now we return to the classics
Happy New Year!
And now we return to the classics.
(well, my classics)
For no better reason than I was on the edge of cascading panic attacks the other night and thus needed to find my happy place, and it turns out my happy place includes porn. (who didn’t see that one coming. heh, coming.) Though, given the circumstances, this has surprisingly less porn than one might expect.
Because what better way to start the new year off right.
title: Easygoing
with: Danny/Flack
rated: NC-17
herein: pre-series, first time
disclaim: I only own the DVDs. Everything belongs to Zuiker, CBS, et al.
Danny’s drumming his heel against the leg of the bar stool. Been doing it so long that his foot’s a little numb.
He can feel the sharpness of Flack’s eyes. Flack’s been watching him all evening. Flack, this brand new homicide detective. Three months into it for Flack, and only about six months at the lab for Danny. They keep getting thrown together on cases, and it works. But Danny can feel it in the top of his spine and the base of his skull, Flack watching him. All the time.
After today, Flack’s got a reason to watch him.
“Y’know.” Flack’s voice is low and much too close. “Deep down I’m a pretty easygoing motherfucker, but you are trying my fucking patience, Messer.” Flack’s leaning close, close enough that Danny can feel the furnace of breath against his neck.
“Sure. You bleed easygoing all over the place, don’t you Flack.” Danny rubs the back of his neck and winces-and his mind tallies both moves a second after the fact. He can taste the whiskey heat coming thick and sharp off the both of them. Flack leans heavily on the bar, his arms making tall angles.
“So you’re gonna tell me what the fuck that was about.” Earlier. Flack’s talking about earlier. When they pulled in Pete Medrano for questioning, and Pete ran his mouth off like an asshole, like he knows about every buried body in the entire tri-state area.
“What’s what about.” Danny doesn’t bother making it a question. When he picks up his glass, it leaves a stamp of condensation on the surface of the bar.
See, Flack’s just as fucking drunk, and that’s the only reason Danny has a chance right now. Because Danny can’t lie for shit when he’s drunk, little tells falling all over the place. He knows it, and it’ll probably take Flack thirty seconds to figure out.
“No.” Flack almost sounds easygoing. Goddamn natural in the interrogation room. “No more bullshit, Messer.”
“You’re gonna mind your own fucking business.” Danny’s fingers are swiping through the ring of condensation, and his brain is on this slow loop of fuck… fuck… fuck…
Flack slowly drinks his whiskey and licks his lips. “If we’re going to be partners on this case or any other, it is my fucking business.”
Danny bites his tongue and doesn’t laugh.
“You want to go somewhere more private, we can do that.” Flack’s voice thickens, just enough. His eyes are glassy and not entirely dumb. Danny swallows the rest of his drink and thinks-yeah, we can do that. Why the fuck not. Danny’s hot all over, not just from the alcohol.
Flack springs for a cab, and Danny zones out, head tilted back against the seat and stomach wheeling. Stars keep sparking up against his eyelids, and he scrubs his face. His foot is still drumming, now against the passenger seat in front of him, and every so often Flack shifts so that their arms brush together.
Then he’s up the stairs and blinking in the flat overhead lights of Flack’s apartment. Flack moves straight for the kitchen.
“You want a beer?”
“Fuck.” Danny rubs a hand through his hair. “I’m drunk.”
“Join the crowd.” Flack grabs a beer from the fridge and takes a swig. “You look like you could use it tonight.”
Stupid. Stupid of Danny to fuck up so soon. He didn’t keep his shit together after Pete ran his mouth off. Got right up in the face of the next witness, took this broken glass feeling beneath his own skin, took it out on some dead guy’s friend, and when word gets back around to Mac? “Fuck.” Danny’s not drunk enough to be sick, but something’s clawing around his stomach.
“That’s a no to the beer, then.” Flack smirks and waves Danny toward the couch. Danny’s too keyed up to sit down. He stays still, and he feels even more sick. He paces over to the far wall and stops there. Flack sprawls on the couch and continues to smirk. “Well?”
“Well what?” Danny grimaces, then schools his face blank. Well, nothing. Just remember there’s nothing to tell.
“Well, I’ll tell you what I thought it looked like.” Flack’s smirk shifts and solidifies into something much more sincere. “It looked like some low life from the old neighborhood who’s got a big imagination and gets off on talking shit.”
“That’s what it was,” Danny says.
“Good, that’s what I thought.”
Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch because Flack’s looking steady at Danny, and Flack looks like he’s telling the truth.
And Flack must have heard the rumors.
“Good,” Danny says. “Got that settled.”
