"but did you ever, ever notice, the kind of thoughts i got"
reading music: bonnie ‘prince’ billy - “i see a darkness”
title: Wake
with: Mac/Peyton; Mac/Danny
rated: NC-17
herein: Objectively, Mac knows his dreams are not bleeding over into his waking life.
disclaim: They’re not mine and it’s a good thing, too. Could you imagine the chaos?
for: spook-me , my prompt was forbidden territory
thanks: stellaluna_ kindly allowed me to run with one of her very short stories: Mac wipes the blood off Danny’s cheek and kisses his mouth.
Directional drops, precise red on the lab’s floor. Mac follows the trail through the halls, which are quiet with night. The glass walls cast false reflections.
He finds Danny in one of the re-creation rooms, sprawled on his back. A blood spattered shirt is pinned to the wall nearby. One ragged gash opens Danny from sternum to groin.
The velocity and radius of the splatter suggests that Danny’s heart was still beating when the evisceration began.
Mac kneels to wipe the blood off Danny’s cheek. He is ungloved, and his thumb leaves fine whorls on Danny’s face. A panic of sweat prickles up Mac’s spine, and he shivers as he wakes, pushing the blankets away.
. . .
The next evening, Mac shares a pleasant dinner with Peyton. They talk about work and the freak snowstorm upstate and the release of Monk and Coltrane’s complete Riverside recordings. They eat at a quiet Italian restaurant near Peyton’s apartment, and Mac takes her home afterward. They have sex in her bed, and it’s good. Slow and sure. Her body has become a safe and familiar landscape.
He has not slept poorly since he began seeing Peyton; the past few nights are a minor aberration.
He has not kept quiet while any chance misunderstanding between them grew into a true problem.
He has not allowed their personal relationship to compromise their professional relationship, or vice versa.
He has not thought of Danny when he touches Peyton. Not once.
. . .
It’s early morning. Fog rolls over the river and up onto shore, dampening the crime scene. Three bodies, piled together. Multiple hacking stab-wounds. Five separate shoe impressions in the surrounding soil.
Danny moves silently as he photographs the scene, drifting in and out of Mac’s field of vision. Mac swallows two aspirin-staggering them against the advil he took earlier-and retrieves the plaster kit from the truck. He’ll be fine after another cup of coffee.
“You doing all right there, Mac?” Danny stops and wipes his forehead with his arm. His shirt leaves a red smudge that widens above his left eyebrow and trails down to his temple.
Mac takes the camera and turns Danny’s arm to better look at the medium velocity blood splatter on his sleeve. He reaches up and rubs at the blood marking Danny’s face. They are standing too close, and Mac steps closer.
Danny’s mouth is pliant but cold. He holds onto Mac’s shoulders and kisses with clinical precision-like the very last time they did this.
Mac rocks forward and wakes up, tangled in his bed sheet, sweating and hard. He takes a deep, shaking breath and turns to the clock. 4:12.
Twice in the past week he has spent the night with Peyton. The thought of waking up like this next to her is enough to quell his erection. He levers himself out of bed and into the shower, letting thirty seconds of cold water shock away the memory of Danny’s mouth.
. . .
At the lab, Mac finds that the decision to work with Danny or not has been taken out of his hands. Lindsay has court, and there’s no call to take either Stella or Hawkes from the double murder they’ve been working since Tuesday.
They catch a body dump in the Garment District, a young woman with ligature marks and petechial hemorrhaging. Mac sends Danny off to the M.E.’s and works trace until his eye sockets start to burn. He stops in the break room for another cup of coffee, grateful that Stella is across town at the moment. She’d notice, and even when she keeps silent, he can tell what she’s thinking.
“You doing all right there, Mac?”
Mac startles, but Danny barely spares him a glance as he goes through the refrigerator and comes up with a sandwich. Mac recognizes that it’s from a deli near Danny’s apartment.
“Peyton says the C.O.D. is strangulation-no surprises there.” Danny tosses over the M.E.’s report.
