CSI:NY Fic - "Dream Lover" - Don Flack/Jess Angell - Adult
Written for rounds_of_kink Amnesty Month. It's a lot darker than my usual fare. *is puzzled*
Next up is the New Year Mini-Round, so I'll try for some fluffy kink (or maybe some kinky fluff). *crosses heart* Promise.
~~~~~~~~~~ ~~ ~~~~~~~~~~
Title: Dream Lover
Author: tres_mechante
Fandom: CSI: New York
Pairing/character: Don Flack/Jessica Angell, Don Flack/OFC implied
Rating: FRAO (Adult)
Summary: Don knows he's in a self-destructive spiral, but he just doesn't care since Jess is gone. She is gone, isn't she?
Spoilers: Everything from 5.25 ‘Pay Up’ through to 6.09 'Manhattanhenge' is fair game.
Disclaimer: Not mine. No infringement intended. No profit made. No point in legal action.
Word count: 1,900 approx.
Prompt: guises
Kink: displaying bite marks or hickeys
Warnings: Angst, language, dark themes (depression, alcohol abuse, mention of suicide) Angst, anonymous sex (implied), non-graphic sex, Angst, sex with biting Notes: Started during the Halloween Mini-Round 2009, completed for Amnesty Month.
~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~
“Sorry honey, another time.” Don pried the blonde from his body and walked off the dance floor without a backward look. He snagged his jacket off the back of his chair, downed the last of his drink and left the bar.
Well, that had been a colossal mistake. He’d gone looking for a little company, a bit of something to blunt the physical edge the way the booze did the emotional stuff. She probably had the IQ of her bra size, but she’d been warm, willing and very enthusiastic, rubbing against him like a cat in heat on the dance floor. And he’d felt...nothing. Zip. Zilch.
Don grimaced when he checked the time. It was barely 11:30, plenty of time to go somewhere else and try again, but he really couldn’t work up any enthusiasm. On the other hand, he didn’t want to go home, either. Shit, that was the last thing he wanted to do.
She was waiting for him, the same way she’d been waiting when he got home every night for the past couple of weeks.
Whatever time he crawled home, there she was, curled up in the recliner, watching him with intense dark eyes. She never said anything, just followed him into the bedroom and leaned against the dresser or perched on the side of the bed while he showered and got ready for bed. She never said it, but she looked at him like he was some kind of fucking idiot. Don lost track of how many times he’d told her to go away. It didn’t matter, though; she wouldn’t budge - and refused to explain why.
A sharp nudge almost sent Don sprawling face first on the street. Quickly regaining his balance, he turned to exchange glares with the punk who’d pushed him. Only the recognition that he’d been blocking the sidewalk kept Don from following up the glare with a fist.
No longer in the mood for company, Don crossed the street to a bodega and picked up a few essentials before heading for home. It wasn’t until he walked into his apartment that he remembered why he hadn’t wanted to go home in the first place.
“You’re beginning to piss me off,” he said when he saw her lounging on the sofa as though she belonged there.
She sighed and bowed her head, refusing to look at him.
Well, that was new. Maybe he was finally getting through to her.
He walked into the kitchen and pulled a bottle out of the paper sack. Don had the bottle opened and a mouthful of liquid fire burning his gut before he was even conscious of moving; damn, he’d needed that. He took one more slug and then capped the bottle, leaving by the coffee maker. He peeled out of his clothes on the way to the shower, leaving them where they fell.
He stopped short when he got to the bedroom. She was on the bed, naked and sprawled across the sheets. Fuck. He did not need this. “Do us both a favour, honey. Be gone when I get out, or swear to god I’ll be doing time for murder. You got that? Get the fuck out of my apartment and don’t come back.”
Don didn’t wait to see her reaction, just stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door - and locked it for good measure. The near violent scrubbing of cloth on wet skin mirrored the rage burning in his gut. It seemed to take forever, but the hot water beating down on him did its job; his muscles finally began relaxing their fight or flight tension. Of course, that was followed the inevitable violent shakes that threatened to drop his ass into the tub.
