “That makes no sense,” Steve protests.  “They’re not even in the same universe.”

 “So, we’ll do a crossover.”

 Steve shakes his head at Danny and pulls his phone of out his pocket.  “It’s clearly time to order dinner.  I think the beer is going to your head.”

 *****

It’s hours later, after dinner and beer and getting progressively closer together on the couch as they watch a movie (of course Danny had argued for something with Captain America, while Steve voted for one of Christopher Nolan’s Batman movies, just to keep the debate going; they finally settled on Deadpool 2, because it’s hilarious).  Steve grabs the remote and turns off the television, the strains of Pat Benetar’s “We Belong” still echoing in Danny’s head.

 Steve doesn’t move to get up, keeping his arm over Danny’s shoulders where it’s been for most of the past hour.  It’s dark in the room, a trickle of light coming in through the windows, and it’s pretty clear what might happen next.  Suddenly Danny feels almost shy.

 “Do you, um,” he starts, but then Steve shifts and presses him back against the couch with a fierce kiss, big hands pushing hard against his shoulders.  It goes on until Danny’s breathless, and then Steve lets up. Danny can feel Steve’s smile against his cheek, and his breath hot on his skin.

 “Oh,” he says gracelessly, and Steve chuckles.  

 “Want to go upstairs?”

 There’s only one answer to that.  “Sure.”

 For all Danny’s anticipation, it turns out that sex with Steve is a lot like other things he does with Steve – mostly they move together easily, they laugh when things get awkward, and they can’t seem to decide who’s in charge.  They clunk heads as they each attempt to get into position to blow the other, and then Danny’s foot gets caught in the sheets and he swears until Steve yanks the sheet off the bed, almost taking Danny with it.  

 Finally they’re both naked and lying facing each other, Steve’s hands running up and down Danny’s sides and Danny exploring every inch of tanned and inked skin on Steve’s body.  Steve grabs Danny’s ass and pulls them close, and damn, it’s good.

 “Just like this for now?” Steve stutters out, questioning. He’s gotten a handful of lube from somewhere and is stroking Danny’s dick with it, his own, too, and thrusting them together.

 Danny’s on board, sucking kisses into Steve’s neck.  No need to make this complicated.  Steve’s leg comes over Danny and pulls them closer, coarse hair rubbing against Danny’s skin.  Danny tries to get his hand in the mix, wanting to feel  Steve’s heavy weight, and Steve kind of elbows him out of the way, finally flipping them so that Danny’s on his back and Steve is looming over him.

 “Stop it, just let me-” Steve pants.

 “I just wanted to-” Danny doesn’t have the breath to explain, and he doesn’t really care, because now Steve has got one hand on his dick and another pulling at a sensitive nipple, and his whole body is on fire.

 “You can’t even stop arguing during sex, can you?” Steve says, and lets Danny take a hold of his dick, moaning low as Danny gets a rhythm going.  Soon there’s no more arguing, just heat and fantastic friction.  

 Danny is teetering on the brink, and he hears himself letting out a stream of pleas, “oh yes oh god Steve yes…”  Steve’s doing much the same, his “that���s it, there, Danny, right there” the hottest thing Danny has ever heard.  

 Not letting up for a minute, Steve drags a hand over Danny’s body, up and down and back again, then landing at the jut of his hip and holding tight as they grind into each other until there’s nowhere left to go.  Danny feels Steve come first with a shout, shuddering above him, and it pushes Danny right over the precipice, white-hot pleasure shooting through his body.

 As they come down, Steve flops over the edge of the bed and comes back with the discarded sheet, using it to wipe up the mess on Danny’s stomach.  Then he gathers Danny under his arm, and Danny lets him, cuddling up close on his chest and not even caring about how ridiculously sappy he feels.

 Steve trails a finger along Danny’s side, then spans his palm across Danny’s waist, possessively.

 “You’re right, you are like Captain America,” Steve says, his voice soft.

 Danny hums, pleased, brain still too fuzzy to parse this.  “Okay. Thanks for the compliment.”

 “I mean, you know, maybe pre-serum Steve Rogers.  Tiny, can’t walk away from an argument-”

 “Tiny?”  Danny jerks the pillow out from under Steve’s head and swats him with it.  “I’m gonna kill you.”

 “Well, not everywhere…” Steve drawls, giving Danny’s cock a pointed look.  “But I like it.”  Steve drags Danny back down into his embrace, arms going all the way around his shoulders. “I like that I can wrap myself around you, hold you like this.”  Steve’s voice trails off.  When he speaks again, there’s a trace of uncertainty in his tone.  “That’s okay, right?”

 Danny pulls away enough to look at Steve.  “Is there anything about what just happened that makes you think it wouldn’t be okay? Anything that makes you think I’m not one hundred percent, head over heels into you, mister superhero Seal?”

 “I dunno,” Steve says. “We’ve never exactly done this before. It’s different, in bed…”

 “It’s not.  It’s not different.  It’s just right, just like always.”

 Steve’s face lights up. “Yeah?”

 “Yeah.  I’ll even play Robin for you sometime, if that’s what turns you on.”

 Steve freezes, and Danny laughs, Steve quickly joining in.  “You’ve got a dirty mind, Williams.”

 “Holy kink, Batman,” Danny teases, loving the blush on Steve’s face.  

 “Stop it,” Steve protests. “I’m too old to go another round, it’ll have to wait ‘til morning.”

 “Fine.  But settle down, you make a lousy pillow when you’re squirming.”

 “Sir, yes sir,” Steve says, his voice light and happy as he gathers Danny against him once again. Danny feels him press kisses into his hair, and he lets himself drift off, secure in the knowledge that tonight all is well in Gotham.