"the power of listening / to what you don't want me to know"
title: A Matter of Complication
with: Flack/Danny; implied Danny/Lindsay
rated: NC-17 (explicit sex)
set: post-“Sleight out of Hand” (implicit spoilers)
disclaim: I only own the dvds; everything belongs to Zuiker, CBS, et al.
thanks: to stellaluna_ and eternal_sadist
Months ago, when Don came back to work, he and Danny picked up right where they left off.
Except not.
Now Danny’s panting, twisting the sheets and shoving his hips back. Don breathes deeply and in rhythm with his two fingers as they disappear into Danny’s ass. He braces his forearm across the small of Danny’s back, pushing him down into the mattress.
They still get half-drunk and fuck about as often as they used to, but they hang out a lot less. Don worries that he can’t read between the lines anymore. Either that, or Danny isn’t giving Don anything to read, because Don had been surprised when he’d heard that Danny flew off to Montana in the middle of the night. For about five minutes Don had felt the air go impossibly thin, then he’d shaken it off and gone about tracking down the teenaged junkie he and Stella had needed to question at the time. Don had shoved it all out of his head.
He’d thought Danny wouldn’t come looking for this anymore, this thing they did, but he’d been surprised there too.
Danny groans each time Don’s fingers reach all the way inside him. Don’s cock twitches, but he keeps his fingers moving at the same slow and steady pace.
“Flack.” Danny is panting hard enough to put a desperate edge on his voice.
Don stills, two fingers just inside Danny. He teases with his thumb, and leans his full weight onto Danny’s lower back, pinning him completely. Danny huffs, face turned into the pillow, and tries to buck Don off. Don won’t let him get a knee up.
“Jesus fucking christ, Flack.”
“What was that?” Don asks, making sure Danny can hear the smirk.
“Will you move? I mean, christ, just fuck me already.” Danny squirms again, rubbing his hips against the mattress and trying to get some leverage.
“When I’m ready.”
“I think you’re ready.” Danny snorts and flails a hand back, reaching for Don’s cock, which is slick with precome and pressed hard against Danny’s thigh. Danny misses, and Don grabs his wrist
“Danny.” Don leans down and speaks softly into Danny’s ear. “If you touch yourself, I’m going to put my clothes back on and walk right out of here.”
It’s a total lie because Don has never been able to turn Danny down, but Danny may not have noticed. Alcohol makes Danny more self-absorbed, and they’ve never done this sober. Well, Danny’s never done this sober, but Don feels depressingly clear-headed right now. He presses a toothy smile into Danny’s shoulder blade.
“Do we have a deal?”
“Fine, whatever.” Danny relaxes after a moment; the muscles of his back knot and release as he stretches out across the bed instead of pushing back against Don. “Just get on with it.”
Don considers the situation before him. He twists his fingers just enough to brush Danny’s prostate and grins when Danny jumps, body tensing again. Don leans forward again, and with his free hand, he pulls Danny’s arms up over his head.
“Keeps you hands up there.” Don swallows. His throat is desert dry, but he sounds calm. He can hear it. So can Danny. He presses Danny’s wrists down against the mattress.
“Okay, I am, I am.” Danny’s voice cracks, and Don slides back in to his first knuckle before stopping again. Danny clenches so smooth and tight, and Don bites his lip, keeping the moan to himself. “Okay, please-oh fuck, please-happy? Oh yes, please.”
Don pushes his fingers in, shorting out Danny’s ability to talk. It’s good and so hot, feeling Danny’s body gradually yield to him, but he shouldn’t have bothered with making Danny beg. It doesn’t mean anything more than Danny wants to come. It doesn’t mean a goddamn thing. Other people have touched Danny like this-Don’s as sure as if he watched it on video. He and Danny have always been fuck buddies at best, and Don has no illusions about that.
“Jesus, Don-it’s good, just-” Danny goes wordless again when Don adds a third finger.
“So, we never talk anymore.”
Danny fists the sheet and laughs, a ragged sound. Don can’t tell if it’s edged with frustration or what.
“Did you have a good time in Montana?” Don asks and punctuates the question with a hard twist of his fingers. He’d smirk at the double entendre if Danny could see him.
“Fuck.” Danny moans. “That’s got nothing to do with nothing.”
