(((and there is this too)))
Okay. Finishing the porn in this one nearly killed me, so if you think it’s hot I’d really appreciate hearing that it was worth risking my life over.
*ahem*
Yes. In which I give in to many of my cheapest impulses-
title: And The Fight Washes Out
with: Flack/Danny
rated: NC-17
herein: post-ep for “Crime and Misdemeanor”
disclaim: they continue to own me, not vice versa.
in ‘verse with: Sometimes, Awake, The Facts, Wrong
note: cut text from Bruce Springsteen’s “Backstreets,” because apparently I can’t quit listening to Springsteen today
great thanks: to twincy for the beta and feedback
Slumped down on the couch like this, Don knows he’s going to give himself a crick in his neck, but he’s too tired to move. Work ran over, so he hasn’t been home long. Trying to stay awake to see the NHL scores, but he keeps nodding off.
When the buzzer sounds long, it startles him awake. He drags himself over to the door, clears his throat, and leans on into the intercom button with the heel of his hand.
“Who’s there?”
There’s no answer, and Don rubs his face and curses and straightens the waistband of his sweatpants. He crosses the room again and stands behind the couch and rubs his face again until he can focus on the scores running across the bottom of the screen.
Rangers won. Fuck yeah.
Don turns off the tv, and he’s halfway to his bed when the door buzzes again. He rolls his eyes and goes back to the intercom.
“Who the fuck is down there?”
Again, static and silence and the rain thrumming against his window.
Could be some punk ass kids. Could be someone’s got the wrong building or apartment. Could be someone’s trying to annoy his way into the building. He should just ignore it and go to sleep, but there’s something weird crawling around the pit of his stomach.
Pulling his jacket on, Don drags himself downstairs to look.
He cracks the door to the building open, peers out into the rain, and there’s Danny, just out of arm’s reach. He’s facing the street, hunched over, soaked to the bone with no more than his suit jacket to keep the downpour off him. Raindrops course down his neck. Don throws the door open, grabs him and pulls him inside.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Messer.”
Danny jerks away, stumbling back against the foyer wall. Then he seems to recognize Don. He’s not wearing his glasses, and there’s a bruise forming on his right cheekbone that might turn into a black eye.
Don grabs Danny’s arm and hauls him upstairs. By the time they’re inside Don’s apartment, Danny’s shaking. He’s soaking wet and dripping all over the place, so Don leads him straight to the bathroom.
And Danny lets himself be led.
Danny’s been swinging wide all week, but Don didn’t expect this level of fucked up. What’d Aiden not tell him? Or what did Danny not tell Aiden.
“Danny-talk to me. What’s going on?” He cups Danny’s face and turns his head to get a better look at the bruise. Danny stares at something over Don’s shoulder.
“Nothin.”
“Bullshit.” This close he can smell the alcohol on Danny’s breath.
Danny shudders. “I’m cold.” He keeps shaking. His eyes are glassy.
“Shit,” Don says quietly. “No shit.” He yanks Danny’s jacket off, and Danny doesn’t help or resist-except his hands are fists. There’s another bruise on his right knuckles.
Don works Danny’s shirt buttons as quickly as he can, but his own hands are clumsy. He peels the shirt off, revealing three more bruises-in-progress on Danny’s ribs, a fourth on his left arm, and a fifth on his solar plexus that must’ve knocked the wind out of him.
“What’d you do, get in a fight?”
Danny flashes him a weak grin. “You should see the other guy.”
“Did you get hit in the head? Lose consciousness?” Don runs his fingers through Danny’s hair, feeling for bumps. “Danny, look at me.”
“No, m’okay,” Danny mumbles, but his eyes don’t quite focus.
And he’s freezing cold to the touch. Don kneels and gets him to step out of his shoes. “One at a time now.” Danny complies, but his reaction time is slow. “You better be telling me the truth Danny, because so help me if you have a concussion and you’re lying about it? I’m gonna beat the shit out of you.”
Danny doesn’t seem to hear him and goes back to trembling and staring at an empty spot on the bathroom wall. Still kneeling, Don unfastens Danny’s belt and pants.
“You gonna put your mouth to good use?”
Don snorts. “That all you think about?” He glances up at Danny, who’s looking down, who’s looking at Don finally, though his eyes are blue slits.
“Like you’re any better’n me.” Danny’s hands finally relax, and as he wraps his arms around himself, Don notices a scrape across his left palm. “I wanna lie down.” Danny’s eyes are closed now, and he sways a little.
