Two Connected Flack/Monroe Drabbles - NC17
Title: In Denial
Category: CSI: NY
Rating: NC17
Genre: Angst/Romance
Pairing: Don Flack/Lindsay Monroe
Prompt: Deep
Word Count: 651
Summary: She told herself she didn't want him... and she lied.
In Denial
-Drabble-
She almost didn't want to leave work. But after a double, she needed rest. The problem was that after leaving and returning home, she was still buzzing. The apartment was empty, as usual. She wanted to turn the TV on just for a little noise. Her machine had three messages; most, she was sure, were from her mom. She decided to check them later and instead changed out of her work clothes and climbed into bed. She didn't bother with showering or even closing the curtains. She just lay back, stared at the ceiling and sigh, feeling her body thrum with anticipation.
It was ridiculous really; this lust that overcome her lately. Sometimes, she told herself the face she saw in her mind, it was Danny, that she had just breathed the wrong name. That is was hazel eyes and not blue that she dreamt of staring into. That it was Danny's coarse fingers inside of her rather than his long, nimble, strong digits delving into her heat. But in reality, whosever face or name it was, it was actually her own fingers that rubbed her, that slid inside the wet cavern of her heat. It was her saliva dampened fingertips that plucked at her nipples and her nails that dug into her breasts. Because she was too much of a coward to admit to herself what she really wanted; who she really needed.
Danny and she were over more than a year ago; one miscarriage and a far too dramatic relationship later. And now, it wasn't him who she saw herself with. It wasn't his smile or his accent or his eyes that drove her wild. It wasn't dreams of how simultaneously rough and gentle he might be in bed that got her going. It was an entirely different man now; her partner, her friend. And she was lost to it; she couldn't get her overworked mind to stop conjuring his smile or his taut, lithe frame from her mind's eye.
He'd half-smirk at her during the day and she'd feel it straight down between her thighs. Those blue eyes of his would connect with hers and her throat would go dry, her fingers curling into fists. And when he said her name, 'Linds' rather than Monroe, it would repeat in her mind later that night as she lay naked in her bed, glossed with sweat, her thighs shaking, her fingers soaked, her throat hoarse with crying out. And she'd wish she had the courage to do something about it, but she couldn't even admit to herself that it was he would brought her to all new heights without even really touching her.
He had no idea what she did with his likeness in her mind, with his imagined fingers against her slit and the intense vision of his mouth suckling and nibbling her breasts. And she prayed he never did because she'd gone through one rejection with a New York city-boy and the passion she'd felt for Danny paled little what she thought he could bring her. But it wasn't real; he didn't look at her like that. He was just the masterpiece of a lover in her head and at work, she was regular Monroe and he was just another New York Detective.
So as she lay that night, ears dulled of all sounds but her own gasping and whimpering as her fingers worked her clit and her g-spot as she rose of the bed, hips rocking against an invisible Don Flack Jr. she once again convinced herself it was someone else entirely. She let herself fall deeper and deeper with no way of rising against this phenomenally screwed up lust-filled funk she was in. She couldn't stop it; she couldn't quell the need, and so she could only answer to it as best she could, telling herself she really didn't want him, even if she desperately did.
Title: Not So Innocent
Category: CSI: NY
Rating: NC17
Genre: Angst/Romance
Pairing: Don Flack/Lindsay Monroe
Prompt: Cold
Word Count: 813
Summary: The bed may be cold and empty, but his mind conjured up all the warmth he needed.
Not So Innocent
-Drabble-
Every time he came home, his bed was cold and empty. The fridge was full of beer and take-out, nothing home-made except the frozen leftovers his ma dropped over for him that he kept in his freezer and only ate on his day's off. But now, all he had was a hot shower and a cold bed ahead of him. He climbed beneath the covers with the sun rising outside his window, the only sign a sliver of bright light at the hem of his heavy curtains. The room was dark but not enough for him to get a good rest. He hated falling asleep in the morning, made him feel groggy when he finally did get up; messed him up for the next day. His head was still all fucked up; leaving work didn't make the images of mangled little kids killed by their own fathers go away.
It was ridiculous, really, that the only way he could get his mind of it all was focusing on her. He shouldn't; she was his friend, his partner for fucksakes. Danny would have a goddamn coronary if he knew. He blamed it on the fact that she seemed innocent; the honest, sweet, country bumpkin girl. He told himself it was because she represented the opposite of everything he saw. But he knew her better than that; he knew she wasn't quite as innocent as she seemed. And he also knew that what he thought of her, what made those dark images go away, was anything but innocent.
His blanket was cool against his chest, the warmth of his shower leaving him quickly. His hair dripped against the pillow beneath his head and slid down his neck. He let his eyes close, imagined her smile when she looked up at him earlier that day as he made a smart comment. His stomach had tightened up, chest bursting with pride as she laughed without reserve. The ringing sound sent a bolt of lust right to his groin even now.
His large hands spread across his chest, calloused fingertips sliding downward, scraping overtop his nipples as they fell lower, tracing the outlines of his abdomen. His mind imagined they were her fingers; that she straddled his waist, head tipped forward, brow furrowed as she examined him thoroughly, like something just as important and just as in need of her entire attention as evidence in a case they shared. It was her nails that scraped along the sensitive skin of his ribs and traced his pelvic bones before sliding just beneath the waist of his low-slung black sweatpants. It was her fingers that skittered over the dark patch of hair surrounding his already hard member and her smooth, soft palm that slid up his shaft. She pushed his pants lower, letting him spring forth at the ready.
He swallowed tightly. His mind filled with thought of her short brown hair framing her sweet face, that mischievous half-smile of hers beaming down at him. It was her hand that rose to his mouth, that he licked from top to bottom before she wrapped it once more around his length and tugged. It was always her and nobody else. She was the only one who got him off these days. With that not-so-innocent beauty of hers; the ringing of her laughter in his ears, the bright warmth of her smile in his eyes... It was always her slender hand, her soft fingers that worked at him until he was jerking up into the cool air. Her voice saying his name, not Flack, but Don with a slight hint of twang. She still stroked him after he came, still lightly scraped those nails of hers against his tense stomach.
But when his eyes opened, his bed was cold and empty, and despite calling her name out, she wasn't there to hear it. And she probably never would be. She didn't know what he thought or what he did and she had no idea how she made him feel; that just the thought of her was all he needed to come down from a bad day. And tomorrow, it'd start all over again. He'd pretend she was just his partner and that her laughter didn't made his gut twist, that his heart didn't hammer in his chest when she grinned at him, that at night, he didn't go home alone and wish she was there to greet him. That when he yelled her name, hoarse and deep, he didn't wait to hear her return the same sentiment. Because for now, he was just Flack and she was just Monroe, until he slipped and called her Linds, against letting out that side of him that desperately wanted her.
They'd play their roles and at home, he'd let the façade fall. He only wished the real her would join him one of these days.