He leaned against the wall, letting the contrast of cool tile and hot water ground him. When did his life become such a mess? He knew he was in a self-destructive spiral, but just couldn’t work up the energy to give a damn. Tears prickled his eyes. Oh Jess. Why did you have to leave me? Don was pretty sure he’d sell his soul to have one more night with her, to feel her arms around him, her lips on his skin...
“Oh, baby, what are you doing to yourself?”
Don shuddered and opened his eyes, surprised to find himself sitting in the tub, cold water cascading over him.
“You’ll catch your death if you stay there.”
He didn’t want to, but he looked over at the woman wrapped in a blanket kneeling beside the tub. “You’re not real,” he said, unsteadily “Go away. God, please just leave me alone.”
She looked at him with sad eyes - Jess’ eyes - and did as he asked; without another word, she left the room.
Don watched her go, this figment of his imagination or some demon sent to torment him. He’d been haunted by this being wearing Jessica’s face for so long her presence had become almost part of him. Don heaved himself out of the tub in a sudden panic. Real or not, if she left, he’d lose the last remnant of his lover, his soul.
“Wait,” he called, rushing out of the bathroom. The bedroom was empty. Heedless of water dripping on the floor he ran into the living room, but that, too, was empty. He was alone.
“Nononono...” he dropped to his knees by the door. Gone. She was gone. Jess was really...gone.
Don began to hyperventilate as panic set in. He didn’t know what to do, just rocked back and forth on his knees, head bowed and hands tearing at his hair. The only thing he did know was that if his gun was in reach he’d eat a bullet, because that was the only way he’d be able to stop the pain.
“Shhh. Don’t do that. You’ll tear out all that beautiful hair.”
Don was afraid to look. He kept his head bowed and his eyes closed, hands still clenched in his hair.
“I’m here, baby,” whispered the beloved voice. “Let it go, Don, just let go.”
His skin prickled at the phantom touch of a hand on his back.
“Not real,” he said over and over even as his body responded to the familiar touch. “We buried you, you’re not here.” He’d finally lost his mind.
“You need me here, so I’m here.”
Reluctantly, hesitantly, Don opened his eyes. Jessica Angell knelt beside him, smiling her little ‘you’re an idiot but I love you anyway’ half-smile. He reached out one hand to touch, but stopped before making contact, afraid that there was nothing - nobody - there to touch.
Jess took his hand in hers and laid his palm against her cheek. “I’m here,” she whispered.
Don broke. “Oh, god, Jess,” he whimpered, moving to hold her, crying when he felt her in his arms, felt her strong embrace in return. He had no idea how long they huddled on the floor; all he knew was that somehow Jess was in his arms and he was never letting her go again.
“Love you,” he whispered again and again until he was silenced by the lips pressed against his. Coherent thought fled and the only thing left was sensation. He had her pinned to the floor at one point, glorying in her softness until she flipped their positions and proceeded to drive him insane in the best possible way.
~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~
The first thing he noticed was that his back was killing him. The second was that there was a really irritating buzzing sound somewhere in the distance. This was immediately followed by the realization that he was sprawled on the floor by the apartment door - stark naked. Damn, he’d really tied one on. Don groaned as he tried to move, flailing slightly when his limbs refused to cooperate.
Jeez, how much did he have to drink last night? And why was he on the floor without anything on?
Don fought his way to his feet and stumbled into the bedroom. He had to kill that awful racket or die trying. The sudden silence, though welcome, did not bring any answers. What he needed was to clear the cobwebs.
A search of the kitchen turned up coffee, just coffee. He had been certain there had been a bottle near the coffee maker - he remembered that much. Frustrated, he went to the cabinet in the bathroom where he kept his emergency flask, but it, too, was missing.
The hell...?
It wasn’t until he was in the shower that the events of the previous night started coming back to him. Jess. His beautiful Jessica had been there. It all came back to him in a rush. She’d held him, kissed him, pinned him down and made sweet love to him.
