Improbable causes, part 2
Title: Glasshouse Rain, pt.2
Rating: R/NC-17
Pairing: Mac/Danny (CSI:NY)
Warnings/Spoilers: Disjointed angst, like road-kill, probably. No spoilers that I know of...
Summary: Danny needs to figure Mac out, but Flack makes things more complicated
---
2/
Danny worries because he has problems. One of it is answers to Mac Taylor: boss, colleague, and a wet dream wrapped into one. Mac is a problem because Danny can't figure him out. He likes things figured out, so he knows where he stands, like where he stands and how he figures in his family. He likes things figured out so he knows to avoid getting tangled into a mess. He's not very good at it, but he's learning. He's a CSI anyway, and he earns his living figuring things out.
Mac is staring at him, like he's some vic. Danny doesn't like it one bit, because he knows that Mac has come close to figuring him out and Danny is going to be left out in the cold. Danny frowns and thinks whether he should apologize or say something. But he's not sure what he should be apologizing for, so he sits there and stares back at Mac. Danny is not going the one who turns away first, because he has spent his years learning to look people in the eyes and hold it and not flinch. Not even when they're hitting him or hurting him or making him do things.
And Mac looks away first. The small triumph Danny feels is short-lived, because Mac looks away to greet the others.
They sit around, drinking and talking, but Danny feels that Mac is still sizing him up even though Mac is being harassed by Stella. One of the overhead lights flickers and continues to flicker and Danny feels a headache blooming. So he excuses himself and Aiden looks at him with a slight grimace.
"You're not leaving are you, Messer," Aiden asks. She wraps her fingers around his wrist and pulls him back down.
"I am," Danny says and avoids Mac's casual assessment. "Headache."
"Hey, if this is about me snarking at you this morning, I'm sorry," Aiden says. "PMS, you know."
"It's not that, Aid." Because it's the truth. Because even as Aiden drove him up the wall and an early grave the whole day, the headache isn't Aiden's fault. He tries to pry Aiden's fingers off him, and tries not to look at Mac or Stella or Flack or Hawkes who watches him and Aiden with interest. "Trust me, it's okay. I'm used to it. Everyday is PMS day with you." His head throbs a little bit more, and Aiden's fingernails digs through the fabric of his suit and shirt. "Let me go. Gotta go home and sleep the headache away."
Danny hears Stella barks out a laugh and chalks it down to how pathetic he must look like now. "Let him go, Aid," Stella says, "unless you wanna fly solo tomorrow."
Aiden lets go with a huff, "Like that's ever going to happen." Because the rain god has claimed New York as his temporary resident, and Aiden might need somebody to carry her over puddles deeper than her heels. Obviously he's not going to say that out loud, because Aiden'll deck him. But Danny doesn't care so much about what will happen tomorrow, because he only wants to go home and away from Mac and the unbearable intensity sent his way.
He walks away and feels eyes on him. He sways, and thinks about straight lines and drunken disorderlies and whether Mac will see this as another reason to send Danny on a psych eval. "I'll grab a cab," he hears himself say. Just barely a whisper and he isn't sure that anyone hears him.
---
He fumbles with his keys and tries to fit it into the keyhole. He wonders whether he is in front of the right door as the key refuses to turn. The headache pounds mightily now and all he sees in front of him are wood grains (are they even real?) and the whole of the fucking milky way. The key slides from his hand and falls with a sharp ring. He winces, presses his palms onto the cool surface of the door and sighs. There is a snick and a click and he forces his eyes to open and looks down to the key hole.
He sees his key and he sees a hand, and he feels warm breath against his heated skin. The door yields softly and he lunges forward, a hand steadies him and he closes his eyes.
"Christ," the voice whispers in his ears. It sounds harsh and low and Danny winces again. "You're a mess, aren't ya?"
Danny tries to answer, but a strangled sob is the only sound he can muster. So he gives up trying to talk, and tries to walk instead. Putting a foot in front of another is actually very hard, Danny finds out, when his head is spinning and his eyes are trying to enter warp drive to another universe. The rest of his body however, recognizes his slightly lumpy bed. Danny sighs loudly and rolls his torso onto it to find the most comfortable fit.