“Not yet.” Don braces Danny as he steps out of his pants. “We gotta get you warm first. C’mon.” Don turns the shower on-warm but not hot-and pushes Danny inside.
“Fuck.” Danny moves away from the spray of water and shakes harder, an uncontrollable full body shudder. “Fuck,” he repeats, and it’s almost a whimper. He starts to climb out of the shower, but Don strips off his own clothes and climbs in after him. He wraps his arms around Danny, who struggles for a minute then leans against him, digging fingernails into his shoulder and shaking even harder. “Oh fuck,” he says again, and it’s almost a sob, his breath coming in stuttered little gasps against Don’s chest.
“Don’t hyperventilate,” Don orders. “Hear me?” He rubs his hands up and down Danny’s back and edges them directly under the spray. After several minutes, Danny stops trembling, and Don feels like he can breathe again. When Danny relaxes his grip and his arms slip down around Don’s waist, Don reaches over and turns up the hot water. The last of the tension drains from Danny’s body.
“Okay, Danny. What happened.”
Danny murmurs something, but it’s lost in the rhythm of the water.
Don smiles in spite of himself. “Didn’t quite catch that.”
Sighing, Danny tilts his head up. “Went to a bar.” His eyes are still glassy.
“And?”
“And I had a couple drinks.” Danny’s lip curls. “The fuck d’you think?”
“Good, good. That’s the number one bar activity.” Don bites his tongue and nods his head and smooths Danny’s hair back. Right. He’s got to play nice if he wants the whole story. He can always beat some sense into Danny later-though God damn whoever tried to do it earlier tonight. “Then what?”
The fight washes out of Danny again. “This asshole started talking to me.”
“About what?”
“I don’t remember.” Danny lays his head back against Don’s shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. He was an asshole.”
“Sounds like it.” Don’s grinning now, still in spite of himself.
Danny laughs a little, but it’s a weird, hollow sound. “I could’ve taken him too. I would’ve kicked his ass if his asshole friends hadn’t been there.”
“I’m sure you would’ve.” Don means it. Danny’s a volatile fucker, and when he’s good and mad he fights like a pit bull. “So then you decided it was nice weather for a walk?”
“Fuck you.” Danny tenses again. “Didn’t wanna stay at the bar after that. Not my fault it was raining.”
“Okay, makes sense.” Don strokes a hand down Danny’s spine again. “So, to recap, you went to a bar, got drunk, got in a barfight, and took a walk when it happened to be pouring down rain.”
“Something like that.” Danny presses his face into Don’s neck, but Don pulls back a fraction to look down at Danny.
“What the fuck am I gonna do with you.”
Danny’s eyes go blank and he starts to pull himself out of Don’s grip, but Don holds him tighter.
“Fuck’s sake, Messer. I didn’t mean it like that.” Though maybe Danny already knew it.
Anyway, the words seem to work because Danny relaxes again. They stand like that for several more minutes, not talking.
It’s a mark of how exhausted Danny must be because he’s not a fan of extended physical contact unless sex is actually happening. Don kinda likes a warm body against his own, but it’s strange to hold Danny like this when he’s so still-now that the shivering has stopped.
“You still cold?” Don asks, even though it’s a bit of a stupid question with all the steam in the room.
“No.”
Don turns the shower off and grabs two fresh towels.
Danny’s pale beneath the flush of pink the hot water has left on his skin, and the bruises stand out, livid. He seems unsteady when he steps out of the shower-but when Don starts drying him he grabs the towel away and does it himself. He’s capable of a pretty good glare, too.
When they get to the cooler air in Don’s bedroom, Danny shudders. He shuts his eyes, forces himself completely still, then starts to tremble all over again. His hands clench, knuckles white.
“Goddammit.” Don murmurs to himself and throws Danny a sweatshirt and sweatpants that will be big on him but warm too. He also shoves an extra blanket at Danny. “Get under the covers, I’ll be back in a second.”
Don grabs aspirin and a full glass of warmish water from the tap and carries it back to the bedroom. Danny’s curled on his side under both blankets, only trembling a little. “Here.” He makes Danny take two aspirin and drink all the water, then crawls into bed and wraps Danny in his arms.
Danny-who’s usually so warm-bodied-is still cool to the touch but not nearly as bad as earlier. Finally, he stops trembling and seems to relax against Don’s body. He huddles even closer, tangling their legs together, and starts to kiss Don’s neck. Don doesn’t really respond, and Danny stops kissing him but stays close.
