Fic: Your Beauty Lost to You Yourself (for stagesoflove)
Title: Your Beauty Lost to You Yourself
Author: stellaluna_
Fandom: CSI:NY
Rating: R for sexual content and explicit language
Summary: Danny understands more and more all the time. Post-S2. Danny/Mac/Stella. This is set in the same continuity as the original D/M/S series I did for the last round of stagesoflove, though you don't have to read that to follow this.
Disclaimer: None of these are mine. Characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS, and Alliance Atlantis.
Notes: For the stagesoflove Five Stages of Sexual Response theme set (prompt: Excitement).
The margarita is a cool shock on Danny's tongue, the cold sweetness of the mix and, underneath it, the clarity and heat of the tequila; and he leans back in the armchair, works on his drink while he listens to Mac and Stella argue the merits of Nina Simone versus Billie Holiday. He keeps losing the thread of conversation, the booze making it too easy to get lost in the tangled thicket of his own thoughts, but that's all right; the music debate, while interesting, isn't really what the two of them are talking about. There's the words, and then there are the spaces between the words -- or the words beneath the words, maybe. Danny knows that, tonight, especially, it's the latter he needs to be listening to.
Because neither of them are talking about why they're really here tonight. None of them are, and yet the subject has been there in every turn the conversation has taken, from trading lab gossip and the latest speculation about Sid's past (everyone knows he used to be a chef, but the new story is that before that he was in a punk band, back in the '80s, under a different name), to Einstürzende Neubaten and some of Wim Wenders' older movies ("What, did you get that bored with porn back in the Corps, Mac?" Danny had asked, which made Stella laugh and Mac roll his eyes); and then to Ray and Bird and right back to music again. Which is how they got here, Mac and Stella arguing about whose version of "Strange Fruit" is superior.
Underneath all of this has been what they're not saying, how they're not talking about why they're really here tonight, which, as far as Danny is concerned, is simply to screw each others' brains out.
Or maybe that's too crude. Danny looks from one to the other, watching their faces, their mouths, and he still can recall every detail of that first evening in sharp relief. He also remembers how they'd tried again a little while later and how it hadn't worked out, how Stella had made excuses and left before any of them had even touched each other. He hadn't understood that at first, because from the way the three of them had been around each other at work, and from what Mac had told him, Stella was okay with it, and had been just as reassuring with Mac as Danny had been.
"It's still rough for her," Mac had said, after he'd closed the door and then just stood there for a minute. Danny didn't say anything, and Mac looked over at him. "Frankie. Even if she doesn't show it."
"Right. Sure," Danny had said, and it had been so obvious that he wondered at himself for not making the connection right away. Mac might have been screwing both of them for more or less the same reasons, but he and Stella each had different reasons for needing that comfort in the first place.
Yet Danny hadn't been able to shake the idea that Stella still wanted it to happen again, in spite of, or maybe because of, her hesitation. So he'd done what he almost always does, played his hunches, and he'd turned out to be right. He watches Stella as she says, "But that's not the same thing, Mac," studies the delicate curve of her wrist as she pushes her hair back from her forehead. He remembers brushing up against her that day in the lab, the heat that had been pouring off her body, and the droplets of sweat beneath his fingers as he traced the bones in her spine. He'd entertained a brief fantasy of sinking to his knees and licking off the sweat, licking it from all over her body, before he'd made himself move away.
There had been that, and there had been the look on her face later on, when she'd watched him touch Mac in the elevator. She'd been surprised, of course, but there had been attraction there, too, lust. Right before the elevator doors closed he'd seen something deeper in her eyes, a yearning that made his balls ache with desire.
Then she'd turned the tables and cornered him in the elevator, and he'd felt even more pleased with himself for listening to his instincts. He never would have expected it, but it hadn't taken him half as much by surprise as the question Mac asked him a few nights later, when they were in bed together.
Danny takes another mouthful of margarita from his almost-empty glass, and Mac says, "Well, if you wouldn't call it a blues progression, then what would you call it?"
"Who says you have to call it anything?" Stella says. Danny swallows hard.
They'd already fucked once, lazily, and were lying in bed, kissing and not talking about anything much, when Mac had asked him the question Stella told him to pass along. Danny was still staring at him, wondering what he was supposed to say, when Mac added, "But before you answer her question, you should answer mine."
"What -- "
"Do you want to fuck her?"
Danny sat up, pushing Mac's hand away from his chest. "What? What the hell kind of question is that?"