Don raised his hand to his lips, remembering the stinging kisses.
“Mine,” she’d whispered against his lips. “You are mine, Detective. And don’t you forget it.”
He started to get hard again as the memory of Jessica staking her claim washed over him. He smiled at her promise. “If you so much as look at another skanky ho, I will kick your ass - and you know I can do it.”
She had then proceeded to place little love bites all over his body that left him panting and begging for more, begging for the pleasures only she could give. And all the while she whispered that he was hers and she would never let him go.
Don felt his chest tighten.
Jess was dead. Last night never happened. Grief and booze were obviously driving him insane. Don wondered whether he should start leaving his piece at the station, or just go ahead and put a bullet in his brain - get it over with.
He’d think about it, but for now he’d clean up and get to work. Mac will have his ass if he fucks up the job again. Not that Don would particularly care one way or the other, but after so many years of friendship, he kind of felt he owed Mac something.
The day turned out to be a strange one. People either smirked at him or rolled their eyes at him. It wasn’t until late afternoon that he found out why.
Don strolled through the crime lab and almost collided with Danny coming out of one of the labs. “Watch yourself, there, Messer, before someone knocks you on your ass. I’d hate to have to cite someone for littering.”
Danny glared at his friend. “Funny guy.” Danny squinted a bit and leaned in closer to Don, who backed up a few steps.
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you about personal space?”
“Having to have someone help you when you want to take a crap kinda redefines personal space, ya know?” Danny pointed to the open neckline of Don’s shirt. “You might want to do up a couple of buttons, or maybe invest in a turtleneck.”
Don frowned in confusion.
“Seriously, man. I’m glad you’re finally doing the social thing again, but maybe you should keep that kind of thing under wraps. I’m pretty sure Mac’ll have something to say about professionalism or something.”
Don watched Danny slowly amble away and into another lab. Huh. He ducked into the men’s room. He waited until the other occupant left before going over to the mirror and moving the shirt collar aside.
A string of hickeys decorated his collarbone.
Over the loud pounding of his heart he heard a faint whisper. “You are mine, Detective. And don’t you forget it.”
---END---
Next up is the New Year Mini-Round, so I'll try for some fluffy kink (or maybe some kinky fluff). *crosses heart* Promise.
~~~~~~~~~~ ~~ ~~~~~~~~~~
Title: Dream Lover
Author: tres_mechante
Fandom: CSI: New York
Pairing/character: Don Flack/Jessica Angell, Don Flack/OFC implied
Rating: FRAO (Adult)
Summary: Don knows he's in a self-destructive spiral, but he just doesn't care since Jess is gone. She is gone, isn't she?
Spoilers: Everything from 5.25 ‘Pay Up’ through to 6.09 'Manhattanhenge' is fair game.
Disclaimer: Not mine. No infringement intended. No profit made. No point in legal action.
Word count: 1,900 approx.
Prompt: guises
Kink: displaying bite marks or hickeys
Warnings: Angst, language, dark themes (depression, alcohol abuse, mention of suicide) Angst, anonymous sex (implied), non-graphic sex, Angst, sex with biting Notes: Started during the Halloween Mini-Round 2009, completed for Amnesty Month.
~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~
“Sorry honey, another time.” Don pried the blonde from his body and walked off the dance floor without a backward look. He snagged his jacket off the back of his chair, downed the last of his drink and left the bar.
Well, that had been a colossal mistake. He’d gone looking for a little company, a bit of something to blunt the physical edge the way the booze did the emotional stuff. She probably had the IQ of her bra size, but she’d been warm, willing and very enthusiastic, rubbing against him like a cat in heat on the dance floor. And he’d felt...nothing. Zip. Zilch.
Don grimaced when he checked the time. It was barely 11:30, plenty of time to go somewhere else and try again, but he really couldn’t work up any enthusiasm. On the other hand, he didn’t want to go home, either. Shit, that was the last thing he wanted to do.
She was waiting for him, the same way she’d been waiting when he got home every night for the past couple of weeks.