Something’s still wrong because Danny hates to have someone lay against him like this, and the pretense of shared body heat only goes so far.
Danny’s breathing evens out, and Don can feel the counterpoint of his pulse.
“Hey,” Don whispers because he’s not sure if Danny’s still awake.
“Hm.” It’s a sleepy half-noise.
“So why’d you go get drunk and in a barfight, anyway?”
“Didn’ go lookin for a fight.”
“Okay.” It’s bullshit, but he strokes Danny’s back with a thumb. Danny may still be looking for a fight. “Something happen at work?”
Danny shifts a little and mutters something too quiet for Don to catch.
“What’s that?” He pulls Danny a fraction closer. Danny’s half-asleep, or maybe past that, which is the only reason Don might get an answer.
“Mac yelled at me.”
Don waits a moment for his brain to process this fact and finds it can’t. “Mac yelled at you?”
“In the middle of the lab. Everyone could hear him.”
Now it’s Don who’s cold, and he has Danny plus two blankets draped on top of him.
“What for?”
“Guy died of natural causes, but it was weird so I ran with it anyway. Only took a couple hours.” Danny sighs. “Stupid.” Don doesn’t know if Danny means Mac or himself or both.
Danny’s arms tighten around him for a fraction of a second, and Don presses his mouth into a flat line. The whole fucking thing was stupid. The whole damn chain of events had Mac’s and Danny’s special kind of idiocy written all over it.
Nothing much to be done about it now. Danny doesn’t move again, and it’s too good lying here, tangled up with someone else. Don pushes it all out of his head best he can and lets himself be lulled by the rhythm of Danny’s breathing. It’s still raining, a steady white noise in the background. Don’s warm and heavy-limbed, and right before he drifts off he slips into a half-dream about shooting hoops with Danny. Only someone turned the morgue into a court and the columns kept getting in the way.
-
Don’s jolted awake, and it’s Danny shoving him away.
“Get offa me, I gotta piss,” he mutters.
Don rolls onto his back, yawning through a smile as Danny stumbles toward the bathroom. And all is right with the world. Or maybe it’s that the world has righted itself. He listens, but the rain has finally stopped. Through a gap in the curtains it looks like the sky is starting to lighten. Don reaches over to turn on the bedside lamp.
A few minutes later Danny comes back, squinting around the room. “Where are my glasses?”
Don stretches and puts his hands behind his head. “You weren’t wearing them when you got here.”
“Shit.” Danny carefully drops back onto the bed, lying on his stomach. “They weren’t in any of my pockets.”
Don snorts and rolls closer to Danny. “How’s the hangover?”
Danny shrugs. “Not bad.” His eyes are bloodshot, but he seems to mean it. “What time is it?”
Don peers at the alarm clock. “Six-fifteen.”
Danny sighs and sinks a little deeper into the mattress. “Fuck.” He closes his eyes, and Don scoots closer to get a look at the purple bruise blooming on his cheek. Danny opens his eyes just enough to glare and swats Don’s hand away. “Asshole.”
Don raises his eyebrows. “Me or him?”
“Both.” Danny breaks into a mean little smile. “Asshole.”
“Least you’re not going to have a black eye,” Don points out.
Danny continues to glare, and Don grins back at him. He’s close enough that he knows Danny can see him fine. The glare falls apart, and before Don can get a good look at what’s replaced it Danny’s kissing him on the mouth.
It’s startlingly soft at first, Danny’s lips moving over his own. Then Don rolls onto his back, bringing Danny on top of him. Damn good thing Danny didn’t get punched in the mouth. Don slips his hand under Danny’s sweatshirt, skimming over the softly swollen bruises. Danny’s breath hitches, then he shifts closer, deepening the kiss, and Don barely hangs on to the noises rising in his throat. Danny’s got a nice mouth, and they don’t kiss all that often.
It probably averages out to every other month or so if it were a regular thing, but it’s not a regular thing at all. One of them has a real shitty day, they go get drunk together and end up screwing around. Even then, it’s just sex; they don’t spend much time on the preliminaries.
They strip quickly, and even though they’re sober and it’s morning, this is no different than any other time. Not really. Don catches a glimpse of hard purple marks before Danny spreads out over him again and they both gasp. Danny’s said it a couple times now, and it’s true that sometimes a stranger’s body is not what you need.
