Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He’s not sure when it becomes a tradition. Somewhere between his days in Etobicoke and long nights shooting in Europe with no one he knows and a newly acquired accordion, he realizes — he’s never met a new group of cast members without a baked good in hand. It’s the perfect ice-breaker, the quickest way to warm up a set of relative strangers, especially when the only one who’s a stranger to the group is him. It’s calming, the night before kicking off a new project, to measure, and mix, to follow simple directions, start with nothing, end with something delicious, and communal. There’s a tie there, between the things he bakes and the things he makes, but he doesn’t ever really stop to tease it out. ‘One more box for the feelings closet’ , he frequently jokes to himself, which isn’t really funny, even to him. 

More than a tradition, it becomes a superstition, which is why he finds himself up at three in the morning the night before he’s due to meet the majority of the Schitt’s Creek cast for the first time, little bits of brownie dough splattered across the counter, the front of his threadbare undershirt, a dollop on his chin he wipes off absentmindedly. He feels a little manic, scooping up a dab of batter and licking it off his finger, swirling his tongue through the thick chocolate mixture and closing his eyes to try and tell what it needs. A little more vanilla, something crunchy — not nuts, never nuts, too many people who could be allergic — but mostly just more chocolate. Noah’s not exactly a chocoholic, but these just aren’t cutting it. 

He heaps in a bit more cocoa powder, another sprinkling of sugar, his stomach twisting at the risk of working outside the recipe, at least in baking, and finally just starts chucking in handfuls of chocolate chunks. The only bag he’s got left is a milk/dark/bittersweet blend, and it’s not his favorite, but it’s going to have to do. He slides the pan into the oven and pulls over a stool, sitting on his hands and flipping through his first day’s shooting script. He fiddles with his phone, spinning it between his fingers as the timer on the screen slowly winds down towards completed brownies.

He doesn’t know why he’s nervous. It’s not like it’s his first time being the late-comer to a set, and it’s not even like he’s not going to know anybody. He recognizes Karen’s name from around the Toronto theatre scene, and of course he’s been added to the group email chain between Daniel and Emily and Annie, but. There’s still a fluttering in his stomach that sounds an awful lot like ‘new guy’. 

The phone in his hand buzzes, and he hops off the stool and grabs a toothpick, checking the brownies and sliding them back into the oven, setting the timer for another five and forcing his eyes to travel across the page for the millionth time. 

“Wow,” he mutters. “Things are really coming together in here. Well, I’m actually not here to shop. I’m Patrick.” He doesn’t bother to pause for Annie’s lines, wants to just prove to himself that he’s got them down pat. He runs through the rest of that first scene at the Apothecary by the time his phone buzzes, and the brownies are finally done. He leaves them to cool on the counter while he grabs a shower and slips into jeans and a grey henley. He’s still got well over forty-five minutes before he needs to be out the door, but. Well. 

A little bit of extra driving and some Tom Waits never hurt anyone. 

He buckles the brownies into the front seat, because of course he does, and drives a few lazy laps around the city before hopping on the highway and heading towards Goodwood. It’s still early enough in the day that the sky is a pale yellow and the sun hasn’t quite hit blinding yet, and he feels a steady weight slip into his belly. It’s not an antidote to the nerves, but it exists steadily enough alongside them that he feels better. The warm spring air whistles past the window, and his toes start to tap against the floorboard, the knot of tension in his shoulders unwinding slightly. 

There’s something about this one, and the fact that he can feel it already is part of what makes his hands fasten a little tighter to the steering wheel. He hasn’t seen the show yet, not really, but he’s heard whispers about it already, and — well, he’d felt it. That day shooting on the lot, meeting Rizwan and Daniel, he’d felt an energy on set that ran deeper than anything he’d felt in Los Angeles. Part of it was the writing, sharp and incisive and funny . Part of it was the pull of Eugene and Catherine, and the absolute fucking hilarity of Annie and Emily.

But mostly, it was Daniel. He’d watched Daniel bounce around that small filming space, popping behind the camera even though he wasn’t directing, checking in with wardrobe, and lighting, and finally with the actors, touching every part of the process and then stepping in front of the camera and putting on the character of David like a second skin. It was impressive, and it left Noah feeling...rattled. Nervous, where normally he wouldn’t be. 

If he’s being honest with himself, he wants to impress Daniel. More than he wants to fit in with the cast, more than he wants the show to do well and his contract to get picked up for the second season. He wants to impress this person he finds incomparably impressive. Without thinking, he reaches over and puts the flat of his palm against the edge of the glass brownie pan, holding it in place against the treacherous terrain of the Canadian highway system. 

By the time he gets to set, the sun has risen and the town of Goodwood looks enough like a little town called Schitt’s Creek that a chill runs down Noah’s spine. He parks the car and takes a couple deep breaths, snapping open the passenger seat belt and grabbing the pan of brownies, heavy in his lap. He takes one final second to wonder if all of this is just one more small blip in the road, if he’ll finish out this limited run, say good-bye to these people, and continue on to whatever project life has in store for him next. 

And then he opens the door. 

He swings by craft services just long enough to drop the pan of brownies on the table and scribble a note — TAKE ONE :) — and then he’s off to to the makeup trailer and wardrobe, shaking hands and introducing himself so many times that his name starts to feel like jello in his mouth. 

As is almost always the case, he’s filming before he knows it, the hot glow of the lights and the controlled chaos behind the camera while in front of it Annie flips her wrists and he waits for his cue to open the door. 

He can see Daniel through the glass panes in the door, and he finds himself slipping into Patrick’s mind, seeing this tall, beautiful man as the entrancing, stunning someone that Patrick Brewer ran across one day and couldn’t quite get enough of, found an itch he just couldn’t quite scratch. It’s surprisingly easy to see Daniel the way Patrick sees David, the fondness for his effervescence, the arch of his brow and tilt of his smile that’s three steps past beautiful and into the realm of something unnameable. He’s so busy seeing Daniel that way that he almost misses his cue, starting forward at a little jog and hitting his mark in front of Annie just in time for her to beam at him and toss her blonde hair over her shoulder. 

Lunch comes almost as soon as they’re done filming Noah’s scene, and he eats next to Chris and Catherine, a moment so surreal he has to give himself a couple quick pinches to the thigh under the table as he shoves quick bites of caesar salad and grilled chicken into his mouth. He’s glad to see that well over half the pan of brownies is gone, and he quickly grabs a small piece for himself, shoving it into a corner of the fridge wrapped in a napkin. 

He grabs a cup of tea and starts to wander, finding Emily curled up in one of the hotel office chairs, browsing on her phone. He stops to chat, and she makes a crack about slipping whiskey into the communal cast coffee, and Noah marvels again at Daniel’s somehow innate ability to pick the perfect person to fill a role — a talent he hopes extends to himself, as well. He sits down next to her and pulls a tangled knot of headphones out of his pocket, popping the jack into his phone and trying to slip into a stream of music for a few minutes, that steady rhythm that transfers from his ears into his bones through the indefinable magic of music.

It almost works. 

But then someone is calling his name, and it’s time to film his last scene of the day — it’s just he and Daniel again, back in the Apothecary, and he’s got to nail the line. He hasn’t exactly practiced it — half a dozen possible intonations in the car on the way this morning — but for the most part, he’s counting on being able to capture the moment and deliver, “I’m going to get the money” with enough weight that it becomes clear to the viewer exactly what it is that Patrick’s thinking.

What he’s not prepared for is the way it twists his stomach when he says it, and something in Daniel’s eyes flares. And he tries to tell himself it’s flaring as David, as David looking at Patrick and not at Daniel looking at Noah, but then his lips flick down to Noah’s mouth for the briefest second and it doesn’t matter who’s looking at him, the brown eyes are burning a path across his skin and he can feel it like a punch in his solar plexus.

