In Time (Dan Dreiberg/Adrian Veidt), Watchmen (2009)
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derwent_fTitle: In Time
Fandom: Watchmen (2009)
Pairing: Dan Dreiberg/Adrian Veidt
Rating: Gen
Summary: Adrian can't dance. Dan finds out.
Notes: Based on this prompt at the kinkmeme. It's not very fluffy though. Also posted at the new kinkmeme at dreamwidth.
It was always easy to pinpoint the moment where Dan changed into Nite Owl (and vice versa), Adrian reflected. Unlike the others, who were mostly the same people inside and outside their costumes, the moment Dan put on his Nite Owl suit, he became someone else – as if the elegance of his costume melted right into his skin. It was what drew his eyes to Dan originally, the fascination of seeing him switching between his two selves.
For all of Dan’s perpetual awkwardness, though, there were moments when unexpectedly, grace infused his movement. Up until tonight, Adrian always thought that it was his Nite Owl persona spilling over into Dan’s body.
Watching Dan easily executing complicated tango steps with the daughter of some politician, Adrian began to suspect that maybe that wasn’t the case at all; that maybe the grace was there all along, and Nite Owl was just the most convenient outlet.
It was not often that Adrian is wrong, but when it came to Dan, he welcome it as a pleasant surprise.
They’d just began to mingle when Mrs. Leopold, formidable even in her eighties and only coming up to their chests, spotted Dan from across the room and approached him with the intensity of a hunter finally sighting his prized prey. She threw a “Mr. Veidt” and barely a nod at him, eyes on Dan all the time.
“Daniel,” she said by way of greeting, “Thank God. I began to despair of ever finding a decent partner for dancing tonight.”
“Uh,” Dan winced. “It’s nice to see you, Mrs. Leopold . . . ” was all he managed to say before the old lady gripped his arm and dragged him to the dance floor, Dan throwing a helpless look at Adrian.
The interaction amused Adrian, and he was already coming up with ways to tease Dan later, when the musicians began to play again. He watched, surprised, as Dan led Mrs Leopold in a gentle waltz, his body animated by a grace Adrian rarely sees outside of his vigilante days, so many years ago now.
Contrary to what the old lady said, Dan was not the only good dancer on the floor. But there definitely was something different in the way he led his partners, a certain consideration for them coupled with sheer joy at the movements. Dan enjoyed dancing, Adrian realised.
He’d love nothing more than to spend the night watching Dan dancing, but business was why they showed up to this ball at the first place, so he turned away and smiled at the next person who approached him.
He’d just finished talking with Senator Lippman when Dan finally freed himself. Face flushed, he accepted the champagne flute Adrian had been keeping for him. “Thought I’d never be free of them,” he said, eyes twinkling.
“I can’t blame them,” Adrian chuckled. He wouldn’t have let Dan go either.
The moment was broken when Miranda, Mrs. Leopold’s niece, bounced up to them.
“Dance with me, Mr. Veidt?”
Adrian shook his head. He’d rather not admit it, but the alternative, accepting and promptly making a fool of himself was worse. At least he knew these two wouldn’t laugh at him. “I’m afraid I can’t dance,” he said, and the rueful tone was not something he had to pretend.
“Come now,” Dan rolled his eyes, “Modesty doesn’t suit you, Adrian”.
“I’m not being modest,” Adrian said. The identical shocked expression on their faces was worth the embarrassing admission.
“. . . Wow,” Miranda said, and turned to Dan hopefully.
He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’ve had enough, sorry.”
“Alright then,” she puffed before turning away and began to scan the room for her next partner.
Left alone, Dan pounced on that tidbit. “You really can’t dance?”
“No,” Adrian shrugged, “I never learn.”
“Your parents didn’t teach you?” Dan asked, incredulous.
Adrian twirled his champagne flute. A memory surfaced, of his father’s hands on mother’s hips, turning her around and pushing, and the whimper she made when she hit the table. It was some kind of dancing, he decided, a grotesque tango his parents spent their marriage performing.
He set the memory aside and looked back at Dan. There was gentleness in his eyes, an understanding, and Adrian couldn’t bear it, at least not in front of so many people like right now. So he returned the question, desperate to change the subject, “I assume your parents did?”
And Dan, ever so kind, went along. “My mother, actually. She loved to dance, but my father was always busy at the bank, so, well, when I was old enough she began to drag me to her classes. Mrs. Leopold was one of her friends; that’s how I knew her.” He blushed. “It was kind of embarrassing, actually, but, uh, I always looked forward to it.”
“I can tell,” Adrian said, smiling.
*
There was a simple but urgent matter his head of security needed to discuss, so Adrian told Dan to go ahead. When he entered the penthouse, it was dim, Dan apparently not bothered to turn on the lights.
He followed the dim light and soft sound of music to the living room, where Dan stood in front of the record player. It was one of Dan’s collections, the jazz he loved so. He turned around and smiled upon seeing Adrian.
“C’mere,” he said, reaching out his arms.
Adrian raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it too late at night,” he glanced at the clock, “Or rather too early in the morning, for dancing lesson?”
“Who said anything about dancing lesson?”
“Oh?” he said, and put his right hand on Dan’s left anyway, because Dan looked so lovely in the dim golden glow of the lamp.
Dan wrapped his right arm around Adrian’s back and brought them closer. Then he led them in gentle swaying, in time with the music. Adrian reached out, taking off his glasses and put them on the table beside the record player, before returning his right hand to Dan’s left.
Dan chuckled. He gently bumped Adrian’s nose with his, and the gesture reminded Adrian of Bubastis. His breath caught in his throat. He leant his forehead against Dan’s, and thought nothing except about how warm Dan’s arm was on his back.