There is a slight snort and chuckle and Danny comes to a hazy realization that he is not alone. He remembers that he still has to figure out a name for the familiar voice, but that is not the foremost in his mind as he feels his clothes slide away from him. He shivers and feels a pair of hands on his waist and he jerks away from the touch.
"Sh... I'm just going to take this off and put the blanket over you, okay?" the voice is in his ears again and Danny wonders whether he is hallucinating.
And Danny desperately needs to figure a lot of things out before he slips into sleep or unconsciousness. His body protests as he tries to lift a finger, but he tells it to shut up and places his hand over the hand on his waist.
"Hey," he tries and receives a curt hey in return. A face swims into his view, but just like looking into a murky pool, there is really nothing to be had. He thinks about appropriateness and modesty and virtue and acceptable acts and throws them all out of his mental conscience. He reaches up and touches the face and traces the skin and the stubble and digs deep into his pounding brain for a name.
But no name comes forward and he finds himself caressing air. He hears the front door slam and he sighs.
---
Even with his eyes closed, he still sees Altair, Vega, and Deneb. He sees the Betelgeuse, Sirius, and Rigel. He sees the whole of the Milky Way etched onto his eyelids. He thinks about his friends from his childhood and how he walks out on them, and he thinks about the friends from the academy who don't know what to do with him. His fingers trace names onto the sheets under him, trace names of everybody he knows and tries to attach the name to the voice in his ears and the residual feel of skin and stubble on his fingers. He thinks about Mac and the chills he get everytime he sees Mac's shadows and hear Mac's voice. He thinks about the silent aggression everytime Mac touches him - every handshake, or every pat on the shoulder. He tries to fight sleep, because he needs to figure this out.
And just like an afterthought, he thinks about Flack, and Flack's skin and Flack's stubble on his fingers, and hopes that Flack doesn't read anything into it.
Flack. Don Flack. Yeah, that's the name. Danny sleeps, dreaming of hi-tech gadgets and Ursula Andress, and Don strangling him the next time they meet.
---
Flack barely makes it to the door and he wants to hurl on Danny's doorstep out of spite. He feels the hot weight of Danny's fingers on his face, brushing across skin and stubble, trying to find purchase and begs for recognition. Because Danny didn't recognize him, out of it and plagued with the headaches, red eyes, and tension rolling in waves. Fucking tsunami, even.
And Flack measures his steps and counts every footfall leading away from Danny's because it centers him again. Danny's. Full meal deal for under five bucks. Full blown headache in under five seconds, rather.
"I'll go after him. See that he gets home all right." Flack remembers him turning to look Mac in the eye and offering himself up to check on Danny. No ulterior motives, just a concerned friend. Fucking good it does him.
Walking down towards the subway, even with the cold night air trying to slam his face backwards, Flack can still trace Danny's fingertips on the side of his face. And Flack swears that he doesn't feel anything other than friendship. And when a girl comes up to him, all titties and ass and groping hands, Flack stops thinking. He takes the hands, chipped red fingertips, and icy-cold digits and presses it onto the side of his face. The girl smiles and Flack smiles too, releases the hand, shows her his badge and walks away. He can vaguely hear the girl swearing at him and an empty soda can misses him by nary an inch.
He thinks of arresting the girl for assault but decides against it. Besides, he instigated it and the cold, female touch obliterated traces of Danny from his skin. Flack can still smell her perfume, cloying, heavy, and cheap. But if it drowns the memories of what Danny's place smells like, then Flack is not going to complain.
Flack hopes that Danny wakes up with no memory of him ever being in the same room as Flack. In Danny's bedroom. Touching. Because Flack wants to believe it as innocent touching. Danny who was lost and Flack who was only trying to help.
---
He goes to bed and braces himself for a restless sleep. He hopes that he will wake up on the right side of the bed and that all of this has been one huge dream.