He gets through the scene and Peacocke calls cut and Daniel is nodding, and smiling, clapping him on the shoulder and telling him he fucking nailed it. Noah nods, or feels his head move, and thinks his mouth says thank you, but all he can think about is that look , that small tucking up of Daniel’s mouth as his eyes carved a small line of fire down Noah’s face and through some deep part of him at the exact same time.

He doesn’t actually remember walking back to craft services, but he’s not really surprised to find his body craving...something. Something to make him fuller, weigh him down and pull his head back out of the clouds and onto his shoulders. He’s half-forgotten the brownie he stashed until he pulls the refrigerator door open and sees it sitting there. And good thing, too, because the pan is empty where it sits on the table. 

He sets his brownie down in front of one of the folding metal chairs and grabs the pan, turning to the sink at the exact moment that Daniel comes around the corner and sees him, his smile spreading across his face.

“Hey, Noah.”

“Hey.”

“You did great today. I know I already told you that, I just,” he passes Noah on his way to the buffet line, pulling a bottle of water out of a giant bowl of ice. “Wanted to let you know that I think you’re going to fit in really well here.”

It shouldn’t make Noah’s heart speed up by several beats. Shouldn’t make his ears warm and bring what he knows is a blush to the apples of his cheeks. He stares down at the pan in his hands and nods. 

“Thanks. Thank you, Daniel. It’s been a blast. Seriously, everyone here is so great.”

“Well, you obviously haven’t met Emily yet,” and his eyes are dancing with a laughter that feels warm, and close, and Noah wonders if maybe one day he and Daniel will be close enough for Daniel to make jokes about him like that. “Damn, are the brownies gone?”

Noah’s head rockets up at the apparent nonsequiter. “What?”

“The brownies? I was going to grab one after we finished with the Apothecary scenes.” There’s a pout in his voice that should sound out of place on a full grown man, but instead is more endearing than it has any right to be. 

Noah’s starting to realize that a lot of his ‘shoulds’ with Daniel might be wildly, wildly offbase. 

“Oh, they’re not out,” Noah says, pointing towards his wrapped brownie on the table. “There was one left, I just. Wanted to get the pan washed before I take it home.”

“You made these?” Noah chooses to believe that the suspicion in his voice is because Daniel isn’t used to fellow actors bringing baked goods from home, not because he actually thinks Noah is capable of poisoning him, intentionally or not. 

Noah nods. “Baking helps me relax. Go ahead. Last one.” 

Daniel picks it up and unwraps it with fingers that are longer on a second look that Noah originally thought — not that he could remember the first time he’d actively thought about Daniel’s hands before. His lips wrap around the brownie, small flecks of sugar immediately settling into the corners of his mouth, and his eyes close, a sound in the back of his throat low and rough. 

And Noah doesn’t know yet that this is the sound Daniel always makes when he eats baked goods — particularly chocolate baked goods — and he doesn’t know that Daniel can’t say no to carbs and that there’s nothing he wants more at the end of a long day than something homemade by another human being. Noah doesn’t know all that right now. All he knows is that Daniel Levy is making out with the brownie he’d saved for himself and it’s making him feel some kind of way.

“This is fucking delicious ,” Daniel says, his mouth full. 

Noah blushes a shade darker. “Thanks.”

“No, I’m serious. You have to make these, like. All the time.”

Noah laughs, and it makes something inside him unwind a bit. He runs a hand over his short hair and across the back of his neck and nods. “Yeah, yeah okay Daniel. I’ll see what I can do.”

Daniel meets his eyes and there’s that look again, that small scratch of fire, and it sparks across Noah’s palms. “Good. I’m counting on you, Noah.”

And oh. Oh. Suddenly it’s not only Daniel’s artistic vision he wants to impress, wants to make happy and keep satisfied.

It’s his joy. 

Chapter Text

There’s an empty box on the counter, just like always. It sits next to the sink, lid open, only a small butter stain at the bottom giving any indication of what was once inside.

“What was today’s flavor?” Noah asks, tapping the side of the box with two fingertips. Dan looks up from his pages, squinting through the lenses of his glasses. They have an hour before they have to get to costuming and makeup, and Noah knows Dan will wait until the last possible second to put his contacts in.

“Maple,” Dan says, quirking his mouth in a satisfied grin.

“What do you do with yourself when we’re done filming in Goodwood?” The butter tarts from Annina’s are really incredible, but it’s a bit of a drive from Dan’s place in Toronto. Not that you can’t get good butter tarts downtown. Just not as good.

“I try to abstain when we’re done filming, actually. Though Eve’s in the Market is a passable substitute when I give in to temptation.”

Giving in to temptation sounds good to Noah. So he does just that. “Have you ever done the butter tart trail?”

“The what now?” Dan asks. His pages lay on the table, completely forgotten. They should be running lines, especially since their scene has been edited and Noah doesn’t have it down yet. But if Noah has Dan’s full attention he doesn’t plan on squandering it.

“The butter tart trail. There are a bunch of different routes that stop at all sorts of bakeries throughout Ontario. I’ve always wanted to drive it.” He leans back against the counter, pressing his suddenly shaky hands between the edge and his body. “Maybe you’d want to join me?”

“Are you asking if I’d like to be chauffeured around to a bunch of bakeries?”

Noah laughs. “That’s actually exactly what I’m asking.”

“Obviously, yes,” Dan says, and they grin at each other for a beat. They have a couple of days off after filming is done in Goodwood, which will give Noah time to plan a route. It’ll also give him time to drive himself crazy with nerves, but it’ll be worth it.

“Cool, I’ll map it all out.” Noah takes a seat on the other side of the table from Dan and pulls his own pages out of his pocket so they can get to work.

Somehow Noah manages to get through the week of filming on barely any sleep, because he’s spending every moment he can figuring out which butter tart bakeries he wants to take Dan to. He spends more time reading reviews than he ever has before. He scrutinizes flavor options, and changes his sample itinerary on the tart tour trip planner website a dozen times a day. Dan agrees to a “reasonably early” pick-up on their first full day off, smirking at Noah over craft service lunches, and Noah makes a mental note to make sure their first few stops also serve coffee.

On the last day of filming that week, Noah passes Dan on his way out of wardrobe and grabs his elbow. David’s sweater that day is scratchy, and it makes Noah’s palm itch. He lets go as soon as Dan stops, turning to Noah with his head tilted. It’s disconcerting talking to him without his glasses on; he does it all the time, of course, but mostly when they’re in character. As Noah, having so much of Dan’s face open and easily readable it a lot.

“You ready for your grand tart tour tomorrow?” Noah asks, keeping his tone light so as to not give away how nervous and excited he is to spend the day with Dan.

“I plan on eating a very light dinner tonight to prepare,” Dan says, one corner of his mouth curling up. Noah has a brief vision of Dan eating butter tarts, licking crumbs off that curled up mouth. The back of his neck prickles with heat and he starts walking backwards away from Dan.

“Good. Skip breakfast, too.”

“That’s terrible advice, Noah.”

Noah grins in response, and then spins and books it to the car.

Dan’s grumpiness is predictable but he’s no less endearing for it. His sunglasses are firmly in place, travel mug of coffee clutched between his palms. He’s been sipping from it regularly since Noah picked him up twenty minutes ago, and Noah has no idea how he still has coffee left to drink. The smell of it wafts sweetly through the car, mixing with the familiar tobacco musk of Dan’s cologne. Noah smiles to himself as he drives, tapping his thumb on the steering wheel as his phone cycles through the road trip playlist he’d curated just for this day.