“I know.” Don is not jealous. He doesn’t want that hollow and chivalrous face, even if Danny could give it to him. He’s watched Danny with women-with Lindsay and at least a dozen others-and Danny is all surface charm, happy as long as he’s sure he has the upper hand.
“So why are you asking?” Danny rises up on his elbows just a few inches, and Don watches the tense curve of his neck as he drops his face back into the pillow.
“I don’t really care,” Don says, and he doesn’t. “But I was wondering if I should find someone else to screw around with.” It would be hypocritical to stop fucking Danny just because he’s decided to go after Lindsay. After all, Don never had a problem with Gavin’s wife. “So did you have a good time?”
“I was so tired I couldn’t see straight, and I got jetlag on top of that.” Danny does something sneaky with his hips, shifting his weight, and Don leans on the small of his back again. Danny grunts. “Fuck do you think.”
“Just making small talk,” Don says. He can’t imagine Lindsay doing this, sliding her narrow fingers up Danny’s ass. It’s not because she’s a woman or because he’d bet good money on her being uptight in bed. Lindsay’s been at the lab for over a year, and Don still has no bright impression of her. It makes him worry completely separate from this thing with Danny.
Danny’s grunting now, flexing his ass with each twist of Don’s fingers.
Once Lindsay gives in-if she hasn’t already-she’ll let Danny mold the shape of their relationship until the day they both wake up and want to claw each other’s eyes out.
Don crooks his fingers, pressing hard against Danny’s prostate with each stroke. He wants Danny to come from just this, but he doesn’t know if Danny can. He should reach for more lube. Four fingers, and Danny makes a choked off noise that makes Don’s throat constrict.
“Don.” Danny’s voice is tight, and his knuckles are white against the bed sheets. “Quit screwing around and fuck me already.”
“Thought that’s what I’m doing here.”
Danny swears down into the pillow. “Your cock in my ass. Do I have to draw you a diagram?”
“No, but maybe later you could anyway.” Don does smirk now, and he reaches for the lube, turning his hand and teasing the tip of his thumb down across Danny’s perineum. It’s easy, even though his stomach does a loop. Don hadn’t stopped to think, hadn’t realized what he was doing, until now.
Don folds his hand and starts easing the tip of his thumb past the tight ring of muscle, but before he gets far Danny shouts. Don presses harder, getting his hand halfway inside as Danny clenches and comes and comes and sobs into the pillow.
Don thinks he’s far past words himself.
He’s still pushing when Danny goes boneless. The angle shifts, and Don’s hand slides in to the wrist. They both freeze. Don’s holding his breath, blood rushing in his ears, and he can feel Danny’s heartbeat at a quick counterpoint. Danny’s breathing is slow but shallow, and Don can see the tension gathering in his shoulders. He slides his hand out as carefully as he can, and Danny shudders.
Don wipes his hand on the bed sheet and rolls Danny, who is flushed and uncharacteristically pliant. He spreads Danny’s legs, bends his knees. There’s no resistance, and Don pushes in to the hilt. He folds Danny up and gets lost in the fast slap of flesh on flesh.
Danny closes his eyes but leaves his mouth slack. The flush lingers on his face and chest. When Don changes the angle, Danny twitches, then moans, then lets go of a whimper before he bites his lip. Don’s close, pressing down into Danny’s body, and he wishes he knew if he were really alone in this now-then he comes and can’t wish or think about anything for a good while.
Don rolls off and stretches out on the other side of the bed. He watches Danny stare up at the ceiling and thinks it would be nice if they could both cut their losses, if they could get into a knockdown fight that actually goddamn meant something.
“You never answered my question,” Don says.
Danny lifts his chin in a half-nod. Don closes his eyes, his jaw tense.
Danny is constitutionally unable to talk about what they do-not that Don wants to talk about it. God, no. But Danny keeps coming back regardless, and Don would like to be kept apprised of the status quo, thank you, and maybe they could talk about baseball or hockey or whatever’s in season.
Don doesn’t say this though, and Danny rolls out of bed without speaking either. He moves carefully as he steps into his pants. The cold air of the room raises gooseflesh across Don’s stomach and along the smooth edges of his scars. Danny doesn’t look over. He might be watching Don from the corner of his eye, he might not. Don sprawls on his back and doesn’t bother to hide the way he’s staring.