But Danny wants to say what, are you new? when he knows Flack is anything but. He knows Flack was born to this, cop rooted in all the way down in his DNA.
“Isn’t worth letting them get under your skin,” Flack mutters. “Bastard isn’t worth it.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Danny takes a deep breath and leans back against the wall. Flack stretches an arm out along the back of the couch.
“Because some dumb fuck is going to come along and misread it.”
“There’s nothing to read into it.” Stupid kid shit, and Danny’s not responsible for the rest of his goddamn family.
“Right. Didn’t think there was,” Flack says softly. Flack’s still watching, making Danny’s spine hum. Danny shifts his weight.
“You think you’re good at reading people.”
Flack takes a long look, and there’s no smirk, no twist to his face. “Yeah.”
“Huh.” Danny stares over Flack’s shoulder towards the glare of the kitchen. The whiskey that’s been spinning in his stomach is now spiraling up to his head. “So you must have me pretty well read, given the amount of time you spend staring.”
“Yeah, and you’re a real depraved motherfucker.” Flack stands up, and that smirk is playing at the edges of his lips again.
“I bet you know from depraved.” Danny’s leer is a reflex, easy to slip into.
“Anything else you were planning to get off your chest?” Flack shrugs, all fake-casual and loose limbed. “Since you made me drag us back here.”
“Right. Today went down just like I planned.” Danny licks his lips, and they’re bitter and chapped. This is a stupid idea.
They’re standing close now. Up close, Danny always wants to wipe that smirk off Flack’s lips, and like that they’re kissing. Flack braces a leg between Danny’s, wraps a big hand around the back of Danny’s neck. Flack is moaning, mouth hot and tongue dirty, about as subtle as a trainwreck. Danny has to moan back.
“Hmm?” Flack breaks away to nuzzle Danny’s neck.
“Subtle as a trainwreck,” Danny mutters.
“Subtle’s overrated.”
Danny is so unsurprised that he laughs, and he keeps laughing as Flack manhandles him to the bedroom and starts yanking at both their clothes.
“You gonna get with the program here, Messer?” Flack pulls Danny’s shirt from his pants.
“Yeah, yeah.” Danny gasps at the teeth against his neck. He’s lightheaded now, but the tension twisted deep in his muscles is starting to unlock. They strip, and Danny stretches out on the half-made bed, stroking himself as he watches Flack toe his shoes off so he can get rid of his pants.
Flack’s eyes are bright with something strange and manic. Like he’s gotten a contact high off Danny’s skin. He crawls up the bed and kisses Danny again, bites his jawline.
“Wanna suck you.” Flack is halfway down Danny’s chest by the time he says this.
“By all means,” Danny says. He shivers a little, cold in all the places Flack has just kissed him. They’re both keyed up, and it’s get-to-the-point sex. Nothing more. It’s overkill just to be in a bed. Flack settles in, wrapping an arm around Danny’s hips and pinning Danny’s legs straight. He takes Danny’s cock in his mouth, head bobbing up and down, sloppy and enthusiastic and too, too hot.
“Jesus, wait.” Danny pulls hard on Flack’s hair. Flack growls and sucks harder, and Danny’s gone, whiting out, body curling up off the bed in a sharp arc.
When Danny can get his eyes to focus again, Flack is kneeling over him, jerking off, which is a damn nice sight, but Danny knocks his hand away and shoves him over to his back. He can feel that Flack’s close, wordless, body tense and shivering. Danny mouths his way down Flack’s throat, tongues his collarbone, and bites his nipple, and the noise Flack makes. Flack groans and comes and digs his fingers into Danny’s shoulder.
Everything’s starting to tilt and spin again, so Danny lets his forehead rest against Flack’s shoulder for a moment. Little spirals floating up his spine. He starts to kiss Flack’s shoulder, but turns it into a gentle bite before rolling away.
“You’re gonna keep trying my patience, aren’t you,” Flack says. He groans and stretches and ends up moving just enough to get under the covers.
“Thought you were an easygoing motherfucker.” Danny rolls onto his side.
“Stay if you want, or let yourself out,” Flack mutters, facedown in his pillow and already half-asleep.
Danny grunts and tugs the sheet over himself the best he can without moving. Yeah, fast and drunk, but good. A few inches over, Flack starts to snore, and Danny’s ready to shoot himself because he’s thinking about doing this again, only slower and with a less alcohol running around his bloodstream.
Yeah, stupid. They fucking work together, but Danny’s judgment has always been a little screwed up. He knows that about himself, and apparently Flack does too.