At almost exactly the halfway point of their drive Dan’s stomach rumbles loudly enough to be heard over the music. Noah cuts a quick glance sideways, catching a glimpse of his own reflection in Dan’s lenses before he turns to look back out the windshield.

“Shut up,” Dan says, but it’s without any real heat. Noah lifts a shoulder defensively.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re the one who told me to skip breakfast.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Noah glances over again and sees Dan’s dimple getting more pronounced as he tucks the corner of his mouth into his cheek. “You said that was terrible advice, I didn’t expect you to follow it.”

Dan exhales a short, sharp sigh, but he’s still smirking when Noah looks over again. Noah keeps on smiling out the windshield.

All in all they stop at six different bakeries, and they alternate sitting down and eating the tarts right away and taking the tarts to go. Some of the offerings are traditional and some are more unusual (the noise Dan makes when he takes a bite of an Oreo butter tart will stay with Noah for the rest of the day and well into the night, if not longer). Some Dan dismisses with an “eh” and a shrug, others he raves about. Noah barely tastes his own, too caught up in appreciating Dan appreciating his flaky, custardy treats.

They get real food in the afternoon, at a deli on the shore of a small lake. The sun is bright and hot, and Noah wishes for a ball cap or sunglasses as he squints over at Dan. There’s a spot of salad dressing in the corner of Dan’s mouth, and Noah desperately wants to reach out and swipe it away with his thumb, or his tongue, but he’s still not sure if that kind of touch would be welcome. He thinks, he hopes, but he doesn’t know yet.

“How’s your sandwich?” Dan asks, and then his tongue flicks out and cleans that dressing away. Noah’s stomach swoops.

“Great,” he says, and Dan’s eyebrows furrow so low they almost disappear behind the frames of his sunglasses.

“You’ve barely touched it.”

Because Noah has been distracted. He takes a huge bite of it, chewing obnoxiously until Dan’s eyebrows scoot back up his forehead and he’s laughing.

“Okay, I get the point,” Dan says, and goes back to his salad.

Two more tarts and Noah is done, but there are still a few spots left on his itinerary, lined up along Lake Ontario as 401 curves towards home. He trails after Dan, who is being pickier about his choices at each bakery as the hour gets later, and has a stack of little white boxes on the floor of the backseat of Noah’s car.

It’s about 40 minutes from the last bakery to Dan’s building, and Noah thinks Dan might be dozing off in the passenger seat, hunched low with one ankle propped on the other knee. Every now and then the toe of his sneaker bounces to the beat of the music, the only giveaway that he’s awake.

Noah puts the car in park when he’s out front of Dan’s building, and his fingers brush the keys in the ignition but he doesn’t turn the car off. He turns to Dan, seatbelt taut across his torso, and has a flash of deja vu. Something passes over Dan’s face that makes Noah think for a second that Dan might lean in for a kiss; he can even feel the ghost impression of Dan’s fingers on the side of his neck. Noah holds himself very still and waits for Dan to finish the process of chewing through his thoughts, cheek between his teeth.

“This was really great,” is what he eventually says, but he looks like he might want to say more. Or maybe that’s more of Noah’s wishful thinking.

“Yeah, thanks for coming along. I would have given up halfway through if I didn’t have someone along with such a raging sweet tooth.”

Dan hums, not taking the bait. He’s still wearing his sunglasses, so Noah only has his mouth to give him clues to what’s going on in his head, and right now Noah is so addled by his own feelings he can’t interpret that mouth the way he normally can.

“Do you need help carrying all your tarts upstairs?” It’s meant to be another tease, not a ploy to get an invite inside, but Noah feels a nervous flush heating his ears anyway.

“I think I’ll be good, thanks.” Dan finally moves, reaching down to unfasten his seatbelt. It seems like that might be the end of it, and Noah starts to sink back into his seat, disappointed. But as Dan is looking down, zipping the buckle of the belt back and forth a few times before letting it retract into the door, he says, “Maybe you could come over and help me finish them?” He looks up again, and that’s his tentative mouth, that one Noah can read clear as day. “There’s way too many for even my raging sweet tooth to eat.”

“Yeah,” Noah says, and then clears his throat to rid his voice of its sudden roughness. “Yeah, that would be great.”

“Okay, great.” Dan gets out, opens the back door and gathers his armloads of bakery boxes. Noah cranes his head around to watch, almost offering to help again before Dan gets everything settled. He leans further into the car and says, “Today was really great. Thanks for inviting me.”

“Thanks for coming,” Noah says, and then Dan bumps the door closed with his hip and goes inside.

Chapter Text

It was already a good day—Saturdays always were! 

The phone rang just as Dad was putting my safety scarf on and grabbing his keys. He was fumbling a bit because his first coffee hadn’t kicked in quite yet. I was always much more alert and awake in the morning than he was, truth be told. I could tell by the sleepy smile on Dad’s face that it was someone we liked calling, so I didn’t have to worry about anything.

The drive to the dog park was always almost as much fun as the park itself, and today was no different. Dad put the window part way down (only a little bit, for safety ) and Goddess Mariah blasted from the speakers. Usually, we drove through the Starbucks on our way to the park, and I’ll confess I pouted a bit, giving a whine or two (or three) as we passed it without slowing down. I depended on the kick from my puppuccino to give me the energy I needed to play with Gizmo and Dexter. They were almost always there when we went to the park.

When we pulled into the parking lot of the dog park, Dad veered toward a car that seemed a little familiar. As we got close, I caught a whiff of a friend—a specific friend. It was Friend Noah! Oh, puppy! I bet he had a bully stick for me, meaning I wouldn’t miss my puppuccino at all. He always had the best treats in his pockets.

Friend Noah actually didn’t have pockets today, though. He was dressed for exercise, and looked drippy and red-faced the way Dad does after he and Auntie finish doing Zumba to the Goddesses. Even though Friend Noah was sweaty, he and Dad shared a big hug. I tried my best to jump up between them, as I needed to find out where he was keeping my treats. Turned out, there were treats in his car for me and for Dad! What a good friend. No wonder Dad didn’t stop for coffee—Friend Noah had brought drinks for all of us. And of course, a bully stick for me.

After finishing my puppuccino and half of my bully stick, I took off to find Dexter and to tell him how lucky I was to have a buddy like Friend Noah, who was always bringing me treats. I circled back around to the bench where Dad and Friend Noah sat close together, talking and laughing. It made me so happy to see how happy Dad was whenever he talked to Friend Noah. 

After 20 minutes or so, every time I came back around they were discussing bacon and pancakes, which were two of my favorite things. It seemed like Friend Noah was leaning in very close to Dad, closer every time I came by. Almost like he wanted Dad to give him mouth kisses. Who could blame him? I always wanted to trade mouth kisses with Dad, and I hardly ever got to!

Dad didn’t seem to understand the signals Friend Noah was sending about the mouth kisses, even though I could see them. I finally decided if Dad wouldn’t mouth kiss with Friend Noah, I sure would. I jumped up onto Friend Noah’s knees, sticking my nose right in his face. He looked down at me with a laugh, immediately started giving me pets (one of the reasons he is such a good guy ), and I was able to start giving him all the mouth kisses he could ever want. That made him laugh even harder, and Dad gave me a gentle nudge and told me to “Act like a gentleman, Red.”

Friend Noah climbed off the bench, dropped to the ground, and started to wrestle with me. I could see Dad shake his head and pretend not to laugh. Then he smiled that smile I only ever see him use when Friend Noah is around. He started encouraging us to get up and said let’s get breakfast. I didn’t need to be asked twice! I was glad to know our time with Friend Noah wasn’t over yet. 