……
thanks for reading; feedback always appreciated
with: Flack/Danny; implied Danny/Lindsay
rated: NC-17 (explicit sex)
set: post-“Sleight out of Hand” (implicit spoilers)
disclaim: I only own the dvds; everything belongs to Zuiker, CBS, et al.
thanks: to stellaluna_ and eternal_sadist
Months ago, when Don came back to work, he and Danny picked up right where they left off.
Except not.
Now Danny’s panting, twisting the sheets and shoving his hips back. Don breathes deeply and in rhythm with his two fingers as they disappear into Danny’s ass. He braces his forearm across the small of Danny’s back, pushing him down into the mattress.
They still get half-drunk and fuck about as often as they used to, but they hang out a lot less. Don worries that he can’t read between the lines anymore. Either that, or Danny isn’t giving Don anything to read, because Don had been surprised when he’d heard that Danny flew off to Montana in the middle of the night. For about five minutes Don had felt the air go impossibly thin, then he’d shaken it off and gone about tracking down the teenaged junkie he and Stella had needed to question at the time. Don had shoved it all out of his head.
He’d thought Danny wouldn’t come looking for this anymore, this thing they did, but he’d been surprised there too.
Danny groans each time Don’s fingers reach all the way inside him. Don’s cock twitches, but he keeps his fingers moving at the same slow and steady pace.
“Flack.” Danny is panting hard enough to put a desperate edge on his voice.
Don stills, two fingers just inside Danny. He teases with his thumb, and leans his full weight onto Danny’s lower back, pinning him completely. Danny huffs, face turned into the pillow, and tries to buck Don off. Don won’t let him get a knee up.
“Jesus fucking christ, Flack.”
“What was that?” Don asks, making sure Danny can hear the smirk.
“Will you move? I mean, christ, just fuck me already.” Danny squirms again, rubbing his hips against the mattress and trying to get some leverage.
“When I’m ready.”
“I think you’re ready.” Danny snorts and flails a hand back, reaching for Don’s cock, which is slick with precome and pressed hard against Danny’s thigh. Danny misses, and Don grabs his wrist
“Danny.” Don leans down and speaks softly into Danny’s ear. “If you touch yourself, I’m going to put my clothes back on and walk right out of here.”
It’s a total lie because Don has never been able to turn Danny down, but Danny may not have noticed. Alcohol makes Danny more self-absorbed, and they’ve never done this sober. Well, Danny’s never done this sober, but Don feels depressingly clear-headed right now. He presses a toothy smile into Danny’s shoulder blade.
“Do we have a deal?”
“Fine, whatever.” Danny relaxes after a moment; the muscles of his back knot and release as he stretches out across the bed instead of pushing back against Don. “Just get on with it.”
Don considers the situation before him. He twists his fingers just enough to brush Danny’s prostate and grins when Danny jumps, body tensing again. Don leans forward again, and with his free hand, he pulls Danny’s arms up over his head.
“Keeps you hands up there.” Don swallows. His throat is desert dry, but he sounds calm. He can hear it. So can Danny. He presses Danny’s wrists down against the mattress.
“Okay, I am, I am.” Danny’s voice cracks, and Don slides back in to his first knuckle before stopping again. Danny clenches so smooth and tight, and Don bites his lip, keeping the moan to himself. “Okay, please-oh fuck, please-happy? Oh yes, please.”
Don pushes his fingers in, shorting out Danny’s ability to talk. It’s good and so hot, feeling Danny’s body gradually yield to him, but he shouldn’t have bothered with making Danny beg. It doesn’t mean anything more than Danny wants to come. It doesn’t mean a goddamn thing. Other people have touched Danny like this-Don’s as sure as if he watched it on video. He and Danny have always been fuck buddies at best, and Don has no illusions about that.
“Jesus, Don-it’s good, just-” Danny goes wordless again when Don adds a third finger.
“So, we never talk anymore.”
Danny fists the sheet and laughs, a ragged sound. Don can’t tell if it’s edged with frustration or what.
“Did you have a good time in Montana?” Don asks and punctuates the question with a hard twist of his fingers. He’d smirk at the double entendre if Danny could see him.
“Fuck.” Danny moans. “That’s got nothing to do with nothing.”