Whatever time he crawled home, there she was, curled up in the recliner, watching him with intense dark eyes. She never said anything, just followed him into the bedroom and leaned against the dresser or perched on the side of the bed while he showered and got ready for bed. She never said it, but she looked at him like he was some kind of fucking idiot. Don lost track of how many times he’d told her to go away. It didn’t matter, though; she wouldn’t budge - and refused to explain why.
A sharp nudge almost sent Don sprawling face first on the street. Quickly regaining his balance, he turned to exchange glares with the punk who’d pushed him. Only the recognition that he’d been blocking the sidewalk kept Don from following up the glare with a fist.
No longer in the mood for company, Don crossed the street to a bodega and picked up a few essentials before heading for home. It wasn’t until he walked into his apartment that he remembered why he hadn’t wanted to go home in the first place.
“You’re beginning to piss me off,” he said when he saw her lounging on the sofa as though she belonged there.
She sighed and bowed her head, refusing to look at him.
Well, that was new. Maybe he was finally getting through to her.
He walked into the kitchen and pulled a bottle out of the paper sack. Don had the bottle opened and a mouthful of liquid fire burning his gut before he was even conscious of moving; damn, he’d needed that. He took one more slug and then capped the bottle, leaving by the coffee maker. He peeled out of his clothes on the way to the shower, leaving them where they fell.
He stopped short when he got to the bedroom. She was on the bed, naked and sprawled across the sheets. Fuck. He did not need this. “Do us both a favour, honey. Be gone when I get out, or swear to god I’ll be doing time for murder. You got that? Get the fuck out of my apartment and don’t come back.”
Don didn’t wait to see her reaction, just stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door - and locked it for good measure. The near violent scrubbing of cloth on wet skin mirrored the rage burning in his gut. It seemed to take forever, but the hot water beating down on him did its job; his muscles finally began relaxing their fight or flight tension. Of course, that was followed the inevitable violent shakes that threatened to drop his ass into the tub.
He leaned against the wall, letting the contrast of cool tile and hot water ground him. When did his life become such a mess? He knew he was in a self-destructive spiral, but just couldn’t work up the energy to give a damn. Tears prickled his eyes. Oh Jess. Why did you have to leave me? Don was pretty sure he’d sell his soul to have one more night with her, to feel her arms around him, her lips on his skin...
“Oh, baby, what are you doing to yourself?”
Don shuddered and opened his eyes, surprised to find himself sitting in the tub, cold water cascading over him.
“You’ll catch your death if you stay there.”
He didn’t want to, but he looked over at the woman wrapped in a blanket kneeling beside the tub. “You’re not real,” he said, unsteadily “Go away. God, please just leave me alone.”
She looked at him with sad eyes - Jess’ eyes - and did as he asked; without another word, she left the room.
Don watched her go, this figment of his imagination or some demon sent to torment him. He’d been haunted by this being wearing Jessica’s face for so long her presence had become almost part of him. Don heaved himself out of the tub in a sudden panic. Real or not, if she left, he’d lose the last remnant of his lover, his soul.
“Wait,” he called, rushing out of the bathroom. The bedroom was empty. Heedless of water dripping on the floor he ran into the living room, but that, too, was empty. He was alone.
“Nononono...” he dropped to his knees by the door. Gone. She was gone. Jess was really...gone.
Don began to hyperventilate as panic set in. He didn’t know what to do, just rocked back and forth on his knees, head bowed and hands tearing at his hair. The only thing he did know was that if his gun was in reach he’d eat a bullet, because that was the only way he’d be able to stop the pain.
“Shhh. Don’t do that. You’ll tear out all that beautiful hair.”
Don was afraid to look. He kept his head bowed and his eyes closed, hands still clenched in his hair.
“I’m here, baby,” whispered the beloved voice. “Let it go, Don, just let go.”
His skin prickled at the phantom touch of a hand on his back.
“Not real,” he said over and over even as his body responded to the familiar touch. “We buried you, you’re not here.” He’d finally lost his mind.
