he's okay
Yes, it’s another, completely different, post-ep for “Trapped.” It seems I quite like that episode.
And no, apparently I cannot write Messer/Flack without breaking it into two parts.
Title: Enough (1 of 2)
Author: scarletts_awry
Rating: R -ish? (sadly, no sex)
Pairing: Flack/Danny
Summary: post-ep scenelet, general spoilers for 2.11 “Trapped”
Word Count: 594
Disclaimer: I don't own them, and it's a good thing too because they'd be too busy with the sex to have time for the crimefighting.
Crossposted: csi_ny_fic, csi_slash, _messerandflack and fanfic100
For: the fanfic100 prompt 04) Insides. (ooh, pretty grids)
Flack’s in that floaty place where your limbs go all warm and heavy when a flat bang jerks him back into consciousness. He rubs a hand over his face and sits up on his couch.
The tv is on, and it’s late because its showing an infomercial for this pasta cooking cylinder. Flack gets his eyes to focus on it, and the banging starts back up again.
“Fuck.”
The floor is cold over by the door. He looks through the peephole and frowns as he undoes the locks. “What’s up.”
Danny pushes past him, reeking of sweat and alcohol. He stops several feet inside Flack’s apartment and stares around as Flack locks the door.
“Wait-Wha’myhere.” It all comes out in one word, and if Flack were awake he’d find it all very funny.
“You’re asking me?”
Danny lists into the kitchen and throws the fridge open with another bang and a rattle.
“No.” Flack snatches the beer out of his hand and blocks the fridge. “No, no, no.”
“No?” Danny’s eyebrows go up, and the sheer incomprehension on his face is a little sad but a lot funny.
“I think you’ve had enough.”
“No.” Danny sets his glasses on the counter and rubs his eyes. “No such thing.”
“You die from alcohol poisoning and I am not going to your funeral.” Flack pushes Danny out of the way and puts the beer back in the fridge. He’s never seen Danny this drunk, and that’s saying something. It’s kind of impressive, really.
“C’mon.” Danny moves into him and tries to reach around to pry the fridge open again. “Jus’ a beer.” He ends up with his arms around Flack’s waist.
“You’ve had enough.” Flack grasps his shoulders but not too hard.
“You’re not my mother.”
“Exactly-which means I got no obligation to pay for your beer or call 911 should you pass out and choke on your own vomit.”
He lays his head on Flack’s shoulder. “I ain’t that drunk.”
“Yeah Danny, I think you are.”
Danny moves closer, and his whiskers scratch against Flack’s neck. “Hey Don?”
Flack sighs and runs a hand through Danny’s hair, coming to rest at the back of Danny’s neck. “What is it?”
The tip of Danny’s tongue is hot. “You’re an only child right?”
“Yeah.” The fridge is hard behind Flack, and he settles their weight back against it. “Yeah, it’s just me.”
“That’s good,” Danny mutters. “That’s gotta be easier.”
Flack brings his hand forward to Danny’s jawline and tilts his head so he can see Danny’s face. “Hey.” Danny grunts and squints at him. Something claws at Flack’s stomach, like earlier. Danny’s not going to remember a second of this tomorrow. “Don’t-don’t let that happen again.”
“Kay.” Danny frowns. “Wait-what’re we talkin about?”
“This afternoon.” Flack’s throat is dry. “Don’t let that happen again.”
“What happen?” The frown gets deeper, then turns into a chuckle. “What that moron? That guy wasn’t gonna shoot anybody.” Danny lays his head back down on Flack’s shoulder.
Shit. How many times has Danny seen a gun in his face.
“Wasn’t my fault anyway,” Danny murmurs into Flack’s neck. “You and Stella left me there with the guy.”
“Yeah.” The fridge starts to hum into Flack’s back. Danny’s heavy against his front. “Sorry about that.” He tilts his face into Danny’s hair and breathes in the sour sweet of dirt and alcohol. Underneath it all is the smell of Danny, and that’s not so bad. Danny snorts; he’s falling asleep standing up. “C’mon.” Flack rubs his arm. “Come to bed Danny.”