Mac's jaw was tight with tension, and the look in his eyes was -- not angry. That was the wrong word. Afraid was closer. Betrayed. "It's a very simple one, Danny," he said.
Danny got to his feet and started pacing back and forth. This was what he'd been pushing for, so why should he be scared to answer? For that matter, why should Mac look so tense, when he's the one who started screwing the two of them in the first place?
"All right," he said. "Jesus. Yes, I want to fuck her. Are you happy now?"
Before Danny could really react, Mac was on his feet, too, and had him by the wrists, backed up to the wall. He tensed, ready to fight, but then Mac's palms pressed into his and he wrapped his fingers around Danny's. "Now her question," he said.
Mac was hard against him and so Danny slid his voice softer.
"I don't know. There are so many possibilities. I'd like to be inside her. Get in there nice and deep while you watch. Or maybe all of us together." He was getting hard again himself now, and he tightened his fingers around Mac's as he rubbed against him. "After all, you got to be in Stella while I was in you. Why not the other way around?"
Mac shoved back just far enough so that they were looking into each other's eyes. He didn't let go of Danny's hands. "So you do want it," he said. "Just like Stella does."
Danny pushed his hips forward until Mac let out a little gasp and returned the thrust. "Boy, that hits you where you live," he said. "Who are you more jealous of, me or her?"
"I don't know," Mac said, fast, and then let go of him so suddenly that Danny stumbled forward a step.
Mac backed off, too, just half a step, then stopped. He closed his eyes. "That's not true." He shook his head, and his voice was quiet and defeated-sounding. Danny stood still, watching, and Mac bit his lip. "Both of you," he said.
That wasn't what Danny had expected to hear, but he tried not to show his surprise, even though he suspected Mac wouldn't notice if he did. "You know that all of this is happening in the first place because of you," he said.
Mac opened his eyes. "Because I've been sleeping with each of you."
"Look." Danny moved closer to him. "I can't speak for Stella, but I think we both want the same things you do. And I know we both got reason to be jealous."
Mac put a hand on his shoulder. "No, you don't," he said.
They had kissed then, and gone back to bed, and Danny had fucked him hard and fast. They had both been falling asleep when he told Mac that they should have drinks with Stella that weekend.
Danny's drink is gone now, and he stands up to get himself a fresh one. When he does, he realizes how drunk he really is; he goes lightheaded for a moment, then has to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other so that he can make it to the kitchen and back without losing his balance.
Then again, he thinks as he comes back into the living room, he's not the only one; Mac and Stella are probably about as hammered as he is. He can tell by their body language: Stella gets more expansive and more languid as her intoxication grows, while Mac gets more circumspect, more deliberate in both his speech and gestures. They both look up at his approach, and Danny wonders why they aren't touching yet. They should be, by now. All of them should be.
Maybe it's up to him to be the instigator again. Maybe someday he won't need to be, just like maybe someday they won't need these drunken walls between them before they do this. Someday. For now, he's willing to do what's needed to move them forward, and so he goes and sits on the couch next to Stella, instead of in the armchair again.
"You kids having fun?" he asks.
Mac nods, and Stella says, "You've been quiet."
"Just doing some thinking," he says. "Tequila helps me concentrate." He leans against the back of the couch, letting his leg brush Stella's. She doesn't pull away.
"Looked pretty heavy," she says.
"Did you come to any conclusions?" Mac asks.
"Some." Danny sets his glass down on the coffee table, then rests his hand on Stella's wrist. "You know, you really caught me off-guard in the elevator the other day."
She smiles at him. "I was just following your example."
Danny draws his fingers lightly along the inside of her arm, and hears her catch her breath. "You were good at it," he says. "Mac tell you about our conversation the other night?"
"He did."
Mac is silent, watching them.
"And how do you feel about it?" Danny asks.
Stella seems to be considering the question. "I think we all want the same thing," she says at last.
Danny kisses the inside of her wrist. "Mac?" he says.
"You know what I want," Mac says. He still hasn't moved.
"All right, then." Danny holds Stella's arm for a moment more, then stands and holds his hand out to her. "C'mere."
She comes to him willingly -- as if he could have imagined anything else, or wanted this otherwise. But her eyes are very bright when she looks up into his face, the pupils wide and black as he bends to kiss her. They'd done something very like this the first night, too, Danny remembers, had made Mac sit on the couch and watch while they touched each other.
But they hadn't kissed then, not yet; and this isn't about Mac, not precisely, although Danny is aware of his gaze on them.