At the same time, Don doesn’t have to rationalize like Danny. It’s enough that Danny is his friend and Danny has a nice mouth-and Danny has a lot of other nice attributes too, most of which are pressed up against Don right now.
They settle into a rhythm, and Don likes Danny’s weight on top of him like this. It’s good-pleasure sparking all over his body-and he gets to kiss Danny too. Long open-mouthed kisses. Kissing is good-it’s messy and direct and disgustingly intimate-and Don would happily spend all day kissing anyone with half a clue what they’re doing, though he’d never admit it.
They’ve never had sex quite like this, and Don feels a cool streak of disappointment when Danny pulls away a little. Danny’s mouth is swollen and has a desperate shape. Then his hand goes back between Don’s legs, teasing behind his balls, and Don nods.
When Danny moves away to snag the lube and a condom from the nightstand, Don shivers from the loss of skin contact.
Danny settles back in, and Don pulls him down for another kiss, gasping into his mouth when Danny starts to tease with his fingers again. Don spreads his legs wider and pushes into it.
Finally Danny slides a slick finger inside, and Don moans when Danny twists and brushes against his prostate. Two fingers push in too quickly, and Danny kisses him deep-a blur of tongue. Cursing, Don digs his fingers into the tight muscles of Danny’s back, and Danny chuckles a little until Don bites his shoulder hard enough to mark-give him another bruise.
Don drops his head back and works his hips, fucking himself on Danny’s fingers as they scissor and twist to hit the same spot over and again. Danny leaves short biting kisses along his jaw and neck, and through the haze of sex, he realizes that Danny’s been much too quiet.
“Alright,” Don gasps. Because if they’re going to do this, he wants to come with Danny inside him. If Danny wants to do this, they need to do it already. “C’mon.” Danny grabs hold of Don’s hips, but Don stops him. “It’s good.” Like this. Danny’s hands have a little tremor that Don can’t think about right now, so he takes the condom and puts it on Danny.
Danny shoves a pillow under Don’s hips, hooks one of Don’s legs over his shoulder, and eases inside. Don squeezes himself and breathes deep, watching the concentration on Danny’s face, the narrow eyes and the way he licks his lips.
Danny pulls out, and Don trembles a little, biting his lip in frustration. Danny lines himself up again, adjusts the angle, and pushes in hard-a direct thrust against his prostate. Don moves with it, then hooks his free leg around Danny’s back, trying to draw him closer. Danny shifts, leaning down to scrape his teeth over Don’s lower lip, then draws back and stares.
The way Don’s being watched, he feels like a fucking criminal, but then Danny does all of it over again and Don doesn’t give a shit. Soon the pace is brutal, and Don’s probably making enough noise for both of them.
Danny shuts his eyes and presses his mouth into a sharp line. Danny shuts his eyes, and that’s worse than the staring. Don wants to yell at him but only manages is a louder groan. The pressure’s building inside him, and Danny knocks his hand aside and strokes his cock. Eyes still closed.
Don comes, graying out at the edge of his vision, and curls his fingers into Danny’s side hard enough to leave still more bruises. Danny keeps fucking him through it all, keeps hitting his prostate with each stroke in a way that makes Don’s breath come in little gasps.
Danny’s moving on automatic-has been since he shut his eyes. Don runs his hands over every bit of Danny’s skin he can reach and presses his thumb into the bruise on Danny’s arm. Danny grunts and snaps his eyes open, and Don can feel how close he is, whole body stuttering. One last thrust, and Danny’s groaning, pulsing inside him.
Danny stares again, and the look on his face is close to caught off guard. He collapses half on top of Don, grunting again, and Don slides an arm around his waist. They’re both breathing hard, too heavy to move, and he can feel Danny’s heart racing.
After a few minutes, Danny clears his throat and shifts away. “Y’know, you could’ve hung my clothes over something last night. They’re still all damp.”
Don stretches, arching his back. “And you could’ve not showed up on my doorstep, soaked to the bone and shaking with hypothermia.”
“Whatever.” Danny elbows him and sits up. “But I’m supposed to go home in damp pants?”
Under the covers, Don kicks him. “Borrow something of mine.”
“You’re freakishly tall. Nothing you have is going to fit me right.”
He has a point there, but Don kicks him a little harder.
“I am not freakishly tall, and you got no business trying to argue with me before we’ve had coffee.”