---
---
Rating: R/NC-17
Pairing: Mac/Danny (CSI:NY)
Warnings/Spoilers: Disjointed angst, like road-kill, probably. No spoilers that I know of...
Summary: Danny needs to figure Mac out, but Flack makes things more complicated
---
2/
Danny worries because he has problems. One of it is answers to Mac Taylor: boss, colleague, and a wet dream wrapped into one. Mac is a problem because Danny can't figure him out. He likes things figured out, so he knows where he stands, like where he stands and how he figures in his family. He likes things figured out so he knows to avoid getting tangled into a mess. He's not very good at it, but he's learning. He's a CSI anyway, and he earns his living figuring things out.
Mac is staring at him, like he's some vic. Danny doesn't like it one bit, because he knows that Mac has come close to figuring him out and Danny is going to be left out in the cold. Danny frowns and thinks whether he should apologize or say something. But he's not sure what he should be apologizing for, so he sits there and stares back at Mac. Danny is not going the one who turns away first, because he has spent his years learning to look people in the eyes and hold it and not flinch. Not even when they're hitting him or hurting him or making him do things.
And Mac looks away first. The small triumph Danny feels is short-lived, because Mac looks away to greet the others.
They sit around, drinking and talking, but Danny feels that Mac is still sizing him up even though Mac is being harassed by Stella. One of the overhead lights flickers and continues to flicker and Danny feels a headache blooming. So he excuses himself and Aiden looks at him with a slight grimace.
"You're not leaving are you, Messer," Aiden asks. She wraps her fingers around his wrist and pulls him back down.
"I am," Danny says and avoids Mac's casual assessment. "Headache."
"Hey, if this is about me snarking at you this morning, I'm sorry," Aiden says. "PMS, you know."
"It's not that, Aid." Because it's the truth. Because even as Aiden drove him up the wall and an early grave the whole day, the headache isn't Aiden's fault. He tries to pry Aiden's fingers off him, and tries not to look at Mac or Stella or Flack or Hawkes who watches him and Aiden with interest. "Trust me, it's okay. I'm used to it. Everyday is PMS day with you." His head throbs a little bit more, and Aiden's fingernails digs through the fabric of his suit and shirt. "Let me go. Gotta go home and sleep the headache away."
Danny hears Stella barks out a laugh and chalks it down to how pathetic he must look like now. "Let him go, Aid," Stella says, "unless you wanna fly solo tomorrow."
Aiden lets go with a huff, "Like that's ever going to happen." Because the rain god has claimed New York as his temporary resident, and Aiden might need somebody to carry her over puddles deeper than her heels. Obviously he's not going to say that out loud, because Aiden'll deck him. But Danny doesn't care so much about what will happen tomorrow, because he only wants to go home and away from Mac and the unbearable intensity sent his way.
He walks away and feels eyes on him. He sways, and thinks about straight lines and drunken disorderlies and whether Mac will see this as another reason to send Danny on a psych eval. "I'll grab a cab," he hears himself say. Just barely a whisper and he isn't sure that anyone hears him.
---
He fumbles with his keys and tries to fit it into the keyhole. He wonders whether he is in front of the right door as the key refuses to turn. The headache pounds mightily now and all he sees in front of him are wood grains (are they even real?) and the whole of the fucking milky way. The key slides from his hand and falls with a sharp ring. He winces, presses his palms onto the cool surface of the door and sighs. There is a snick and a click and he forces his eyes to open and looks down to the key hole.
He sees his key and he sees a hand, and he feels warm breath against his heated skin. The door yields softly and he lunges forward, a hand steadies him and he closes his eyes.
"Christ," the voice whispers in his ears. It sounds harsh and low and Danny winces again. "You're a mess, aren't ya?"
Danny tries to answer, but a strangled sob is the only sound he can muster. So he gives up trying to talk, and tries to walk instead. Putting a foot in front of another is actually very hard, Danny finds out, when his head is spinning and his eyes are trying to enter warp drive to another universe. The rest of his body however, recognizes his slightly lumpy bed. Danny sighs loudly and rolls his torso onto it to find the most comfortable fit.