This good day was just going to keep getting better.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t like a date date, but it wasn’t not a date. It was something. Something more than just lunch in his trailer. I mean...he has had lunch in here with Annie. And his dad. It was nothing special. But it was...something...special. This was...Noah. Anytime he was with Noah was just more than it was with any other person. At least for now. He knew better than to daydream or make plans about what probably wouldn’t happen once the show wrapped, and once Italy was a lovely, Tuscan memory. 

He wanted to make it nice—for Noah. Noah deserved nice, even if it was in a trailer between scenes. A trailer...like a place where murders happen. Except today Dan was getting his murder-trailer ready for a spontaneous maybe-date with Noah. How does someone even prep a trailer for a date? 

God, this sounds like the beginning of a Criminal Minds episode, and not one of the more glamorous ones.

He spent time rearranging the furniture in his trailer—just a small, ugly couch and two uncomfortable chairs. And then he rearranged the new arrangement. After the third rearrangement he was satisfied, and a bit sweaty. 

When he stepped back to admire all of his hard work, he realized the furniture was exactly where he started—so he proceeded to spend exactly 1 minute and 27 seconds re-thinking all of the life choices that led him to this very awkward and uncertain moment in a possible murder-trailer, unsuccessfully preparing for a maybe-date/probably-just-an-awkward-lunch with Noah Reid.

At the 28th second of the 2nd minute, there was a quiet knock. Dan smoothed down his best white t-shirt before opening the door. 

“Hey, you,” said Noah, looking at him softly with that small smirk that never really left his face. 

“Hi Noah, come on in,” Dan replied, a little too breathy—but they were words, so he counted it as a successful greeting. 

Noah made his way inside and eyed the arrangement of food on the table appreciatively. It was at that moment that Dan noticed that not everything in the trailer was back to its original state. Several of the half sub-sandwiches had toppled over from being on the table during his rearranging frenzy. And some chips had fallen out of their bowls. Luckily, all of the dips remained in their containers, so there was minimal clean-up needed.

“Sorry.” Dan scurried over to tidy up and attempt an explanation that wasn’t...creepy. “I had an idea to rearrange some things in here to make more space.”

“Oh? Don’t like the setup?”

“Well, I must like it because after three attempts everything but the food ended up exactly where it started.”

Noah chuckled as he picked up a rogue chip and popped it into his mouth, obviously not realizing how that kind of move drew attention to his lips and throat and forearms, leaving Dan to still his hands and watch.

“Daniel, you okay?”

“What? Oh, yes. I’m...fine. Great.”

“Shall we?”

“Yes. Please.”

They each grabbed a plate and made their selections. Noah focused in on the only meatball half-sub on the platter, and Dan watched him—discreetly. Dan watched as Noah’s deft fingers handled the sub, gently holding the bread to not squish everything together, but with enough of a grip to keep the meatballs in place. Dan watched as Noah moved the sub closer to his mouth, his lips opening up and his tongue peeking out. Then everything came to an abrupt stop, and he heard Noah’s voice. He should probably pay attention.

“...can have it, if you want.” 

“Sorry, what?”

And when he moved his focus away from Noah’s mouth, he noticed that Noah’s face was flushed a bit, and his smile had bloomed.

“I said, I didn’t realize this was the only meatball sub—you can have it if you want.”

“Oh! No. No, I’m good. I don’t like meatball subs.”

“You...ate two yesterday,” Noah reminded Dan as he cocked his head to the side, questioningly. 

“Right. You were there for that,” Dan all but mumbled. “What I mean is that I don’t want one today. You can have it.” And now Dan was embarrassed because surely Noah saw him staring? Maybe not. “Thanks anyway, though.”

“You’re welcome, Daniel.” Noah said in a way that Dan thought was maybe fond...but likely not. 

The rest of the lunch went smoothly enough. Dan managed to not stare at Noah’s mouth the entire time. Though it would have been easier if Noah had picked a less messy sub that didn’t require him to clean his lips with his tongue after every bite. And if the sandwiches weren’t so damn delicious, Dan wouldn’t now know that Noah had at least three different groans in his arsenal that could send shivers up his spine. 

Dan was relieved to see Noah settle back in on the couch after they cleaned up lunch. He didn’t want to admit to himself how badly he wanted this maybe-date to continue.

“Lunch was great, Daniel. Thank you.”

“Oh. You’re welcome. It’s the same sandwiches we have just about every day—I just had them brought here.”

“Well, the company is nice.” Noah countered as he sat further back on the couch, sinking in a bit and looking at Dan directly.

Dan swooned on the inside (maybe just a bit on the outside, also?). Hopefully it wasn’t too obvious how much he loved those words coming from Noah. “Oh. Yes. The company... your company is great. I’m glad we did this.” 

Noah nodded along, looking pleased. A bit smug, even.

“You know,” Noah continued, “this is going to be a fun season for me. You guys joke, but I absolutely plan on bringing my own sunflower seeds when we’re out on the field!”

“That sounds...well, it just sounds so gross, Noah.” Dan grimaced, not even hiding his feelings.

“I'll bring you some flavored ones. Well find the right flavor for you.”

“Oh god, flavored?”

“Yeah—ranch, BBQ, original—there are so many options.”

“I regret writing that episode now,” Dan joked. “But seriously, the things you’ve done with Patrick are really great. The honesty you’ve brought to him.”

“Yeah?”

“For sure, those neck kisses are so real. Really nice work there.” Dan could not believe he just said that. As he looked around for some retreat, Noah spoke up.

“Oh really? You like those?” Noah quipped, ignoring Dan’s evident discomfort.

“I mean, yeah. Of course, you have such great acting instincts—including kisses like that was just perfect for our characters.”

“Well, if I’m being honest, the first one wasn’t acting. But the rest were to keep up appearances. So, I am glad you approve.”

Dan felt like his brain was short-circuiting. That first neck kiss wasn’t acting? Had he heard that correctly?

Dan’s ringtone snapped him out of the spiral that Noah’s admission had started him on. Debra’s assistant was on the line to let him know that they needed his approval for some wardrobe changes.

Obviously, Noah was able to piece together that the maybe-date was ending because as Dan was hanging up the phone, Noah was standing and straightening his shirt and jeans. When Dan caught his eye, Noah looked sort of shy, a little unsure. 

Dan didn’t want their time together to end, and he certainly didn’t want it to end with Noah being the only one to make bold admissions.

Dan made his way toward Noah. The murder-trailer wasn’t that big so it only took a few steps. He wrapped his arms around Noah’s shoulders, and pressed himself up against him. He sighed as he felt Noah’s arms make their way around his waist. Dan loved the feel of Noah’s hands at the small of his back, scratching lightly to make their presence known and felt. 

Dan felt Noah take a deep breath. Dan was sure he had crossed the line, and that Noah was preparing to tell him so. But then he felt it—the warm, distinct press of Noah’s lips against the sensitive juncture of his neck and shoulder. 

Dan took his own steadying breath.

And then he felt the same warm press of Noah’s lips higher up his neck, then another under his ear—it was perfection, it was terrifying, and it was the best feeling in the world. 

Noah’s hands moved away from Dan’s back, but before he had time to miss them, Noah’s fingers were smoothing the area of Dan’s neck that he’d kissed seconds earlier. Dan tilted his head to the side to give Noah more space, and then he felt a hand was on the other side of his face, and he was leaning in. 

Dan quickly lost track of where Noah’s hands were; all of his attention was on the warm, wet press of Noah’s lips against his and how perfect it felt. All too soon, Noah was pulling back.

“Was that okay, Daniel?” Noah asked, as Dan felt Noah’s thumb brush over his cheek.

“Yes, this—yes.” 

Noah leaned back in and brushed his lips against Dan’s once, twice, three more times before he leaned away again, this time leaving more space between them. Dan instantly regretted the whining noise that escaped his lips, but Noah laughed and that was a beautiful sound.