“You need me here, so I’m here.”
Reluctantly, hesitantly, Don opened his eyes. Jessica Angell knelt beside him, smiling her little ‘you’re an idiot but I love you anyway’ half-smile. He reached out one hand to touch, but stopped before making contact, afraid that there was nothing - nobody - there to touch.
Jess took his hand in hers and laid his palm against her cheek. “I’m here,” she whispered.
Don broke. “Oh, god, Jess,” he whimpered, moving to hold her, crying when he felt her in his arms, felt her strong embrace in return. He had no idea how long they huddled on the floor; all he knew was that somehow Jess was in his arms and he was never letting her go again.
“Love you,” he whispered again and again until he was silenced by the lips pressed against his. Coherent thought fled and the only thing left was sensation. He had her pinned to the floor at one point, glorying in her softness until she flipped their positions and proceeded to drive him insane in the best possible way.
~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~
The first thing he noticed was that his back was killing him. The second was that there was a really irritating buzzing sound somewhere in the distance. This was immediately followed by the realization that he was sprawled on the floor by the apartment door - stark naked. Damn, he’d really tied one on. Don groaned as he tried to move, flailing slightly when his limbs refused to cooperate.
Jeez, how much did he have to drink last night? And why was he on the floor without anything on?
Don fought his way to his feet and stumbled into the bedroom. He had to kill that awful racket or die trying. The sudden silence, though welcome, did not bring any answers. What he needed was to clear the cobwebs.
A search of the kitchen turned up coffee, just coffee. He had been certain there had been a bottle near the coffee maker - he remembered that much. Frustrated, he went to the cabinet in the bathroom where he kept his emergency flask, but it, too, was missing.
The hell...?
It wasn’t until he was in the shower that the events of the previous night started coming back to him. Jess. His beautiful Jessica had been there. It all came back to him in a rush. She’d held him, kissed him, pinned him down and made sweet love to him.
Don raised his hand to his lips, remembering the stinging kisses.
“Mine,” she’d whispered against his lips. “You are mine, Detective. And don’t you forget it.”
He started to get hard again as the memory of Jessica staking her claim washed over him. He smiled at her promise. “If you so much as look at another skanky ho, I will kick your ass - and you know I can do it.”
She had then proceeded to place little love bites all over his body that left him panting and begging for more, begging for the pleasures only she could give. And all the while she whispered that he was hers and she would never let him go.
Don felt his chest tighten.
Jess was dead. Last night never happened. Grief and booze were obviously driving him insane. Don wondered whether he should start leaving his piece at the station, or just go ahead and put a bullet in his brain - get it over with.
He’d think about it, but for now he’d clean up and get to work. Mac will have his ass if he fucks up the job again. Not that Don would particularly care one way or the other, but after so many years of friendship, he kind of felt he owed Mac something.
The day turned out to be a strange one. People either smirked at him or rolled their eyes at him. It wasn’t until late afternoon that he found out why.
Don strolled through the crime lab and almost collided with Danny coming out of one of the labs. “Watch yourself, there, Messer, before someone knocks you on your ass. I’d hate to have to cite someone for littering.”
Danny glared at his friend. “Funny guy.” Danny squinted a bit and leaned in closer to Don, who backed up a few steps.
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you about personal space?”
“Having to have someone help you when you want to take a crap kinda redefines personal space, ya know?” Danny pointed to the open neckline of Don’s shirt. “You might want to do up a couple of buttons, or maybe invest in a turtleneck.”
Don frowned in confusion.
“Seriously, man. I’m glad you’re finally doing the social thing again, but maybe you should keep that kind of thing under wraps. I’m pretty sure Mac’ll have something to say about professionalism or something.”
Don watched Danny slowly amble away and into another lab. Huh. He ducked into the men’s room. He waited until the other occupant left before going over to the mirror and moving the shirt collar aside.
A string of hickeys decorated his collarbone.
Over the loud pounding of his heart he heard a faint whisper. “You are mine, Detective. And don’t you forget it.”
---END---