Stella kisses him, slides her hand up to his face and pulls him closer as he presses his mouth to hers. Her lips are soft beneath his, warm sweet kiss that turns his knees to jelly. He nips at her lower lip, then sucks on it until she arches into him.
Danny pulls back a little, but doesn't let go of her, letting his hands slip beneath her shirt as he kisses the side of her face, presses quick little kisses along her cheeks and the bridge of her nose and her forehead. He's teasing his lips along the side of her face when, for some reason, he opens his eyes, and there, right up close at the corner of her eye, he can see a tiny scar just outside the crease. There's powder there, and some kind of cream, but this late in the day, and this close, it's faded enough so that he can see what she's trying to cover up. In any other circumstances, it wouldn't be visible at all.
He doesn't hesitate even for a second, but cups her face between his hands and keeps kissing her. She holds him by the waist and tilts her head back. He thinks about that scar, and thinks about what it means. "God, you're beautiful," he says, low, and kisses her mouth again.
He looks over at Mac. "You too," he says. "Get over here."
Mac joins them in the middle of the room. He kisses Danny first, and Danny doesn't hold anything back, kissing him hot and hard and pulling him into a tight embrace as Stella watches them, and Mac's mouth is as yielding against his as hers was.
Danny breaks the kiss and Mac turns to Stella. He pulls her into his arms and bends his mouth to hers, and Danny steps behind her. He presses himself to her back and wraps his arms around her waist, letting his palms rest on her stomach and then sliding one hand lower. He eases his hand between her legs and strokes her with two fingers, teases at her and caresses Mac at the same time. She lets out a soft little cry and Mac groans.
Danny is so hard that he's already aching, and he rubs himself against Stella's ass, nuzzling at her as she and Mac keep kissing. Mac's fingers close around Danny's, and they touch her together until she gasps and says, "Please."
This is it, Danny realizes as they kiss each other again and as they work their way toward the bedroom: these are the spaces between the words, all the things that they've been dancing around. He no longer has to work at hearing the real meaning underneath what's being said or not said, because he's there.
Stella slides her hand into his and Mac's hand is warm on the back of his neck, and Danny thinks he's beginning to understand better, now, why Mac started taking both of them to bed in the first place.
Feedback is always appreciated.
Author: stellaluna_
Fandom: CSI:NY
Rating: R for sexual content and explicit language
Summary: Danny understands more and more all the time. Post-S2. Danny/Mac/Stella. This is set in the same continuity as the original D/M/S series I did for the last round of stagesoflove, though you don't have to read that to follow this.
Disclaimer: None of these are mine. Characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS, and Alliance Atlantis.
Notes: For the stagesoflove Five Stages of Sexual Response theme set (prompt: Excitement).
The margarita is a cool shock on Danny's tongue, the cold sweetness of the mix and, underneath it, the clarity and heat of the tequila; and he leans back in the armchair, works on his drink while he listens to Mac and Stella argue the merits of Nina Simone versus Billie Holiday. He keeps losing the thread of conversation, the booze making it too easy to get lost in the tangled thicket of his own thoughts, but that's all right; the music debate, while interesting, isn't really what the two of them are talking about. There's the words, and then there are the spaces between the words -- or the words beneath the words, maybe. Danny knows that, tonight, especially, it's the latter he needs to be listening to.
Because neither of them are talking about why they're really here tonight. None of them are, and yet the subject has been there in every turn the conversation has taken, from trading lab gossip and the latest speculation about Sid's past (everyone knows he used to be a chef, but the new story is that before that he was in a punk band, back in the '80s, under a different name), to Einstürzende Neubaten and some of Wim Wenders' older movies ("What, did you get that bored with porn back in the Corps, Mac?" Danny had asked, which made Stella laugh and Mac roll his eyes); and then to Ray and Bird and right back to music again. Which is how they got here, Mac and Stella arguing about whose version of "Strange Fruit" is superior.
Underneath all of this has been what they're not saying, how they're not talking about why they're really here tonight, which, as far as Danny is concerned, is simply to screw each others' brains out.
Or maybe that's too crude. Danny looks from one to the other, watching their faces, their mouths, and he still can recall every detail of that first evening in sharp relief. He also remembers how they'd tried again a little while later and how it hadn't worked out, how Stella had made excuses and left before any of them had even touched each other. He hadn't understood that at first, because from the way the three of them had been around each other at work, and from what Mac had told him, Stella was okay with it, and had been just as reassuring with Mac as Danny had been.