Because that is what Danny’s trying to do, and they both know it.
……
thanks for reading; feedback much appreciated
*ahem*
Yes. In which I give in to many of my cheapest impulses-
title: And The Fight Washes Out
with: Flack/Danny
rated: NC-17
herein: post-ep for “Crime and Misdemeanor”
disclaim: they continue to own me, not vice versa.
in ‘verse with: Sometimes, Awake, The Facts, Wrong
note: cut text from Bruce Springsteen’s “Backstreets,” because apparently I can’t quit listening to Springsteen today
great thanks: to twincy for the beta and feedback
Slumped down on the couch like this, Don knows he’s going to give himself a crick in his neck, but he’s too tired to move. Work ran over, so he hasn’t been home long. Trying to stay awake to see the NHL scores, but he keeps nodding off.
When the buzzer sounds long, it startles him awake. He drags himself over to the door, clears his throat, and leans on into the intercom button with the heel of his hand.
“Who’s there?”
There’s no answer, and Don rubs his face and curses and straightens the waistband of his sweatpants. He crosses the room again and stands behind the couch and rubs his face again until he can focus on the scores running across the bottom of the screen.
Rangers won. Fuck yeah.
Don turns off the tv, and he’s halfway to his bed when the door buzzes again. He rolls his eyes and goes back to the intercom.
“Who the fuck is down there?”
Again, static and silence and the rain thrumming against his window.
Could be some punk ass kids. Could be someone’s got the wrong building or apartment. Could be someone’s trying to annoy his way into the building. He should just ignore it and go to sleep, but there’s something weird crawling around the pit of his stomach.
Pulling his jacket on, Don drags himself downstairs to look.
He cracks the door to the building open, peers out into the rain, and there’s Danny, just out of arm’s reach. He’s facing the street, hunched over, soaked to the bone with no more than his suit jacket to keep the downpour off him. Raindrops course down his neck. Don throws the door open, grabs him and pulls him inside.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Messer.”
Danny jerks away, stumbling back against the foyer wall. Then he seems to recognize Don. He’s not wearing his glasses, and there’s a bruise forming on his right cheekbone that might turn into a black eye.
Don grabs Danny’s arm and hauls him upstairs. By the time they’re inside Don’s apartment, Danny’s shaking. He’s soaking wet and dripping all over the place, so Don leads him straight to the bathroom.
And Danny lets himself be led.
Danny’s been swinging wide all week, but Don didn’t expect this level of fucked up. What’d Aiden not tell him? Or what did Danny not tell Aiden.
“Danny-talk to me. What’s going on?” He cups Danny’s face and turns his head to get a better look at the bruise. Danny stares at something over Don’s shoulder.
“Nothin.”
“Bullshit.” This close he can smell the alcohol on Danny’s breath.
Danny shudders. “I’m cold.” He keeps shaking. His eyes are glassy.
“Shit,” Don says quietly. “No shit.” He yanks Danny’s jacket off, and Danny doesn’t help or resist-except his hands are fists. There’s another bruise on his right knuckles.
Don works Danny’s shirt buttons as quickly as he can, but his own hands are clumsy. He peels the shirt off, revealing three more bruises-in-progress on Danny’s ribs, a fourth on his left arm, and a fifth on his solar plexus that must’ve knocked the wind out of him.
“What’d you do, get in a fight?”
Danny flashes him a weak grin. “You should see the other guy.”
“Did you get hit in the head? Lose consciousness?” Don runs his fingers through Danny’s hair, feeling for bumps. “Danny, look at me.”
“No, m’okay,” Danny mumbles, but his eyes don’t quite focus.
And he’s freezing cold to the touch. Don kneels and gets him to step out of his shoes. “One at a time now.” Danny complies, but his reaction time is slow. “You better be telling me the truth Danny, because so help me if you have a concussion and you’re lying about it? I’m gonna beat the shit out of you.”
Danny doesn’t seem to hear him and goes back to trembling and staring at an empty spot on the bathroom wall. Still kneeling, Don unfastens Danny’s belt and pants.
“You gonna put your mouth to good use?”
Don snorts. “That all you think about?” He glances up at Danny, who’s looking down, who’s looking at Don finally, though his eyes are blue slits.
“Like you’re any better’n me.” Danny’s hands finally relax, and as he wraps his arms around himself, Don notices a scrape across his left palm. “I wanna lie down.” Danny’s eyes are closed now, and he sways a little.