“I could do this for a lot longer, but you have someone to meet in wardrobe, and I have a dance rehearsal that I really cannot miss.”

“Yeah,” Dan replied, his voice a little  husky, but he recovered quickly. “I’ve heard about how much you need those dance rehearsals.”

The teasing earned Dan another laugh, and another small press of Noah’s lips. And then Noah was out the door with a promise to call him later. 

Dan could hardly wait.

Chapter Text

“Hey.” Dan turns, and finds Noah standing there, hands in his pockets. “You wanted to see me?”

“Mm, yeah. I—did. Do. Need to see you.” Noah looks like Noah—kind and fond and kissable. Dan lets himself think about Noah’s mouth soft against his, teasing him, for just a second. Dan wants to kiss him again and again, but he’s trying to stay focused on the show. They get one chance at a final season, he can’t think about this right now.

“What’s up?” 

“I wanted to go over some finale stuff with you before it’s finalized. But I forgot I have a meeting with Amy for the documentary in like five minutes. I don’t want to make you wait around.”

“Why don’t you call me when you’re done? Come over for pizza and you can tell me what you’re thinking? We’re still getting married, right?” Noah laughs, but his brow furrows slightly. It’s always been like this with Noah, flirty hints, casual touches, the occasional spur of the moment on-camera neck kiss, the one perfect time Noah kissed him.

Dan nods. “No, yeah. Still getting married.” Emily’s been teasing him a lot, that the lines are more blurred than ever between what Dan wants for David and what he wants for himself, and if he’s being honest with himself, she’s right. Dan’s not sure he’s ever going to get this kind of happy ending. He thought after Noah kissed him, they might do more than just orbit each other, but even now, Dan feels like his circles around Noah never get him any closer to the sun. 

Noah grins at him and Dan smiles back and they just stand there for a second, staring at each other, until Dan can’t take Noah’s gaze anymore. “You don’t have to do that? I didn’t mean for you to have to change your plans.”

“No big deal, I was gonna have pizza either way. I’ll just have better company. Text me when you’re done here”

“I—okay. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” Noah smiles, slow, biting his lip a little, and Dan feels himself flush. He doesn't even know why he asked. He’s only been to Noah’s a couple of times, and it’s never just been them. It almost sounds like a date—Dan wishes it was a date, but knows it isn’t. A lasting scar of his twenties is mistaking kindness for flirting, and he doesn’t want to screw up their relationship when so much of the finale hangs on their on-screen chemistry.

Noah opens his arms and Dan steps into them, wrapping his arms around Noah’s neck like they always do this, trying not to react when Noah’s lips press lightly against his neck. Noah pulls back enough to look right at him, wide-eyed and confident. “See you later,” Noah says casually before releasing Dan with a wink and walking away.

**

Dan knocks, tentatively, and then Noah’s opening the door, in a blinding white, too-tight-across-the-bicep t-shirt.

“Hey.” Noah pushes the door open with one arm and pulls Dan in for a quick hug with the other, his lips brushing across Dan’s neck, making Dan flush with hope.

“Just ordered the pizza—I got the white one you like on that gluten-free crust and also a spicy soppressata one.”

“Oh—that sounds,” Dan tries to bite back a smile, “really good.”

“I thought so,” Noah gives him a small smile and ushers him into the living room, with a gentle hand on the small of his back. 

Dan clears his throat, and holds up the wine he brought over. “I—for the pizza.” Dan wants to die, he writes for a living and is seemingly unable to string together more than six words faced with barefoot Noah in just a too-tight t-shirt and a very faded pair of jorts. 

“I have a bottle open for us already, we’ll drink this next.”

Dan nods and that hopeful feeling expands a little more at the thought that Noah thinks he’ll be here long enough for more than one bottle of wine. Dan feels like he’s staring at Noah, probably because he is staring at Noah and he knows he needs to say something, normal and friendly and chill but every single thing he can think of to say is not at all normal and friendly and chill.

“You have a lot of plants,” Dan finally says, which makes him want to die.

“Yeah, I’ve gotten a few more since you were here for the Christmas party.”

Dan is relieved Noah thinks he’s observant and not just a total fool. “It looks good.”

“Let’s sit.” Noah nods at the sofa, and Dan sees two wine glasses and an open bottle of wine sitting there. It looks cozy and intimate and Dan wants more of his days to end with wine and Noah. 

Noah hands him a glass of wine and settles next to him on the couch. His full attention is on Dan, making Dan want to squirm or make a joke, but he settles for taking a sip of wine.

“So, what did you want to run by me? You know—you don’t have—I know whatever you decide will be the right thing.”

Dan nods. “I know, but I want to.” Dan outlines the plan, the vows, the potential lyrics, and Noah just nods, focused but somehow still soft, really listening to Dan.

Noah is quiet for a minute, and Dan can practically see him thinking, watching small emotions flick across Noah’s eyes, full of warmth. “I think that all sounds really good. I think—I’d try to play it with an undercurrent of emotion. I just wouldn’t want to seem like Patrick was taking the easy way out, using lyrics instead of writing vows.” 

“No, I don’t want that either, and I’m hoping we’ve laid the groundwork so that will be obvious. That Patrick is overwhelmed, and in love. But I think that would be a really beautiful way to play it.” Dan takes a sip of wine, he’ll never be over the fact that Noah cares as much about these two characters as he does.

“Sounds like we have a plan then.” Noah sets his arm on the back of the couch, and gives Dan’s shoulder a gentle rub, lingering just a little, before settling his hand on the top edge of the sofa.

Dan shifts so his shoulder is right near Noah’s hand, he wants. Noah smirks, before tracing a slow circle on Dan’s shoulder before resting his hand there, with a little squeeze that Dan leans into. Dan’s tired of trying not to want this.

Noah’s eyes flick to his lips and Dan’s swaying forward when there’s a sharp knock at the door, the least welcome interruption in the world, even if it's for pizza.

Noah closes his eyes for a brief second and takes a deep breath. He cups Dan’s face with one hand, calloused fingertips briefly against Dan’s cheek. “Well, that’s probably the pizza.”

Noah leaves Dan on the couch, but soon returns with pizza and plates and a quantity of napkins that makes Dan want to roll his eyes, except he knows they’re for him. Noah is somehow always teasing him about using so many napkins and also always procuring a clean one for Dan right when he needs it the most.

Dan starts with a slice of white, which is exceptional and watches as Noah takes a big bite of a soppressata slice.

Dan makes a satisfied little noise as he swallows. “This is amazing. How’s that one? Good?” Dan asks.

Noah folds the slice and holds it up for Dan to take a bite. Dan leans forward and Noah licks his lips as Dan takes a bite, which is a lot. Dan’s eyes go wide with delight as soon as he tastes it. He sits back and covers his mouth with his hand as he chews, nodding his head.

“This one’s my favorite, I knew you’d like it.” Noah grins at him.

“That’s—this is the best pizza I’ve ever had.”

“I seem to recall you feeling very strongly during the Great Trash Pizza Debate,” Noah teases.

“Ok—you’re. This isn’t even in the same solar system as trash pizza.” Dan takes another bite of his pizza, as if that will prove his point.

They happily finish an uncomfortable amount of pizza and Noah opens more wine for them and suggests they put on a movie. Dan is very full and sort of sleepy and he should really stop drinking so he can drive home, but faced with the choice of Noah or not Noah, he holds up his glass for more wine. He can always get a cab. 

Noah puts on A League of Their Own and then slings his arm across Dan’s shoulders. Dan wiggles a little lower, fitting himself into Noah’s side. Noah runs his thumb back and forth over Dan’s shoulder, slowly, with just the right amount of pressure, all through the opening credits. 