"It's still rough for her," Mac had said, after he'd closed the door and then just stood there for a minute. Danny didn't say anything, and Mac looked over at him. "Frankie. Even if she doesn't show it."
"Right. Sure," Danny had said, and it had been so obvious that he wondered at himself for not making the connection right away. Mac might have been screwing both of them for more or less the same reasons, but he and Stella each had different reasons for needing that comfort in the first place.
Yet Danny hadn't been able to shake the idea that Stella still wanted it to happen again, in spite of, or maybe because of, her hesitation. So he'd done what he almost always does, played his hunches, and he'd turned out to be right. He watches Stella as she says, "But that's not the same thing, Mac," studies the delicate curve of her wrist as she pushes her hair back from her forehead. He remembers brushing up against her that day in the lab, the heat that had been pouring off her body, and the droplets of sweat beneath his fingers as he traced the bones in her spine. He'd entertained a brief fantasy of sinking to his knees and licking off the sweat, licking it from all over her body, before he'd made himself move away.
There had been that, and there had been the look on her face later on, when she'd watched him touch Mac in the elevator. She'd been surprised, of course, but there had been attraction there, too, lust. Right before the elevator doors closed he'd seen something deeper in her eyes, a yearning that made his balls ache with desire.
Then she'd turned the tables and cornered him in the elevator, and he'd felt even more pleased with himself for listening to his instincts. He never would have expected it, but it hadn't taken him half as much by surprise as the question Mac asked him a few nights later, when they were in bed together.
Danny takes another mouthful of margarita from his almost-empty glass, and Mac says, "Well, if you wouldn't call it a blues progression, then what would you call it?"
"Who says you have to call it anything?" Stella says. Danny swallows hard.
They'd already fucked once, lazily, and were lying in bed, kissing and not talking about anything much, when Mac had asked him the question Stella told him to pass along. Danny was still staring at him, wondering what he was supposed to say, when Mac added, "But before you answer her question, you should answer mine."
"What -- "
"Do you want to fuck her?"
Danny sat up, pushing Mac's hand away from his chest. "What? What the hell kind of question is that?"
Mac's jaw was tight with tension, and the look in his eyes was -- not angry. That was the wrong word. Afraid was closer. Betrayed. "It's a very simple one, Danny," he said.
Danny got to his feet and started pacing back and forth. This was what he'd been pushing for, so why should he be scared to answer? For that matter, why should Mac look so tense, when he's the one who started screwing the two of them in the first place?
"All right," he said. "Jesus. Yes, I want to fuck her. Are you happy now?"
Before Danny could really react, Mac was on his feet, too, and had him by the wrists, backed up to the wall. He tensed, ready to fight, but then Mac's palms pressed into his and he wrapped his fingers around Danny's. "Now her question," he said.
Mac was hard against him and so Danny slid his voice softer.
"I don't know. There are so many possibilities. I'd like to be inside her. Get in there nice and deep while you watch. Or maybe all of us together." He was getting hard again himself now, and he tightened his fingers around Mac's as he rubbed against him. "After all, you got to be in Stella while I was in you. Why not the other way around?"
Mac shoved back just far enough so that they were looking into each other's eyes. He didn't let go of Danny's hands. "So you do want it," he said. "Just like Stella does."
Danny pushed his hips forward until Mac let out a little gasp and returned the thrust. "Boy, that hits you where you live," he said. "Who are you more jealous of, me or her?"
"I don't know," Mac said, fast, and then let go of him so suddenly that Danny stumbled forward a step.
Mac backed off, too, just half a step, then stopped. He closed his eyes. "That's not true." He shook his head, and his voice was quiet and defeated-sounding. Danny stood still, watching, and Mac bit his lip. "Both of you," he said.
That wasn't what Danny had expected to hear, but he tried not to show his surprise, even though he suspected Mac wouldn't notice if he did. "You know that all of this is happening in the first place because of you," he said.
Mac opened his eyes. "Because I've been sleeping with each of you."
"Look." Danny moved closer to him. "I can't speak for Stella, but I think we both want the same things you do. And I know we both got reason to be jealous."
Mac put a hand on his shoulder. "No, you don't," he said.
They had kissed then, and gone back to bed, and Danny had fucked him hard and fast. They had both been falling asleep when he told Mac that they should have drinks with Stella that weekend.