The air is a little too shiny, but Mac is absolutely certain that he is awake. They discuss the case while Danny eats. He gets mustard on the side of his mouth and wipes it away with his thumb. Mac watches for too long, but Danny doesn’t look up and catch him.
. . .
Objectively, Mac knows it is just everyday details twisting in his subconscious and not his dreams bleeding over into his waking life. It’s happened before. If, in the weeks before the barracks bombing, he woke to the sound of phantom concussions, it was simply because bombs had become a part of his daily life by then.
It’s happened before, a handful of times, and it’s in no way remarkable. Everyone has dreams they’d rather forget.
He visits Ground Zero for the first time in months and imagines he can feel the night air seep into his bones. He goes home and takes a long shower.
. . .
Danny fucks Mac against an empty autopsy table in the middle of the morgue.
Mac braces himself, head bowed and knuckles white. Danny’s hands are bruising on his hips. Blue and silver sparks flash behind Mac’s eyes.
Mac is naked, but as Danny’s hips snap forward, his pants rub against Mac’s thighs. Danny leans over, shirt chafing Mac’s spine, and he mouths Mac’s bare shoulder before biting hard.
Mac arches back, head snapping up as Danny fucks him harder. Across the room, a knot of people are watching them. Watching Mac. He has to stare back in their direction, looking at her without allowing himself to see her.
Mac is so close. Mac is so close that he whimpers, balls tightening. Danny pulls out and shoves him further over the autopsy table. Hot splashes of come stripe across his back.
Danny walks around to the other side of the table. His clothes are straightened, and he smiles, first at their audience, then at Mac. Mac’s blood stains the corner of his mouth, and Danny wipes at it with the back of his hand. “At least it’s not mine.” He shrugs and tilts his head at Mac. “You should see yourself.”
Mac wakes, flushed and panting, on the verge. The bedroom is dark, empty. He shoves a hand into his boxers and comes, groaning, as soon as he touches himself.
It’s 3:48 in the morning, and Mac pushes himself out of bed to clean up and change the sheets.
. . .
Mac takes Peyton to dinner on Friday, and the evening is reassuringly normal. When they meet outside the restaurant, she kisses his cheek then rubs her lipstick from the spot, half-smiling at him. Mac stands perfectly still, watching the dark stain of her mouth.
Later, he takes her home and to bed, but makes excuses about an early morning.
. . .
The paramedics have just cleared the wounded away when Mac and Danny arrive at the scene of a robbery. Three DOA’s remain on the floor-two gunshot wounds and one blunt force trauma to the head.
They begin processing, and after about fifteen minutes their blunt force DOA sits up.
“Hey,” Danny shouts. “We need a medic back in here!” He kneels, and the injured man flips out, shoving Danny off balance and to the floor.
Mac can’t make it across the room fast enough. He peels the man away from Danny, and hands him off to a uniform and two paramedics. Danny rubs his shoulder and stands up, looking more puzzled than hurt. Without thinking, Mac reaches out and wipes the blood from Danny’s cheek.
“Huh.” Danny frowns. “Well, at least it’s not mine.” He smiles, and Mac does too, even as he backs quickly away.
. . .
Danny comes to him in the locker room. It’s late, and Mac thought that Danny left long ago. But Danny comes to him in the locker room, and Mac remembers the night air and phantom sounds.
Danny comes to him in the locker room and gives him plenty of time to move away. Mac is breathing hard before Danny’s lips even touch his neck, and he wraps a hand in the front of Danny’s shirt. Danny moves lightly over Mac’s pulse point, holding himself back. Mac shudders and brings Danny’s head up, so he can trace Danny’s jaw line and brush a thumb across his cheek. Danny groans, and Mac kisses his open mouth, pushing him back against the wall of lockers. Danny kisses dirty, unfair. Danny kisses deep and clever. They’re both hard. Mac waits to wake up and doesn’t.
He pulls back from Danny, knuckles pressing into the metal.
“Mac.” Danny’s voice is rough, and a hand fists in Mac’s hair. “Christ, Mac.” Danny leans forward, almost speaking into Mac’s mouth. “You should see yourself. You should take a good look at you when you think no one else is looking.”
Mac wants to close his eyes but can’t.