“This is nice.” Dan’s voice is barely a whisper into Noah’s shirt. He needs to say it, but half-hopes Noah doesn’t hear him.

Noah does hear him though, and then he’s gently nudging Dan’s chin up. Noah’s so close, he’s right there, Dan thinks he could count Noah’s eyelashes if he wasn’t so distracted by Noah’s lips, his mouth. 

Noah just pauses there, his mouth half a breath from Dan’s, his eyes incredulous and full of affection. He whispers Daniel, his lips gently catching on Dan’s and then they’re kissing. They’ve kissed so many times on screen, and this is so much better, with Noah’s mouth moving against his, their kiss full of all the emotions Dan feels when Noah looks at him. Noah makes him feel so much, with just the chaste press of their lips, and then Noah’s tongue slides against his lips and oh. 

Dan gasps against Noah’s mouth, and it seems like that does something for Noah because suddenly the kiss is anything but chaste, it’s rough and a little messy and wow, does Dan like this version of Noah’s kisses. 

Noah gets a hand in Dan’s hair, gently running his fingers through it, an unbearable contrast to the hot, possessive way Noah is kissing him.

Eventually, the kisses slow down again, matching the way Noah’s hands stroke Dan’s hair, behind his ear, these featherlight touches that make Dan feel sun-warmed and relaxed and full of want. Noah pulls back with a grin, his cheeks flushed, and he slowly blinks while they catch their breath. “I love this part.” Noah murmurs as he nods at the screen, but then he kisses Dan again anyway, a quick kiss, the kind of kiss that makes Dan think they might have a million more moments like this. 

They settle back in to watch the movie and Dan is warm and full and happy, Noah’s kisses make him feel like he just had a very strong drink on the beach—slightly out of it and hyper-aware of his skin. He snuggles into Noah’s shoulder some more, and closes his eyes when Noah’s hand gets back in his hair, gently stroking, relaxing Dan even more. 

He wakes up disoriented, to a dark screen and a weird ache in his neck. He starts to sit up, and Noah pulls him in tighter. Dan smiles into Noah’s chest, and stays like that a minute more before sitting up. Noah looks dazed and sleepy too, they both must have dozed off.

“I should—it’s late. I should go.”

“It is late—just stay.” Noah wraps a hand around the back of Dan’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss, fingertips pressing into the back of Dan’s head. “It’s late. We’ll just sleep. Stay?”

Noah’s hand is still wrapped around Dan’s neck and his face is so vulnerable, Dan leans forward for another kiss. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Yeah?” Noah’s face goes sweet and hopeful and Dan thinks maybe a little happy, and Dan feels it too.

“Yeah.” He grins back. Noah runs a thumb over the crinkles that form around his eyes and Dan can’t help but wonder if maybe their trajectory is about to change as Noah pulls him towards the bedroom.

Chapter Text

“We should go out tonight,” Noah says as Dan’s rubbing sunscreen into the tops of his ears. Dan swallows audibly and screws the cap back on the tube, tucking it into his toiletry bag, stalling so he could steady his voice and also think of what to say. 

Noah doesn’t have to elaborate. It’s not unexpected—they’d talked about it on the flight over. Dan kind of thought that Noah had forgotten, had just been joking, when he mentioned the word date while Dan was slathering on more hand sanitizer halfway through the trip. Dan had hummed noncommittally and smiled, then got distracted by Noah’s answering smile, enough to forget to be nervous about going on a date with Noah Reid in Tuscany.

“Okay,” Dan says, zipping up his bag and dropping it onto the bed. He lets his uncertainty leak into his tone. It’s a lot easier to do that, rather than say the words I’m terrified you could break my heart.

“I… I made a reservation,” Noah continues, biting his lip. 

Dan blinks in surprise. “You did?”

Noah rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, I—I guess I was just hoping you’d agree that tonight was as good a night as any? And, Dan, I don’t—I don’t want to keep waiting?”  

Taking a deep breath, Dan nods. He should be honest. Right? “Me neither.” 

Noah’s smile nearly does him in—nearly makes him sway forward right into Noah’s arms. “Great,” Noah breathes, and—is he leaning forward? “I—” Noah stutters out, leaning back again. “We should go hang with everyone by the pool.”

Dan disagrees, he thinks they should stay in and maybe make out for an hour, the pool will be there when they’re done. 

Annie bangs on the door then, shouting, “Hey you guys have plenty of time to make out on your date, we’re trying to play volleyball, get out here.”

Dan raises his brows at Noah. 

“Okay, well, I had to run the idea by someone. I didn’t mention making out, though.”

“Hope that doesn’t mean it’s off the table,” Dan says, the interruption apparently enough to shake off an outer layer of his insecurity. He stands and grabs his toiletry bag to drop it on his dresser. 

He hears Noah huff out a laugh. “I guess you’ll have to come on the date to find out.”

*

Noah picks him up at his door, his staccato knock jolting Dan out of his seventh round of catastrophizing how the date might go wrong. He’d been in the middle of fiddling with his hair, which has rebelled against him in the last few days, and he takes one last glimpse in the mirror. He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair between two others, when Noah knocks again. 

“I’m sure your hair looks great, Dan,” Noah says, not unkindly. Dan can hear his smile.

He doesn’t reply, just shoves his phone in his pocket and checks for his wallet in the other and answers the door. 

Noah’s leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest to show off his newly tan forearms. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his casual button-up shirt, probably to make Dan weak in the knees.

He’s got on what must be his date-night shorts because they’re not denim, they're not ripped, and Dan’s never seen them before. 

Dan doesn’t know how much time has passed while he stood there blatantly checking Noah out, but it’s long enough for Noah to clear his throat and smirk knowingly. 

Dan rolls his eyes with his whole head to hopefully hide his blush. “Okay, relax. Yes, you look very good, don't rub it in.”

Noah’s smirk dials down, and he reaches out to squeeze at Dan’s arm. “Dan,” he says seriously. “ You look very good.” He rests his other hand lightly on Dan’s hip. Dan finds his hands floating up to land on Noah’s hips, too. “I’m going to kiss you now okay?”

Dan inhales sharply, and he must nod, because Noah’s leaning in slowly, so slowly, like he’s giving Dan the chance to change his mind. 

He doesn't want to change his mind. He tugs at Noah’s hips and meets Noah halfway, pressing their lips together softly, chastely, sweetly. It’s nothing wild, or passionate, but it lights Dan up anyway, and he leans forward, so Noah’s arms slide around his waist. 

They haven’t kissed off-screen since before filming the finale, when Noah invited him over and fed him pizza and let him sleepover. Dan’s thought about that kiss every day since. 

Noah pulls away first, and he does that slowly too. Dan opens his eyes in time to see Noah’s flutter open, and—he looks pretty wrecked. Dan doesn’t try to stop the grin that stretches over his mouth. 

Noah huffs out a laugh. “We should get going,” he says, glancing longingly over Dan’s shoulder, into his bedroom. 

Dan doesn’t comment, just nods, and heads towards the door. 

*

The restaurant is mostly just tables on a patio, charming and open-air and Italian, and Noah takes his hand as they weave through the mismatched tables to a cozy two-seater next to the fence that encloses the space. He holds Dan’s hand until he’s safely in his seat, and Dan thinks it’s ridiculous but he’s feeling warm and happy so he just gives Noah a half-smile and scoots his chair under the table.

Noah has clearly done a lot of research, so Dan sits back and lets him order the wine, smiles when Noah throws himself into an Italian accent to choose the tasting menu option. 

The wine arrives, and Dan realizes they’ve basically just been staring at each other for the past several minutes, and he’s glad for the opportunity to give his attention to something else, give his hands something to do, even if it’s just drinking wine and eating bread. 

