Obligatory disclaimer: The beautiful characters of Ugly Betty are not mine, alas. Neither are any of the brandnames mentioned, and I may have just ripped off a few lines from the show. Wow, I'm really incriminating myself here. But there's no profit made.
A/N: My take on the aftermath of "Burning Questions." Oh, I had to.
"Betty?" Daniel's voice had that gruff quality that he got when it was late at night and they were both buzzed off Jim Beam and he felt comfortable asking her anything philosophical or sentimental or straight-up stupid—questions they'd have both cracked up over if held up to the brilliant light of the rising sun.
"Yes, dear." He could hear the smile in her voice, and the soft, husky hollowness that was almost…sensual.
Daniel shifted on the couch, put his beer on the coaster (emblazoned with the Mode logo, no doubt), and turned away from Vin Diesel to face her. She was looking back, one arm behind her head and the other across her stomach. Her glasses were off, he noted in the flickering light.
Movie night. A tried-and-true method of best-friendly bonding; at least that's how he thought of it now. Used to be, movie night was an excuse to slip his hand up the back of a girl's shirt and…elsewhere…, the darkness making the move seem smooth, suave, romantic even, rather than the cheap grope it really was. Now, with this small girl who felt nothing but the purest friendship for him (Damn. It.), he knew his motivations had changed.
Betty would never know how much Daniel was afraid to let her out of his direct line of vision after Renee had tried to…Jesus Christ. It made him sick; all day long, he'd wanted to take a fistful of her skirt and hold it against his cheek and sit beside her desk on the floor. Not. Getting. Out. Of. His. Sight.
He was about to ask her his laughable, handi-uncapable, all-consuming dicksmack of a question, but realized that the gunfire from the television screen was not setting the proper atmosphere for this. But he didn't know what was the proper atmosphere in which to breach this subject, and the bloody carnage in the background was more than likely indicative of what her answer would be.
"You're making fun of me."
"No, no…I just wish that I was your morning bagel, so I could get caught in your beautiful, beautiful teeth…"
Like earlier today when she'd torn his guts out and had worn them like a string of Mardi-Gras beads. On for her, one for him, one for Renee, one for Henry…
He muted the TV. "Why don't you have a crush on me, Betty?"
There. He'd asked it.
There was a long silence that followed, and it gave Daniel time to wonder whether or not the alcohol currently flowing through his best friend's bloodstream would work in his favor, make her warm, make her hot about the thought of him, thoughts of them…
He didn't even realize he had been staring away until felt the cushions rustle, felt her soft, sweet breath on the side of his face, and saw her small hand slide unnecessarily from his elbow, down his forearm, and over his own hand; there, she took the remote control from his death-grip and hit "mute." It was almost funny, in an anticlimactic sort of way.
"Daniel." Her heard that voice, the voice of his conscience, a little to his right and he looked down.
She was sitting with her legs folded under her, her shoulders slightly slouched, and her head tilted gently up at him. Her full lips were a deeper shade of pink than usual…she'd been gnawing on them pretty hard, he guessed, trying to figure out how to tell him in so many words that he was an arrogant ass-clown.
She leaned up and kissed his cheek, her lips lingering there longer than was proper, he supposed, but both of them were tipsy and who the hell cared?
Who the hell cared when he swiftly turned his head before her lips could leave his cheek and captured her mouth with his? Who the hell cared, when her lips on his were the only thing that kept him from blurting out such inanities as What's wrong with me, I can be good and sweet for you, baby, it's all about you, always about you, God, why don't you love me like I love…
He had expected she'd taste like…cotton candy or clouds or some such, in the brief seconds before she either slapped or pepper sprayed him, but seeing as she didn't do either, he had a chance to explore that taste further. There was cotton candy and a surprisingly dark, dusky edge, as he slid his tongue along hers that he never would have suspected.
But, then again, she was kissing him back.
Reaching over as far as he'd let her, she hit the "mute" button and the TV sprang back to life.
Betty Suarez was kissing Daniel Meade. K-I-S-S-I-N-G. Kissing to the sound of Vin Diesel's hail of bullets on eeeevil villains.
They'd have to break apart soon. Break apart and be friends and coworkers, armed with bagels as shields and denial through their beautiful, beautiful teeth. The sun was rising, after all.
Sorry, guys, nothing resolved here. But I'm sure, as you've all guessed, Betty and Daniel get married a multiply like rabbits on Red Bull in my universe, so all's well that ends well, eh? xD
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