.........
Thanks for reading; feedback always appreciated
title: Wake
with: Mac/Peyton; Mac/Danny
rated: NC-17
herein: Objectively, Mac knows his dreams are not bleeding over into his waking life.
disclaim: They’re not mine and it’s a good thing, too. Could you imagine the chaos?
for: spook-me , my prompt was forbidden territory
thanks: stellaluna_ kindly allowed me to run with one of her very short stories: Mac wipes the blood off Danny’s cheek and kisses his mouth.
Directional drops, precise red on the lab’s floor. Mac follows the trail through the halls, which are quiet with night. The glass walls cast false reflections.
He finds Danny in one of the re-creation rooms, sprawled on his back. A blood spattered shirt is pinned to the wall nearby. One ragged gash opens Danny from sternum to groin.
The velocity and radius of the splatter suggests that Danny’s heart was still beating when the evisceration began.
Mac kneels to wipe the blood off Danny’s cheek. He is ungloved, and his thumb leaves fine whorls on Danny’s face. A panic of sweat prickles up Mac’s spine, and he shivers as he wakes, pushing the blankets away.
. . .
The next evening, Mac shares a pleasant dinner with Peyton. They talk about work and the freak snowstorm upstate and the release of Monk and Coltrane’s complete Riverside recordings. They eat at a quiet Italian restaurant near Peyton’s apartment, and Mac takes her home afterward. They have sex in her bed, and it’s good. Slow and sure. Her body has become a safe and familiar landscape.
He has not slept poorly since he began seeing Peyton; the past few nights are a minor aberration.
He has not kept quiet while any chance misunderstanding between them grew into a true problem.
He has not allowed their personal relationship to compromise their professional relationship, or vice versa.
He has not thought of Danny when he touches Peyton. Not once.
. . .
It’s early morning. Fog rolls over the river and up onto shore, dampening the crime scene. Three bodies, piled together. Multiple hacking stab-wounds. Five separate shoe impressions in the surrounding soil.
Danny moves silently as he photographs the scene, drifting in and out of Mac’s field of vision. Mac swallows two aspirin-staggering them against the advil he took earlier-and retrieves the plaster kit from the truck. He’ll be fine after another cup of coffee.
“You doing all right there, Mac?” Danny stops and wipes his forehead with his arm. His shirt leaves a red smudge that widens above his left eyebrow and trails down to his temple.
Mac takes the camera and turns Danny’s arm to better look at the medium velocity blood splatter on his sleeve. He reaches up and rubs at the blood marking Danny’s face. They are standing too close, and Mac steps closer.
Danny’s mouth is pliant but cold. He holds onto Mac’s shoulders and kisses with clinical precision-like the very last time they did this.
Mac rocks forward and wakes up, tangled in his bed sheet, sweating and hard. He takes a deep, shaking breath and turns to the clock. 4:12.
Twice in the past week he has spent the night with Peyton. The thought of waking up like this next to her is enough to quell his erection. He levers himself out of bed and into the shower, letting thirty seconds of cold water shock away the memory of Danny’s mouth.
. . .
At the lab, Mac finds that the decision to work with Danny or not has been taken out of his hands. Lindsay has court, and there’s no call to take either Stella or Hawkes from the double murder they’ve been working since Tuesday.
They catch a body dump in the Garment District, a young woman with ligature marks and petechial hemorrhaging. Mac sends Danny off to the M.E.’s and works trace until his eye sockets start to burn. He stops in the break room for another cup of coffee, grateful that Stella is across town at the moment. She’d notice, and even when she keeps silent, he can tell what she’s thinking.
“You doing all right there, Mac?”
Mac startles, but Danny barely spares him a glance as he goes through the refrigerator and comes up with a sandwich. Mac recognizes that it’s from a deli near Danny’s apartment.
“Peyton says the C.O.D. is strangulation-no surprises there.” Danny tosses over the M.E.’s report.
The air is a little too shiny, but Mac is absolutely certain that he is awake. They discuss the case while Danny eats. He gets mustard on the side of his mouth and wipes it away with his thumb. Mac watches for too long, but Danny doesn’t look up and catch him.