“Not yet.” Don braces Danny as he steps out of his pants. “We gotta get you warm first. C’mon.” Don turns the shower on-warm but not hot-and pushes Danny inside.
“Fuck.” Danny moves away from the spray of water and shakes harder, an uncontrollable full body shudder. “Fuck,” he repeats, and it’s almost a whimper. He starts to climb out of the shower, but Don strips off his own clothes and climbs in after him. He wraps his arms around Danny, who struggles for a minute then leans against him, digging fingernails into his shoulder and shaking even harder. “Oh fuck,” he says again, and it’s almost a sob, his breath coming in stuttered little gasps against Don’s chest.
“Don’t hyperventilate,” Don orders. “Hear me?” He rubs his hands up and down Danny’s back and edges them directly under the spray. After several minutes, Danny stops trembling, and Don feels like he can breathe again. When Danny relaxes his grip and his arms slip down around Don’s waist, Don reaches over and turns up the hot water. The last of the tension drains from Danny’s body.
“Okay, Danny. What happened.”
Danny murmurs something, but it’s lost in the rhythm of the water.
Don smiles in spite of himself. “Didn’t quite catch that.”
Sighing, Danny tilts his head up. “Went to a bar.” His eyes are still glassy.
“And?”
“And I had a couple drinks.” Danny’s lip curls. “The fuck d’you think?”
“Good, good. That’s the number one bar activity.” Don bites his tongue and nods his head and smooths Danny’s hair back. Right. He’s got to play nice if he wants the whole story. He can always beat some sense into Danny later-though God damn whoever tried to do it earlier tonight. “Then what?”
The fight washes out of Danny again. “This asshole started talking to me.”
“About what?”
“I don’t remember.” Danny lays his head back against Don’s shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. He was an asshole.”
“Sounds like it.” Don’s grinning now, still in spite of himself.
Danny laughs a little, but it’s a weird, hollow sound. “I could’ve taken him too. I would’ve kicked his ass if his asshole friends hadn’t been there.”
“I’m sure you would’ve.” Don means it. Danny’s a volatile fucker, and when he’s good and mad he fights like a pit bull. “So then you decided it was nice weather for a walk?”
“Fuck you.” Danny tenses again. “Didn’t wanna stay at the bar after that. Not my fault it was raining.”
“Okay, makes sense.” Don strokes a hand down Danny’s spine again. “So, to recap, you went to a bar, got drunk, got in a barfight, and took a walk when it happened to be pouring down rain.”
“Something like that.” Danny presses his face into Don’s neck, but Don pulls back a fraction to look down at Danny.
“What the fuck am I gonna do with you.”
Danny’s eyes go blank and he starts to pull himself out of Don’s grip, but Don holds him tighter.
“Fuck’s sake, Messer. I didn’t mean it like that.” Though maybe Danny already knew it.
Anyway, the words seem to work because Danny relaxes again. They stand like that for several more minutes, not talking.
It’s a mark of how exhausted Danny must be because he’s not a fan of extended physical contact unless sex is actually happening. Don kinda likes a warm body against his own, but it’s strange to hold Danny like this when he’s so still-now that the shivering has stopped.
“You still cold?” Don asks, even though it’s a bit of a stupid question with all the steam in the room.
“No.”
Don turns the shower off and grabs two fresh towels.
Danny’s pale beneath the flush of pink the hot water has left on his skin, and the bruises stand out, livid. He seems unsteady when he steps out of the shower-but when Don starts drying him he grabs the towel away and does it himself. He’s capable of a pretty good glare, too.
When they get to the cooler air in Don’s bedroom, Danny shudders. He shuts his eyes, forces himself completely still, then starts to tremble all over again. His hands clench, knuckles white.
“Goddammit.” Don murmurs to himself and throws Danny a sweatshirt and sweatpants that will be big on him but warm too. He also shoves an extra blanket at Danny. “Get under the covers, I’ll be back in a second.”
Don grabs aspirin and a full glass of warmish water from the tap and carries it back to the bedroom. Danny’s curled on his side under both blankets, only trembling a little. “Here.” He makes Danny take two aspirin and drink all the water, then crawls into bed and wraps Danny in his arms.
Danny-who’s usually so warm-bodied-is still cool to the touch but not nearly as bad as earlier. Finally, he stops trembling and seems to relax against Don’s body. He huddles even closer, tangling their legs together, and starts to kiss Don’s neck. Don doesn’t really respond, and Danny stops kissing him but stays close.