They talk about the food, mostly, about the trip so far, the activities to come—it’s quiet, and intimate, and it’s basically foreplay by way of Italian food, and the way Noah takes bites of his pasta it driving Dan sort of crazy.  

“What?” Noah asks, and Dan realizes he’s trailed off in the middle of a sentence about his last trip to Japan. He distracts himself with wine to calm himself down a bit before answering. 

“Nothing just—really happy to be here with you.”

Noah’s smile— god Noah’s fucking smile—makes Dan reach across the table to grab his free hand, squeezing it gently. “Me too,” Noah says, squeezing back.

They finish their pasta course that way, holding hands across the table, and it’s cliche and cheesy and Dan thinks he should be embarrassed but he’s in Tuscany on a technically-first date with Noah Reid and, well, it’s pretty fucking great. 

They’re quiet over salad, but Dan keeps sneaking looks at Noah, who is so obviously sneaking looks back at Dan, and by the fifth time Dan can’t hold back his laughter. Noah is laughing, too, trying to hide it, and he wipes his mouth before he speaks. “What’s so funny?”

Dan shrugs. “I don’t know, you were looking at me.”

“You were looking at me .”

Dan doesn’t disagree, just presses his lips together to stave off another giggle and finishes his wine to give his mouth something else to do. 

Noah makes pornographic noises around his fork as he eats his lamb, but other than that, dinner passes uneventfully, except for the frankly smoldering looks Noah keeps giving Dan over the rim of his wine glass every time he takes a sip. 

Dessert is exquisite torture when Noah insists on moving his chair so he’s next to Dan, since they are sharing a rather large portion. Dan’s left knee is pressing against Noah’s right, and Noah’s lips are closing around the dessert spoon, and Noah smears whipped cream on the corner of his mouth and Dan is close to drooling, and not just over dessert. 

He looks down at their plate and takes a bite—normally not seductively like Noah does—and he hears Noah make a tiny noise in his throat. Dan makes a questioning noise back as he chews.

“You okay?” He asks after he swallows. 

Noah puts his fork down. “You have…” he trails off, lifting his hand and reaching towards Dan’s face. 

Dan keeps his eyes on Noah’s, which is overwhelming in itself, but then Noah wipes his thumb at the corner of Dan’s mouth, catching some crumb or sauce or something. Dan blinks, he has too, because it’s too much, and then Noah’s thumb is brushing Dan’s bottom lip, pressing gently, tentatively. 

Dan’s holding his breath, he slips his tongue out, gently touching the pad of Noah’s thumb, and Noah makes another noise, and he sounds desperate. Dan licks more thoroughly, briefly, before pulling back. “We should go back,” he breathes and Noah nods enthusiastically.

Noah tries to pay for the whole thing, but Dan insists they split it, and in the face of Noah’s pout, he says, “There’s plenty of time for you to pay for our dates.”  

They’re standing by the table, and most of the other patrons have gone, so Dan wraps his arms around Noah’s neck. “As far as first dates go…this was pretty fuckin’ great,” he says, grinning. 

“Yeah?” Noah’s smirking, confident, but his tone is hopeful—a real question. 

“Yeah. I just don’t know how you’re gonna top it for our second date.” 

“Just you, wait, babe, I got it all planned out.”

Dan blinks. “You do?”

“We’re in Italy, Dan. I’m obviously going to take the opportunity to wine and dine you.”

Dan catches his bottom lip between his teeth. “Oh, you don’t—you don’t have to do that.” He shakes his head. 

Noah slides his hands all the way around Dan’s waist, pulling him close. “I think—” he starts, then swallows audibly. “I think we’ve waited long enough, Daniel. We should—we can just enjoy this now. Don’t you think?” 

Dan presses their foreheads together. “I do,” he whispers. “It was worth the wait.”    

Chapter Text

There are countless things about Noah that Dan does not necessarily understand but is still constantly and consistently excited by: his love and faithfulness to the sport of baseball, both as a spectator and a player; his love and faithfulness to any and all pairs of jean shorts, both dirty and clean; the way his body steadfastly refuses to move in a manner that is in any way graceful, despite the amount of power he puts into every movement. There are less mystifying aspects that turn him on about Noah, too: the two curls that always fall onto his forehead announcing when it is time for a haircut or a stronger gel; the ease and generosity of his deep, wheezing laugh; his unerring kindness and empathy and openness; the strength and the beauty of his hands as they play both the piano and Dan like finely tuned instruments; his forearms, when they do...anything. 

So yes, the list of things about Noah that Dan is drawn to is long.

And it is continuing to grow exponentially. 

So much so that it’s now branched off to include minor home improvements and regular meal preparation and Noah just generally being present.

Like how Noah supervised the installation of the pizza oven Sarah bought Dan for Christmas last year. It was a phone call that Dan didn’t have time to make, not to mention the time to oversee the installation and Noah sensed that, so he just...took care of it. 

(“I’m just grateful you didn’t think you could do it yourself,” Dan told Noah as he hung up with the scheduler. Noah pulled a face in response that reminded Dan why he thinks Noah is a brilliant actor and also why he’s a brilliant partner—he wears his heart on the outside of his body, and on every inch of his beautiful face.

“Mmm, too bad.” Noah pocketed his cell phone but did not take his eyes, which may have turned a shade closer to defiant, off of Dan’s. He may have also been a touch sarcastic when he said, “I really thought those masonry classes I took in theater school would finally pay off.”)

And thanks to Sarah’s generosity and Noah’s supervising (and Redmond supervising Noah’s supervision, because he is very well-trained), Dan is now the proud owner of a classic wood-fired pizza oven, which Noah has made the central focus of tonight’s date.

Dan follows the heady aroma from the front door to his airy kitchen, the room in the house that he has always been afraid he’ll waste by ordering nightly take out. 

He shouldn’t have worried. At his kitchen island, an aproned Noah is carefully kneading fresh, made from scratch pizza dough. It’s a sight that he couldn’t really visualize until recently. Now he wishes he hadn’t waited so long to let Noah help him bring it to fruition.

Dan knows the dough is made from scratch because Noah insisted on tracking down a persnickety kind of flour at Whole Foods and prepared everything last night so the yeast could “work its magic” and frankly, Dan can’t remember a time he’s felt more fond of microorganisms, which is definitely saying something.

There’s a pan of homemade sauce bubbling on the stove, exuding the rich scent of tomato and garlic and basil. Noah has one of his playlists going, and he’s singing along as Tom Waits warbles from the bluetooth kitchen speakers.

It’s a simple domestic sight, his boyfriend preparing a meal, but it feels momentous somehow. Maybe it isn’t that momentous now that they’re more settled into a routine, but last summer, this sight might have sent Dan into orbit. It still does, but it’s one he knows that he belongs in.

In the here and now, Dan nuzzles at Noah’s neck as his forearms and hands work at the dough with their typical diligence. He even raises up on his tiptoes every few passes, leaning forward and pressing down more firmly as he works.

“What is this maneuver?” Dan asks the back of Noah’s ear, where he’s chasing down one of his favorite spots to press a kiss. 

Noah rocks his hips back into Dan’s, allowing Dan to finally reach his intended target. “The recipe says to ‘mount the dough,” he says in a pant, as his forearm veins expand with the effort. “I’m mounting.”

Dan mentally adds another inexplicably hot thing to his list: Noah mounting dough in the middle of his kitchen. No, maybe it’s completely explicable. Either way, it’s going on the list. 

“So you understand that I am legally obligated to make a double entendre about that now, as part of my Writer’s Guild contract.” Dan isn’t even sure if it’s a double at this point, it may just be a single. A mounting joke is low hanging fruit.