……
thanks for reading; feedback always appreciated
And now we return to the classics.
(well, my classics)
For no better reason than I was on the edge of cascading panic attacks the other night and thus needed to find my happy place, and it turns out my happy place includes porn. (who didn’t see that one coming. heh, coming.) Though, given the circumstances, this has surprisingly less porn than one might expect.
Because what better way to start the new year off right.
title: Easygoing
with: Danny/Flack
rated: NC-17
herein: pre-series, first time
disclaim: I only own the DVDs. Everything belongs to Zuiker, CBS, et al.
Danny’s drumming his heel against the leg of the bar stool. Been doing it so long that his foot’s a little numb.
He can feel the sharpness of Flack’s eyes. Flack’s been watching him all evening. Flack, this brand new homicide detective. Three months into it for Flack, and only about six months at the lab for Danny. They keep getting thrown together on cases, and it works. But Danny can feel it in the top of his spine and the base of his skull, Flack watching him. All the time.
After today, Flack’s got a reason to watch him.
“Y’know.” Flack’s voice is low and much too close. “Deep down I’m a pretty easygoing motherfucker, but you are trying my fucking patience, Messer.” Flack’s leaning close, close enough that Danny can feel the furnace of breath against his neck.
“Sure. You bleed easygoing all over the place, don’t you Flack.” Danny rubs the back of his neck and winces-and his mind tallies both moves a second after the fact. He can taste the whiskey heat coming thick and sharp off the both of them. Flack leans heavily on the bar, his arms making tall angles.
“So you’re gonna tell me what the fuck that was about.” Earlier. Flack’s talking about earlier. When they pulled in Pete Medrano for questioning, and Pete ran his mouth off like an asshole, like he knows about every buried body in the entire tri-state area.
“What’s what about.” Danny doesn’t bother making it a question. When he picks up his glass, it leaves a stamp of condensation on the surface of the bar.
See, Flack’s just as fucking drunk, and that’s the only reason Danny has a chance right now. Because Danny can’t lie for shit when he’s drunk, little tells falling all over the place. He knows it, and it’ll probably take Flack thirty seconds to figure out.
“No.” Flack almost sounds easygoing. Goddamn natural in the interrogation room. “No more bullshit, Messer.”
“You’re gonna mind your own fucking business.” Danny’s fingers are swiping through the ring of condensation, and his brain is on this slow loop of fuck… fuck… fuck…
Flack slowly drinks his whiskey and licks his lips. “If we’re going to be partners on this case or any other, it is my fucking business.”
Danny bites his tongue and doesn’t laugh.
“You want to go somewhere more private, we can do that.” Flack’s voice thickens, just enough. His eyes are glassy and not entirely dumb. Danny swallows the rest of his drink and thinks-yeah, we can do that. Why the fuck not. Danny’s hot all over, not just from the alcohol.
Flack springs for a cab, and Danny zones out, head tilted back against the seat and stomach wheeling. Stars keep sparking up against his eyelids, and he scrubs his face. His foot is still drumming, now against the passenger seat in front of him, and every so often Flack shifts so that their arms brush together.
Then he’s up the stairs and blinking in the flat overhead lights of Flack’s apartment. Flack moves straight for the kitchen.
“You want a beer?”
“Fuck.” Danny rubs a hand through his hair. “I’m drunk.”
“Join the crowd.” Flack grabs a beer from the fridge and takes a swig. “You look like you could use it tonight.”
Stupid. Stupid of Danny to fuck up so soon. He didn’t keep his shit together after Pete ran his mouth off. Got right up in the face of the next witness, took this broken glass feeling beneath his own skin, took it out on some dead guy’s friend, and when word gets back around to Mac? “Fuck.” Danny’s not drunk enough to be sick, but something’s clawing around his stomach.
“That’s a no to the beer, then.” Flack smirks and waves Danny toward the couch. Danny’s too keyed up to sit down. He stays still, and he feels even more sick. He paces over to the far wall and stops there. Flack sprawls on the couch and continues to smirk. “Well?”
“Well what?” Danny grimaces, then schools his face blank. Well, nothing. Just remember there’s nothing to tell.
“Well, I’ll tell you what I thought it looked like.” Flack’s smirk shifts and solidifies into something much more sincere. “It looked like some low life from the old neighborhood who’s got a big imagination and gets off on talking shit.”
“That’s what it was,” Danny says.
“Good, that’s what I thought.”
Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch because Flack’s looking steady at Danny, and Flack looks like he’s telling the truth.
And Flack must have heard the rumors.
“Good,” Danny says. “Got that settled.”