Fandom: Watchmen (2009)
Pairing: Dan Dreiberg/Adrian Veidt
Rating: Gen
Summary: Adrian can't dance. Dan finds out.
Notes: Based on this prompt at the kinkmeme. It's not very fluffy though. Also posted at the new kinkmeme at dreamwidth.
It was always easy to pinpoint the moment where Dan changed into Nite Owl (and vice versa), Adrian reflected. Unlike the others, who were mostly the same people inside and outside their costumes, the moment Dan put on his Nite Owl suit, he became someone else – as if the elegance of his costume melted right into his skin. It was what drew his eyes to Dan originally, the fascination of seeing him switching between his two selves.
For all of Dan’s perpetual awkwardness, though, there were moments when unexpectedly, grace infused his movement. Up until tonight, Adrian always thought that it was his Nite Owl persona spilling over into Dan’s body.
Watching Dan easily executing complicated tango steps with the daughter of some politician, Adrian began to suspect that maybe that wasn’t the case at all; that maybe the grace was there all along, and Nite Owl was just the most convenient outlet.
It was not often that Adrian is wrong, but when it came to Dan, he welcome it as a pleasant surprise.
They’d just began to mingle when Mrs. Leopold, formidable even in her eighties and only coming up to their chests, spotted Dan from across the room and approached him with the intensity of a hunter finally sighting his prized prey. She threw a “Mr. Veidt” and barely a nod at him, eyes on Dan all the time.
“Daniel,” she said by way of greeting, “Thank God. I began to despair of ever finding a decent partner for dancing tonight.”
“Uh,” Dan winced. “It’s nice to see you, Mrs. Leopold . . . ” was all he managed to say before the old lady gripped his arm and dragged him to the dance floor, Dan throwing a helpless look at Adrian.
The interaction amused Adrian, and he was already coming up with ways to tease Dan later, when the musicians began to play again. He watched, surprised, as Dan led Mrs Leopold in a gentle waltz, his body animated by a grace Adrian rarely sees outside of his vigilante days, so many years ago now.
Contrary to what the old lady said, Dan was not the only good dancer on the floor. But there definitely was something different in the way he led his partners, a certain consideration for them coupled with sheer joy at the movements. Dan enjoyed dancing, Adrian realised.
He’d love nothing more than to spend the night watching Dan dancing, but business was why they showed up to this ball at the first place, so he turned away and smiled at the next person who approached him.
He’d just finished talking with Senator Lippman when Dan finally freed himself. Face flushed, he accepted the champagne flute Adrian had been keeping for him. “Thought I’d never be free of them,” he said, eyes twinkling.
“I can’t blame them,” Adrian chuckled. He wouldn’t have let Dan go either.
The moment was broken when Miranda, Mrs. Leopold’s niece, bounced up to them.
“Dance with me, Mr. Veidt?”
Adrian shook his head. He’d rather not admit it, but the alternative, accepting and promptly making a fool of himself was worse. At least he knew these two wouldn’t laugh at him. “I’m afraid I can’t dance,” he said, and the rueful tone was not something he had to pretend.
“Come now,” Dan rolled his eyes, “Modesty doesn’t suit you, Adrian”.
“I’m not being modest,” Adrian said. The identical shocked expression on their faces was worth the embarrassing admission.
“. . . Wow,” Miranda said, and turned to Dan hopefully.
He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’ve had enough, sorry.”
“Alright then,” she puffed before turning away and began to scan the room for her next partner.
Left alone, Dan pounced on that tidbit. “You really can’t dance?”
“No,” Adrian shrugged, “I never learn.”
“Your parents didn’t teach you?” Dan asked, incredulous.
Adrian twirled his champagne flute. A memory surfaced, of his father’s hands on mother’s hips, turning her around and pushing, and the whimper she made when she hit the table. It was some kind of dancing, he decided, a grotesque tango his parents spent their marriage performing.
He set the memory aside and looked back at Dan. There was gentleness in his eyes, an understanding, and Adrian couldn’t bear it, at least not in front of so many people like right now. So he returned the question, desperate to change the subject, “I assume your parents did?”
And Dan, ever so kind, went along. “My mother, actually. She loved to dance, but my father was always busy at the bank, so, well, when I was old enough she began to drag me to her classes. Mrs. Leopold was one of her friends; that’s how I knew her.” He blushed. “It was kind of embarrassing, actually, but, uh, I always looked forward to it.”
“I can tell,” Adrian said, smiling.
*
There was a simple but urgent matter his head of security needed to discuss, so Adrian told Dan to go ahead. When he entered the penthouse, it was dim, Dan apparently not bothered to turn on the lights.
He followed the dim light and soft sound of music to the living room, where Dan stood in front of the record player. It was one of Dan’s collections, the jazz he loved so. He turned around and smiled upon seeing Adrian.
“C’mere,” he said, reaching out his arms.
Adrian raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it too late at night,” he glanced at the clock, “Or rather too early in the morning, for dancing lesson?”
“Who said anything about dancing lesson?”
“Oh?” he said, and put his right hand on Dan’s left anyway, because Dan looked so lovely in the dim golden glow of the lamp.
Dan wrapped his right arm around Adrian’s back and brought them closer. Then he led them in gentle swaying, in time with the music. Adrian reached out, taking off his glasses and put them on the table beside the record player, before returning his right hand to Dan’s left.
Dan chuckled. He gently bumped Adrian’s nose with his, and the gesture reminded Adrian of Bubastis. His breath caught in his throat. He leant his forehead against Dan’s, and thought nothing except about how warm Dan’s arm was on his back.