“I know.” Don is not jealous. He doesn’t want that hollow and chivalrous face, even if Danny could give it to him. He’s watched Danny with women-with Lindsay and at least a dozen others-and Danny is all surface charm, happy as long as he’s sure he has the upper hand.
“So why are you asking?” Danny rises up on his elbows just a few inches, and Don watches the tense curve of his neck as he drops his face back into the pillow.
“I don’t really care,” Don says, and he doesn’t. “But I was wondering if I should find someone else to screw around with.” It would be hypocritical to stop fucking Danny just because he’s decided to go after Lindsay. After all, Don never had a problem with Gavin’s wife. “So did you have a good time?”
“I was so tired I couldn’t see straight, and I got jetlag on top of that.” Danny does something sneaky with his hips, shifting his weight, and Don leans on the small of his back again. Danny grunts. “Fuck do you think.”
“Just making small talk,” Don says. He can’t imagine Lindsay doing this, sliding her narrow fingers up Danny’s ass. It’s not because she’s a woman or because he’d bet good money on her being uptight in bed. Lindsay’s been at the lab for over a year, and Don still has no bright impression of her. It makes him worry completely separate from this thing with Danny.
Danny’s grunting now, flexing his ass with each twist of Don’s fingers.
Once Lindsay gives in-if she hasn’t already-she’ll let Danny mold the shape of their relationship until the day they both wake up and want to claw each other’s eyes out.
Don crooks his fingers, pressing hard against Danny’s prostate with each stroke. He wants Danny to come from just this, but he doesn’t know if Danny can. He should reach for more lube. Four fingers, and Danny makes a choked off noise that makes Don’s throat constrict.
“Don.” Danny’s voice is tight, and his knuckles are white against the bed sheets. “Quit screwing around and fuck me already.”
“Thought that’s what I’m doing here.”
Danny swears down into the pillow. “Your cock in my ass. Do I have to draw you a diagram?”
“No, but maybe later you could anyway.” Don does smirk now, and he reaches for the lube, turning his hand and teasing the tip of his thumb down across Danny’s perineum. It’s easy, even though his stomach does a loop. Don hadn’t stopped to think, hadn’t realized what he was doing, until now.
Don folds his hand and starts easing the tip of his thumb past the tight ring of muscle, but before he gets far Danny shouts. Don presses harder, getting his hand halfway inside as Danny clenches and comes and comes and sobs into the pillow.
Don thinks he’s far past words himself.
He’s still pushing when Danny goes boneless. The angle shifts, and Don’s hand slides in to the wrist. They both freeze. Don’s holding his breath, blood rushing in his ears, and he can feel Danny’s heartbeat at a quick counterpoint. Danny’s breathing is slow but shallow, and Don can see the tension gathering in his shoulders. He slides his hand out as carefully as he can, and Danny shudders.
Don wipes his hand on the bed sheet and rolls Danny, who is flushed and uncharacteristically pliant. He spreads Danny’s legs, bends his knees. There’s no resistance, and Don pushes in to the hilt. He folds Danny up and gets lost in the fast slap of flesh on flesh.
Danny closes his eyes but leaves his mouth slack. The flush lingers on his face and chest. When Don changes the angle, Danny twitches, then moans, then lets go of a whimper before he bites his lip. Don’s close, pressing down into Danny’s body, and he wishes he knew if he were really alone in this now-then he comes and can’t wish or think about anything for a good while.
Don rolls off and stretches out on the other side of the bed. He watches Danny stare up at the ceiling and thinks it would be nice if they could both cut their losses, if they could get into a knockdown fight that actually goddamn meant something.
“You never answered my question,” Don says.
Danny lifts his chin in a half-nod. Don closes his eyes, his jaw tense.
Danny is constitutionally unable to talk about what they do-not that Don wants to talk about it. God, no. But Danny keeps coming back regardless, and Don would like to be kept apprised of the status quo, thank you, and maybe they could talk about baseball or hockey or whatever’s in season.
Don doesn’t say this though, and Danny rolls out of bed without speaking either. He moves carefully as he steps into his pants. The cold air of the room raises gooseflesh across Don’s stomach and along the smooth edges of his scars. Danny doesn’t look over. He might be watching Don from the corner of his eye, he might not. Don sprawls on his back and doesn’t bother to hide the way he’s staring.
……
thanks for reading; feedback always appreciated