. . .
Objectively, Mac knows it is just everyday details twisting in his subconscious and not his dreams bleeding over into his waking life. It’s happened before. If, in the weeks before the barracks bombing, he woke to the sound of phantom concussions, it was simply because bombs had become a part of his daily life by then.
It’s happened before, a handful of times, and it’s in no way remarkable. Everyone has dreams they’d rather forget.
He visits Ground Zero for the first time in months and imagines he can feel the night air seep into his bones. He goes home and takes a long shower.
. . .
Danny fucks Mac against an empty autopsy table in the middle of the morgue.
Mac braces himself, head bowed and knuckles white. Danny’s hands are bruising on his hips. Blue and silver sparks flash behind Mac’s eyes.
Mac is naked, but as Danny’s hips snap forward, his pants rub against Mac’s thighs. Danny leans over, shirt chafing Mac’s spine, and he mouths Mac’s bare shoulder before biting hard.
Mac arches back, head snapping up as Danny fucks him harder. Across the room, a knot of people are watching them. Watching Mac. He has to stare back in their direction, looking at her without allowing himself to see her.
Mac is so close. Mac is so close that he whimpers, balls tightening. Danny pulls out and shoves him further over the autopsy table. Hot splashes of come stripe across his back.
Danny walks around to the other side of the table. His clothes are straightened, and he smiles, first at their audience, then at Mac. Mac’s blood stains the corner of his mouth, and Danny wipes at it with the back of his hand. “At least it’s not mine.” He shrugs and tilts his head at Mac. “You should see yourself.”
Mac wakes, flushed and panting, on the verge. The bedroom is dark, empty. He shoves a hand into his boxers and comes, groaning, as soon as he touches himself.
It’s 3:48 in the morning, and Mac pushes himself out of bed to clean up and change the sheets.
. . .
Mac takes Peyton to dinner on Friday, and the evening is reassuringly normal. When they meet outside the restaurant, she kisses his cheek then rubs her lipstick from the spot, half-smiling at him. Mac stands perfectly still, watching the dark stain of her mouth.
Later, he takes her home and to bed, but makes excuses about an early morning.
. . .
The paramedics have just cleared the wounded away when Mac and Danny arrive at the scene of a robbery. Three DOA’s remain on the floor-two gunshot wounds and one blunt force trauma to the head.
They begin processing, and after about fifteen minutes their blunt force DOA sits up.
“Hey,” Danny shouts. “We need a medic back in here!” He kneels, and the injured man flips out, shoving Danny off balance and to the floor.
Mac can’t make it across the room fast enough. He peels the man away from Danny, and hands him off to a uniform and two paramedics. Danny rubs his shoulder and stands up, looking more puzzled than hurt. Without thinking, Mac reaches out and wipes the blood from Danny’s cheek.
“Huh.” Danny frowns. “Well, at least it’s not mine.” He smiles, and Mac does too, even as he backs quickly away.
. . .
Danny comes to him in the locker room. It’s late, and Mac thought that Danny left long ago. But Danny comes to him in the locker room, and Mac remembers the night air and phantom sounds.
Danny comes to him in the locker room and gives him plenty of time to move away. Mac is breathing hard before Danny’s lips even touch his neck, and he wraps a hand in the front of Danny’s shirt. Danny moves lightly over Mac’s pulse point, holding himself back. Mac shudders and brings Danny’s head up, so he can trace Danny’s jaw line and brush a thumb across his cheek. Danny groans, and Mac kisses his open mouth, pushing him back against the wall of lockers. Danny kisses dirty, unfair. Danny kisses deep and clever. They’re both hard. Mac waits to wake up and doesn’t.
He pulls back from Danny, knuckles pressing into the metal.
“Mac.” Danny’s voice is rough, and a hand fists in Mac’s hair. “Christ, Mac.” Danny leans forward, almost speaking into Mac’s mouth. “You should see yourself. You should take a good look at you when you think no one else is looking.”
Mac wants to close his eyes but can’t.
.........
Thanks for reading; feedback always appreciated