Something’s still wrong because Danny hates to have someone lay against him like this, and the pretense of shared body heat only goes so far.
Danny’s breathing evens out, and Don can feel the counterpoint of his pulse.
“Hey,” Don whispers because he’s not sure if Danny’s still awake.
“Hm.” It’s a sleepy half-noise.
“So why’d you go get drunk and in a barfight, anyway?”
“Didn’ go lookin for a fight.”
“Okay.” It’s bullshit, but he strokes Danny’s back with a thumb. Danny may still be looking for a fight. “Something happen at work?”
Danny shifts a little and mutters something too quiet for Don to catch.
“What’s that?” He pulls Danny a fraction closer. Danny’s half-asleep, or maybe past that, which is the only reason Don might get an answer.
“Mac yelled at me.”
Don waits a moment for his brain to process this fact and finds it can’t. “Mac yelled at you?”
“In the middle of the lab. Everyone could hear him.”
Now it’s Don who’s cold, and he has Danny plus two blankets draped on top of him.
“What for?”
“Guy died of natural causes, but it was weird so I ran with it anyway. Only took a couple hours.” Danny sighs. “Stupid.” Don doesn’t know if Danny means Mac or himself or both.
Danny’s arms tighten around him for a fraction of a second, and Don presses his mouth into a flat line. The whole fucking thing was stupid. The whole damn chain of events had Mac’s and Danny’s special kind of idiocy written all over it.
Nothing much to be done about it now. Danny doesn’t move again, and it’s too good lying here, tangled up with someone else. Don pushes it all out of his head best he can and lets himself be lulled by the rhythm of Danny’s breathing. It’s still raining, a steady white noise in the background. Don’s warm and heavy-limbed, and right before he drifts off he slips into a half-dream about shooting hoops with Danny. Only someone turned the morgue into a court and the columns kept getting in the way.
-
Don’s jolted awake, and it’s Danny shoving him away.
“Get offa me, I gotta piss,” he mutters.
Don rolls onto his back, yawning through a smile as Danny stumbles toward the bathroom. And all is right with the world. Or maybe it’s that the world has righted itself. He listens, but the rain has finally stopped. Through a gap in the curtains it looks like the sky is starting to lighten. Don reaches over to turn on the bedside lamp.
A few minutes later Danny comes back, squinting around the room. “Where are my glasses?”
Don stretches and puts his hands behind his head. “You weren’t wearing them when you got here.”
“Shit.” Danny carefully drops back onto the bed, lying on his stomach. “They weren’t in any of my pockets.”
Don snorts and rolls closer to Danny. “How’s the hangover?”
Danny shrugs. “Not bad.” His eyes are bloodshot, but he seems to mean it. “What time is it?”
Don peers at the alarm clock. “Six-fifteen.”
Danny sighs and sinks a little deeper into the mattress. “Fuck.” He closes his eyes, and Don scoots closer to get a look at the purple bruise blooming on his cheek. Danny opens his eyes just enough to glare and swats Don’s hand away. “Asshole.”
Don raises his eyebrows. “Me or him?”
“Both.” Danny breaks into a mean little smile. “Asshole.”
“Least you’re not going to have a black eye,” Don points out.
Danny continues to glare, and Don grins back at him. He’s close enough that he knows Danny can see him fine. The glare falls apart, and before Don can get a good look at what’s replaced it Danny’s kissing him on the mouth.
It’s startlingly soft at first, Danny’s lips moving over his own. Then Don rolls onto his back, bringing Danny on top of him. Damn good thing Danny didn’t get punched in the mouth. Don slips his hand under Danny’s sweatshirt, skimming over the softly swollen bruises. Danny’s breath hitches, then he shifts closer, deepening the kiss, and Don barely hangs on to the noises rising in his throat. Danny’s got a nice mouth, and they don’t kiss all that often.
It probably averages out to every other month or so if it were a regular thing, but it’s not a regular thing at all. One of them has a real shitty day, they go get drunk together and end up screwing around. Even then, it’s just sex; they don’t spend much time on the preliminaries.
They strip quickly, and even though they’re sober and it’s morning, this is no different than any other time. Not really. Don catches a glimpse of hard purple marks before Danny spreads out over him again and they both gasp. Danny’s said it a couple times now, and it’s true that sometimes a stranger’s body is not what you need.