There is a slight snort and chuckle and Danny comes to a hazy realization that he is not alone. He remembers that he still has to figure out a name for the familiar voice, but that is not the foremost in his mind as he feels his clothes slide away from him. He shivers and feels a pair of hands on his waist and he jerks away from the touch.
"Sh... I'm just going to take this off and put the blanket over you, okay?" the voice is in his ears again and Danny wonders whether he is hallucinating.
And Danny desperately needs to figure a lot of things out before he slips into sleep or unconsciousness. His body protests as he tries to lift a finger, but he tells it to shut up and places his hand over the hand on his waist.
"Hey," he tries and receives a curt hey in return. A face swims into his view, but just like looking into a murky pool, there is really nothing to be had. He thinks about appropriateness and modesty and virtue and acceptable acts and throws them all out of his mental conscience. He reaches up and touches the face and traces the skin and the stubble and digs deep into his pounding brain for a name.
But no name comes forward and he finds himself caressing air. He hears the front door slam and he sighs.
---
Even with his eyes closed, he still sees Altair, Vega, and Deneb. He sees the Betelgeuse, Sirius, and Rigel. He sees the whole of the Milky Way etched onto his eyelids. He thinks about his friends from his childhood and how he walks out on them, and he thinks about the friends from the academy who don't know what to do with him. His fingers trace names onto the sheets under him, trace names of everybody he knows and tries to attach the name to the voice in his ears and the residual feel of skin and stubble on his fingers. He thinks about Mac and the chills he get everytime he sees Mac's shadows and hear Mac's voice. He thinks about the silent aggression everytime Mac touches him - every handshake, or every pat on the shoulder. He tries to fight sleep, because he needs to figure this out.
And just like an afterthought, he thinks about Flack, and Flack's skin and Flack's stubble on his fingers, and hopes that Flack doesn't read anything into it.
Flack. Don Flack. Yeah, that's the name. Danny sleeps, dreaming of hi-tech gadgets and Ursula Andress, and Don strangling him the next time they meet.
---
Flack barely makes it to the door and he wants to hurl on Danny's doorstep out of spite. He feels the hot weight of Danny's fingers on his face, brushing across skin and stubble, trying to find purchase and begs for recognition. Because Danny didn't recognize him, out of it and plagued with the headaches, red eyes, and tension rolling in waves. Fucking tsunami, even.
And Flack measures his steps and counts every footfall leading away from Danny's because it centers him again. Danny's. Full meal deal for under five bucks. Full blown headache in under five seconds, rather.
"I'll go after him. See that he gets home all right." Flack remembers him turning to look Mac in the eye and offering himself up to check on Danny. No ulterior motives, just a concerned friend. Fucking good it does him.
Walking down towards the subway, even with the cold night air trying to slam his face backwards, Flack can still trace Danny's fingertips on the side of his face. And Flack swears that he doesn't feel anything other than friendship. And when a girl comes up to him, all titties and ass and groping hands, Flack stops thinking. He takes the hands, chipped red fingertips, and icy-cold digits and presses it onto the side of his face. The girl smiles and Flack smiles too, releases the hand, shows her his badge and walks away. He can vaguely hear the girl swearing at him and an empty soda can misses him by nary an inch.
He thinks of arresting the girl for assault but decides against it. Besides, he instigated it and the cold, female touch obliterated traces of Danny from his skin. Flack can still smell her perfume, cloying, heavy, and cheap. But if it drowns the memories of what Danny's place smells like, then Flack is not going to complain.
Flack hopes that Danny wakes up with no memory of him ever being in the same room as Flack. In Danny's bedroom. Touching. Because Flack wants to believe it as innocent touching. Danny who was lost and Flack who was only trying to help.
---
He goes to bed and braces himself for a restless sleep. He hopes that he will wake up on the right side of the bed and that all of this has been one huge dream.
---
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