Danny's drink is gone now, and he stands up to get himself a fresh one. When he does, he realizes how drunk he really is; he goes lightheaded for a moment, then has to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other so that he can make it to the kitchen and back without losing his balance.
Then again, he thinks as he comes back into the living room, he's not the only one; Mac and Stella are probably about as hammered as he is. He can tell by their body language: Stella gets more expansive and more languid as her intoxication grows, while Mac gets more circumspect, more deliberate in both his speech and gestures. They both look up at his approach, and Danny wonders why they aren't touching yet. They should be, by now. All of them should be.
Maybe it's up to him to be the instigator again. Maybe someday he won't need to be, just like maybe someday they won't need these drunken walls between them before they do this. Someday. For now, he's willing to do what's needed to move them forward, and so he goes and sits on the couch next to Stella, instead of in the armchair again.
"You kids having fun?" he asks.
Mac nods, and Stella says, "You've been quiet."
"Just doing some thinking," he says. "Tequila helps me concentrate." He leans against the back of the couch, letting his leg brush Stella's. She doesn't pull away.
"Looked pretty heavy," she says.
"Did you come to any conclusions?" Mac asks.
"Some." Danny sets his glass down on the coffee table, then rests his hand on Stella's wrist. "You know, you really caught me off-guard in the elevator the other day."
She smiles at him. "I was just following your example."
Danny draws his fingers lightly along the inside of her arm, and hears her catch her breath. "You were good at it," he says. "Mac tell you about our conversation the other night?"
"He did."
Mac is silent, watching them.
"And how do you feel about it?" Danny asks.
Stella seems to be considering the question. "I think we all want the same thing," she says at last.
Danny kisses the inside of her wrist. "Mac?" he says.
"You know what I want," Mac says. He still hasn't moved.
"All right, then." Danny holds Stella's arm for a moment more, then stands and holds his hand out to her. "C'mere."
She comes to him willingly -- as if he could have imagined anything else, or wanted this otherwise. But her eyes are very bright when she looks up into his face, the pupils wide and black as he bends to kiss her. They'd done something very like this the first night, too, Danny remembers, had made Mac sit on the couch and watch while they touched each other.
But they hadn't kissed then, not yet; and this isn't about Mac, not precisely, although Danny is aware of his gaze on them.
Stella kisses him, slides her hand up to his face and pulls him closer as he presses his mouth to hers. Her lips are soft beneath his, warm sweet kiss that turns his knees to jelly. He nips at her lower lip, then sucks on it until she arches into him.
Danny pulls back a little, but doesn't let go of her, letting his hands slip beneath her shirt as he kisses the side of her face, presses quick little kisses along her cheeks and the bridge of her nose and her forehead. He's teasing his lips along the side of her face when, for some reason, he opens his eyes, and there, right up close at the corner of her eye, he can see a tiny scar just outside the crease. There's powder there, and some kind of cream, but this late in the day, and this close, it's faded enough so that he can see what she's trying to cover up. In any other circumstances, it wouldn't be visible at all.
He doesn't hesitate even for a second, but cups her face between his hands and keeps kissing her. She holds him by the waist and tilts her head back. He thinks about that scar, and thinks about what it means. "God, you're beautiful," he says, low, and kisses her mouth again.
He looks over at Mac. "You too," he says. "Get over here."
Mac joins them in the middle of the room. He kisses Danny first, and Danny doesn't hold anything back, kissing him hot and hard and pulling him into a tight embrace as Stella watches them, and Mac's mouth is as yielding against his as hers was.
Danny breaks the kiss and Mac turns to Stella. He pulls her into his arms and bends his mouth to hers, and Danny steps behind her. He presses himself to her back and wraps his arms around her waist, letting his palms rest on her stomach and then sliding one hand lower. He eases his hand between her legs and strokes her with two fingers, teases at her and caresses Mac at the same time. She lets out a soft little cry and Mac groans.
Danny is so hard that he's already aching, and he rubs himself against Stella's ass, nuzzling at her as she and Mac keep kissing. Mac's fingers close around Danny's, and they touch her together until she gasps and says, "Please."
This is it, Danny realizes as they kiss each other again and as they work their way toward the bedroom: these are the spaces between the words, all the things that they've been dancing around. He no longer has to work at hearing the real meaning underneath what's being said or not said, because he's there.
Stella slides her hand into his and Mac's hand is warm on the back of his neck, and Danny thinks he's beginning to understand better, now, why Mac started taking both of them to bed in the first place.
Feedback is always appreciated.