At the same time, Don doesn’t have to rationalize like Danny. It’s enough that Danny is his friend and Danny has a nice mouth-and Danny has a lot of other nice attributes too, most of which are pressed up against Don right now.
They settle into a rhythm, and Don likes Danny’s weight on top of him like this. It’s good-pleasure sparking all over his body-and he gets to kiss Danny too. Long open-mouthed kisses. Kissing is good-it’s messy and direct and disgustingly intimate-and Don would happily spend all day kissing anyone with half a clue what they’re doing, though he’d never admit it.
They’ve never had sex quite like this, and Don feels a cool streak of disappointment when Danny pulls away a little. Danny’s mouth is swollen and has a desperate shape. Then his hand goes back between Don’s legs, teasing behind his balls, and Don nods.
When Danny moves away to snag the lube and a condom from the nightstand, Don shivers from the loss of skin contact.
Danny settles back in, and Don pulls him down for another kiss, gasping into his mouth when Danny starts to tease with his fingers again. Don spreads his legs wider and pushes into it.
Finally Danny slides a slick finger inside, and Don moans when Danny twists and brushes against his prostate. Two fingers push in too quickly, and Danny kisses him deep-a blur of tongue. Cursing, Don digs his fingers into the tight muscles of Danny’s back, and Danny chuckles a little until Don bites his shoulder hard enough to mark-give him another bruise.
Don drops his head back and works his hips, fucking himself on Danny’s fingers as they scissor and twist to hit the same spot over and again. Danny leaves short biting kisses along his jaw and neck, and through the haze of sex, he realizes that Danny’s been much too quiet.
“Alright,” Don gasps. Because if they’re going to do this, he wants to come with Danny inside him. If Danny wants to do this, they need to do it already. “C’mon.” Danny grabs hold of Don’s hips, but Don stops him. “It’s good.” Like this. Danny’s hands have a little tremor that Don can’t think about right now, so he takes the condom and puts it on Danny.
Danny shoves a pillow under Don’s hips, hooks one of Don’s legs over his shoulder, and eases inside. Don squeezes himself and breathes deep, watching the concentration on Danny’s face, the narrow eyes and the way he licks his lips.
Danny pulls out, and Don trembles a little, biting his lip in frustration. Danny lines himself up again, adjusts the angle, and pushes in hard-a direct thrust against his prostate. Don moves with it, then hooks his free leg around Danny’s back, trying to draw him closer. Danny shifts, leaning down to scrape his teeth over Don’s lower lip, then draws back and stares.
The way Don’s being watched, he feels like a fucking criminal, but then Danny does all of it over again and Don doesn’t give a shit. Soon the pace is brutal, and Don’s probably making enough noise for both of them.
Danny shuts his eyes and presses his mouth into a sharp line. Danny shuts his eyes, and that’s worse than the staring. Don wants to yell at him but only manages is a louder groan. The pressure’s building inside him, and Danny knocks his hand aside and strokes his cock. Eyes still closed.
Don comes, graying out at the edge of his vision, and curls his fingers into Danny’s side hard enough to leave still more bruises. Danny keeps fucking him through it all, keeps hitting his prostate with each stroke in a way that makes Don’s breath come in little gasps.
Danny’s moving on automatic-has been since he shut his eyes. Don runs his hands over every bit of Danny’s skin he can reach and presses his thumb into the bruise on Danny’s arm. Danny grunts and snaps his eyes open, and Don can feel how close he is, whole body stuttering. One last thrust, and Danny’s groaning, pulsing inside him.
Danny stares again, and the look on his face is close to caught off guard. He collapses half on top of Don, grunting again, and Don slides an arm around his waist. They’re both breathing hard, too heavy to move, and he can feel Danny’s heart racing.
After a few minutes, Danny clears his throat and shifts away. “Y’know, you could’ve hung my clothes over something last night. They’re still all damp.”
Don stretches, arching his back. “And you could’ve not showed up on my doorstep, soaked to the bone and shaking with hypothermia.”
“Whatever.” Danny elbows him and sits up. “But I’m supposed to go home in damp pants?”
Under the covers, Don kicks him. “Borrow something of mine.”
“You’re freakishly tall. Nothing you have is going to fit me right.”
He has a point there, but Don kicks him a little harder.
“I am not freakishly tall, and you got no business trying to argue with me before we’ve had coffee.”
Because that is what Danny’s trying to do, and they both know it.
……
thanks for reading; feedback much appreciated