…………
Thanks for reading; feedback always appreciated; morning after from Danny very soon here.
And no, apparently I cannot write Messer/Flack without breaking it into two parts.
Title: Enough (1 of 2)
Author: scarletts_awry
Rating: R -ish? (sadly, no sex)
Pairing: Flack/Danny
Summary: post-ep scenelet, general spoilers for 2.11 “Trapped”
Word Count: 594
Disclaimer: I don't own them, and it's a good thing too because they'd be too busy with the sex to have time for the crimefighting.
Crossposted: csi_ny_fic, csi_slash, _messerandflack and fanfic100
For: the fanfic100 prompt 04) Insides. (ooh, pretty grids)
Flack’s in that floaty place where your limbs go all warm and heavy when a flat bang jerks him back into consciousness. He rubs a hand over his face and sits up on his couch.
The tv is on, and it’s late because its showing an infomercial for this pasta cooking cylinder. Flack gets his eyes to focus on it, and the banging starts back up again.
“Fuck.”
The floor is cold over by the door. He looks through the peephole and frowns as he undoes the locks. “What’s up.”
Danny pushes past him, reeking of sweat and alcohol. He stops several feet inside Flack’s apartment and stares around as Flack locks the door.
“Wait-Wha’myhere.” It all comes out in one word, and if Flack were awake he’d find it all very funny.
“You’re asking me?”
Danny lists into the kitchen and throws the fridge open with another bang and a rattle.
“No.” Flack snatches the beer out of his hand and blocks the fridge. “No, no, no.”
“No?” Danny’s eyebrows go up, and the sheer incomprehension on his face is a little sad but a lot funny.
“I think you’ve had enough.”
“No.” Danny sets his glasses on the counter and rubs his eyes. “No such thing.”
“You die from alcohol poisoning and I am not going to your funeral.” Flack pushes Danny out of the way and puts the beer back in the fridge. He’s never seen Danny this drunk, and that’s saying something. It’s kind of impressive, really.
“C’mon.” Danny moves into him and tries to reach around to pry the fridge open again. “Jus’ a beer.” He ends up with his arms around Flack’s waist.
“You’ve had enough.” Flack grasps his shoulders but not too hard.
“You’re not my mother.”
“Exactly-which means I got no obligation to pay for your beer or call 911 should you pass out and choke on your own vomit.”
He lays his head on Flack’s shoulder. “I ain’t that drunk.”
“Yeah Danny, I think you are.”
Danny moves closer, and his whiskers scratch against Flack’s neck. “Hey Don?”
Flack sighs and runs a hand through Danny’s hair, coming to rest at the back of Danny’s neck. “What is it?”
The tip of Danny’s tongue is hot. “You’re an only child right?”
“Yeah.” The fridge is hard behind Flack, and he settles their weight back against it. “Yeah, it’s just me.”
“That’s good,” Danny mutters. “That’s gotta be easier.”
Flack brings his hand forward to Danny’s jawline and tilts his head so he can see Danny’s face. “Hey.” Danny grunts and squints at him. Something claws at Flack’s stomach, like earlier. Danny’s not going to remember a second of this tomorrow. “Don’t-don’t let that happen again.”
“Kay.” Danny frowns. “Wait-what’re we talkin about?”
“This afternoon.” Flack’s throat is dry. “Don’t let that happen again.”
“What happen?” The frown gets deeper, then turns into a chuckle. “What that moron? That guy wasn’t gonna shoot anybody.” Danny lays his head back down on Flack’s shoulder.
Shit. How many times has Danny seen a gun in his face.
“Wasn’t my fault anyway,” Danny murmurs into Flack’s neck. “You and Stella left me there with the guy.”
“Yeah.” The fridge starts to hum into Flack’s back. Danny’s heavy against his front. “Sorry about that.” He tilts his face into Danny’s hair and breathes in the sour sweet of dirt and alcohol. Underneath it all is the smell of Danny, and that’s not so bad. Danny snorts; he’s falling asleep standing up. “C’mon.” Flack rubs his arm. “Come to bed Danny.”
…………
Thanks for reading; feedback always appreciated; morning after from Danny very soon here.