“Well, if it’s a mandate...” Noah trails off, both magnanimous and resigned, so Dan clears his throat as if he is about to present a Shakespearean monologue.

“That dough isn’t the only thing that’s going to get—” Slightly chapped lips cover his then as a floury hand cups the side of his jaw, keeping him from completing his sentence. He allows Noah to kiss the easy joke right out of his mouth. It’s likely for the best.

Noah pulls back more quickly than Dan would like, but he does still have one hand responsibly on the dough as if it might get up and walk away if not manned. “My apologies to the Guild. Where should I send the check for your legal fees?” Giving Dan another quick nip to the bottom lip, he turns back to his ministrations with a little grunt. Dan loves how singularly focused Noah can be when a task means something to him, and he adds that trait to his running list.

Dan is able to rest his hands on Noah’s hips and still have a clear view of the proceedings over his bent head, but the knob of Noah’s spine and the swath of pale skin he can access is also very tantalizing. His nose skims Noah’s hairline and inhales. “You smell amazing.”

“Hmph.” Noah swipes at his forehead with the crook of his elbow but he still turns his head so that he can catch Dan’s lips again at an angle. He mostly grazes his chin. “I smell like garlic and woodsmoke.”

“I stand by my previous statement,” Dan says as Noah sort of sinks back into his chest, as if Dan’s torso is some kind of alcove carved just for him. “Can I do anything to help?”

“Nah.” Noah shakes his head and gingerly pats at the spherical lump on the counter before he goes on a little Noah-tangent about not overworking the dough. Dan lets his mind lose the thread of it, content just to feel the vibrations of Noah’s voice through his chest. He tunes back in as Noah leans forward to start shaping and flattening his creation and Dan takes the opportunity to both ogle and rub at the small of his boyfriend’s back. “Once I get this done and the toppings on, the recipe says it only takes a minute or two to cook in your pizza oven.”

“That might be the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Dan teases as he runs his fingers over the tops of Noah’s shoulders.

“What if I tell you that I also found a bakery that makes an olive oil citrus cake like the one Shana had us try?” Noah knows that Dan still dreams about that cake sometimes. He has lascivious thoughts about that cake, about the taste of that cake on Noah’s lips, still effervescent from champagne. 

Still a little flustered at the memory, Dan presses a little closer to Noah at the counter. He’s about an inch from having him pinned, which neither of them would probably mind but also, uncooked, untopped pizza. “Well then I’m revising. I reserve the right to revise.” 

And from their shared on-set experiences, Dan doesn’t think he needs to show any of his work for that claim. He notices also that Noah isn’t confirming or denying; instead he’s concentrating on distributing a precise amount of olive oil onto the now flattened and more pizza-shaped dough, which he split into two different pies while Dan was distracted with the skin that peeked out of the gap between his shirt and his shorts.

Making quick work of the rest of the pizza, Noah even incorporates a very professional pizza tossing trick that accentuates both his forearms and his manual dexterity. It makes Dan wonder if Noah hasn’t secretly been hiding a pizza-making hobby or if he should encourage him to parlay this evidently natural talent into one of those competitive pizza-tossing contests they’ve seen on the Food Network and start a whole other career. Would that make Noah a quadruple threat?

Noah blushes as he catches Dan staring, which is still so fucking charming, until he regains that little sliver of absolute smugness when he realizes that he has something that Dan wants: namely, himself. He pauses briefly to reiterate to Dan with his tongue all the things that he is truly capable of that probably shouldn’t be included in his resume, but that thankfully, Dan has seen demonstrated exclusively and effectively.

Dan is still a little weak in the knees as Noah finishes loading the now prepared pizzas and a collection of garlic knots he made with the extra dough onto the baking stone. He allows himself to be herded out of the kitchen and into the yard so they can be fired.

The backyard is already an oasis in daylight hours; under the deep navy sky, with the lanterns burning and the white lights ablaze where they are strung over the pergola, it’s even more exquisite. 

The table has been set for two, with a mason jar of fresh wildflowers in the center and candles lit on either side. He pours the wine while Noah tends to the oven and Dan wonders why they waited so long to have this. Why he’d ever hesitated. 

But there isn’t time to dwell on that because true to Noah’s claim, the pizzas only take two minutes to cook, and before Dan knows it, he’s sitting behind a Margherita pizza that looks and smells and tastes like it could have been prepared in Tuscany. 

The pizza is still hot as Dan inhales it, with Noah grinning at him from across the table as if he invented the entire concept of wood-fired pizza. “This is,”—so hot that it is steaming his glasses and he can barely see but it is fucking worth it—“fucking amazing. Ohmygod.”

They drink too much wine and Noah drops sauce on his shirt, but his ankle is crossed over Dan’s under the table like their first date in Italy and it’s perfect. It’s a perfect night under a perfect crescent moon and Noah steals little kisses between bites of crispy, perfectly airy crust and just the right amount of mozzarella. Dan doesn’t want the night to end.

Thoroughly sated after the meal, Dan and Noah lay down together on one of the chaise lounges by the pool, limbs entwined. They make out lazily at first, something slow and sort of lingering, as Dan tries to find a way to physically express his gratitude for the meal and for the care and for the last four years spent in each other’s company. 

Then Noah’s hand moves to the back of Dan’s neck and the kiss becomes more urgent, as if he might be the one feeling grateful. He kisses Dan until they are both breathless, their hands still skating everywhere they can reach.

Sweeping his fingers along the soft skin of Noah’s relaxed forearm, tenderly outlining the vein that runs atop his skin with his fingertips, proves not to be enough to quench Dan’s need. He scoots down the chaise lounge in order to ruck up the hem of Noah’s t-shirt, exposing a strip of fire-warm, pale skin. Dan peppers a trail of airy kisses along the curve of Noah’s pelvic bone, dipping past the waistband of his—oh hey, these are his date shorts—while simultaneously running his hand up Noah’s rib cage to the sensitive skin of his chest. 

Above his head, Noah is panting. “This is not supposed to be as quick as the pizza,” he says as his warm hand encircles the back of Dan’s neck. Instead of pushing Dan down toward his clearly interested dick, Noah pulls him back up to his mouth. 

Dan protests half-heartedly; his list of Noah things is not in any particular order. He can take his time with each item, press lazy kisses to the long column of Noah’s throat, or let his fingertips trace along the blue vein on the underside of his wrist. 

Everything about the evening has been unpressured and unhurried and besides just having this uninterrupted time with Noah, the fact that it is so relaxed may be his favorite part. He slows them down a little more until they’re just holding each other. Still curled in Noah’s arms, Dan takes in the view of his backyard, of the lights glinting from the city as it steps down the hill, of pool water rippling under the patio lights. He looks over at Noah, who appears to be doing the same, although half-lidded and probably two steps closer to sleep. 

Being here now feels so far away from Noah sharing anxiety brownies with him his first day on set, from sandwiches in trailers and nervous neck kisses, from Noah pursuing him doggedly on a trail of butter tarts, taking care of Redmond, taking care of Dan, and never once wavering. 

It’s a ridiculous notion that passes through Dan’s head then, the idea that he's feeling nourished, both physically and emotionally, for maybe one of the only times in his adult life. From that first bite of panic brownie, Dan was starting to feel like it was possible to learn and grow together, to be sustained first by their friendship and now by their relationship. It feels good. It feels right. It feels like love.

Noah must be able to hear his train of thought because he reaches over then, covering Dan's hand with his own. His eyes are bright and fond and full of love in the moonlight. “This was a really good night, huh?”

Dan turns his head, kissing the sweet curve of Noah’s brow bone, inhaling the scent of hickory and Noah’s sweat and everything that makes him smell like home. “Yeah, the best.”