But Danny wants to say what, are you new? when he knows Flack is anything but. He knows Flack was born to this, cop rooted in all the way down in his DNA.
“Isn’t worth letting them get under your skin,” Flack mutters. “Bastard isn’t worth it.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Danny takes a deep breath and leans back against the wall. Flack stretches an arm out along the back of the couch.
“Because some dumb fuck is going to come along and misread it.”
“There’s nothing to read into it.” Stupid kid shit, and Danny’s not responsible for the rest of his goddamn family.
“Right. Didn’t think there was,” Flack says softly. Flack’s still watching, making Danny’s spine hum. Danny shifts his weight.
“You think you’re good at reading people.”
Flack takes a long look, and there’s no smirk, no twist to his face. “Yeah.”
“Huh.” Danny stares over Flack’s shoulder towards the glare of the kitchen. The whiskey that’s been spinning in his stomach is now spiraling up to his head. “So you must have me pretty well read, given the amount of time you spend staring.”
“Yeah, and you’re a real depraved motherfucker.” Flack stands up, and that smirk is playing at the edges of his lips again.
“I bet you know from depraved.” Danny’s leer is a reflex, easy to slip into.
“Anything else you were planning to get off your chest?” Flack shrugs, all fake-casual and loose limbed. “Since you made me drag us back here.”
“Right. Today went down just like I planned.” Danny licks his lips, and they’re bitter and chapped. This is a stupid idea.
They’re standing close now. Up close, Danny always wants to wipe that smirk off Flack’s lips, and like that they’re kissing. Flack braces a leg between Danny’s, wraps a big hand around the back of Danny’s neck. Flack is moaning, mouth hot and tongue dirty, about as subtle as a trainwreck. Danny has to moan back.
“Hmm?” Flack breaks away to nuzzle Danny’s neck.
“Subtle as a trainwreck,” Danny mutters.
“Subtle’s overrated.”
Danny is so unsurprised that he laughs, and he keeps laughing as Flack manhandles him to the bedroom and starts yanking at both their clothes.
“You gonna get with the program here, Messer?” Flack pulls Danny’s shirt from his pants.
“Yeah, yeah.” Danny gasps at the teeth against his neck. He’s lightheaded now, but the tension twisted deep in his muscles is starting to unlock. They strip, and Danny stretches out on the half-made bed, stroking himself as he watches Flack toe his shoes off so he can get rid of his pants.
Flack’s eyes are bright with something strange and manic. Like he’s gotten a contact high off Danny’s skin. He crawls up the bed and kisses Danny again, bites his jawline.
“Wanna suck you.” Flack is halfway down Danny’s chest by the time he says this.
“By all means,” Danny says. He shivers a little, cold in all the places Flack has just kissed him. They’re both keyed up, and it’s get-to-the-point sex. Nothing more. It’s overkill just to be in a bed. Flack settles in, wrapping an arm around Danny’s hips and pinning Danny’s legs straight. He takes Danny’s cock in his mouth, head bobbing up and down, sloppy and enthusiastic and too, too hot.
“Jesus, wait.” Danny pulls hard on Flack’s hair. Flack growls and sucks harder, and Danny’s gone, whiting out, body curling up off the bed in a sharp arc.
When Danny can get his eyes to focus again, Flack is kneeling over him, jerking off, which is a damn nice sight, but Danny knocks his hand away and shoves him over to his back. He can feel that Flack’s close, wordless, body tense and shivering. Danny mouths his way down Flack’s throat, tongues his collarbone, and bites his nipple, and the noise Flack makes. Flack groans and comes and digs his fingers into Danny’s shoulder.
Everything’s starting to tilt and spin again, so Danny lets his forehead rest against Flack’s shoulder for a moment. Little spirals floating up his spine. He starts to kiss Flack’s shoulder, but turns it into a gentle bite before rolling away.
“You’re gonna keep trying my patience, aren’t you,” Flack says. He groans and stretches and ends up moving just enough to get under the covers.
“Thought you were an easygoing motherfucker.” Danny rolls onto his side.
“Stay if you want, or let yourself out,” Flack mutters, facedown in his pillow and already half-asleep.
Danny grunts and tugs the sheet over himself the best he can without moving. Yeah, fast and drunk, but good. A few inches over, Flack starts to snore, and Danny’s ready to shoot himself because he’s thinking about doing this again, only slower and with a less alcohol running around his bloodstream.
Yeah, stupid. They fucking work together, but Danny’s judgment has always been a little screwed up. He knows that about himself, and apparently Flack does too.
……
thanks for reading; feedback always appreciated