(no subject)
Title: The Ranks of the Freaks: Wait Till You See Him (Part 1 of 2)
Authors: blueraccoon & sandersyager
Fandom: CSI:NY
Pairing/character: Don Flack/OMC, past Don Flack/Danny Messer
Rating: FRAO
Word Count: 8,869
Prompt: handing over control
Kink: hurt/comfort
Notes/Warnings: Vague spoilers through season five, specific spoiler for season four's Personal Foul. Vanilla sex. References to past domestic violence. Just Wait and Waiting at Home precede this story in the universe.
It's been at least two years since the last time Don saw him in the flesh, the magazine photos and newspaper articles don't count, and he likes to think he'd know Christian anywhere. The blonde curls, too blue eyes, gentle lilt of his accent, those are unmistakable, just like the urge Don has to turn back and find somewhere else to have lunch.
His sisters, laughing and loud and waving him over, stop from backing out and he loses himself in Karen's story about some guy she met at her Ultimate Frisbee game and Liz's showing off her new tattoo. By the time they eat and pay the check, he's mostly forgotten about Christian being there at all.
Of course, it'd be too easy if he could just leave and not have to speak to him, and nothing lately has been easy. So, Don finds himself standing there like a dope while Liz and Karen walk up to Christian, one gushing about Belfry's new single-apparently available for download-and the other saying how it's been entirely too long since they've seen each other.
"Email me, I'll make sure you get a free copy," Christian says to Liz, getting up to kiss her on the cheek. "Karen, it's been--" He breaks off when he sees Don. Two years, at least, probably more like three. "Don," he says, smiling a little shyly. "How the bloody hell have you been? It's been--gods, ages." Christian pushes a hand through his hair. "Would you like--come, sit down, we'll have tea or something."
"We can't," Liz says, smiling apologetically. "Karen's got to work and I have to get home, but you and Don should catch up."
Don thinks of at least five ways to kill her and ten places to hide her body before Karen gives him a nudge. "Go on," she says. "It's not like you're doing anything today." She turns back to Christian. "Make sure he doesn't leave here without your number. Allyson's coming in from that Midwest hellmouth she moved to in a few weeks and she'd love to see you."
"I really..." Don shakes his head, wondering how the hell women manage to do that, completely snow him and then disappear in a flash. He looks at Christian and shrugs. "I guess I'm---are you sure you've got time? You must have somewhere else to be."
"We--" Travis starts, but Christian shakes his head.
"No, not really," he says. "Well, Travis and David do, but I haven't got anywhere to be this afternoon."
"I'm sure we can change our plans," David says easily.
They're protecting him, just like they always do, and Christian smiles. "Don't be silly. You two go, have fun. I'll call you later." He leans down to kiss David on the cheek. "Go on then."
"Christian, really, if you guys had plans," Don says, not missing the way they're both looking at him like they'd rather gnaw off their own hands than leave Christian alone with him. "We could do this some other time." Or not at all.
"We didn't," Christian says firmly, giving both Travis and David a look. "They're just being silly. Guys, really, I've known Don longer than I've known both of you combined, I'm *fine*, go on." He wants to do something normal for once.
David sighs. "C'mon, Travis, let's go," he says, getting to his feet. "You'll call me later, okay, honey?" It's not a question.
Christian smiles and hugs him. "I will. Have a good afternoon." He exchanges cheek kisses with Travis and watches them leave.
"Does your boyfriend usually leave you with strange men?" Don asks, smiling a little at Christian. "I thought he'd put up a bigger fight to stay or take you with him."
"My--oh, you thought--" Christian dissolves into laughter, wiping tears out of his eyes. "You thought we--" He eventually gets hold of himself. "David's my best friend," he says finally. "But there's nothing between us, never has been."
"Right," Don says, wondering if maybe Christian's suffered some kind of brain injury since the last time they saw each other. That would explain the laughter. "So, um. Do you want to stay here or..."
"There's a good tea shop a couple blocks west of here," Christian suggests. "I've been told they also have excellent coffee. Would that work?" Now that he's alone with Don, he's starting to wonder if this was a good idea.
"Depends," Don says. "Do they have cheesecake? Karen and Liz split a slice but you know---you remember how they are about sharing chocolate? I'd have better luck getting a kidney from one of them."
"They have cheesecake," Christian promises.
"Okay, then," Don says, looking at some spot just over Christian's left shoulder. "Let's do this."
"If you--if you'd rather not--" Christian hesitates, fiddling with the ring on his right hand.
It's an out. Finally. And Don can't take it. "No. It's---it's fine," he says. "I just wasn't---I didn't expect to see you. Here. Today."
"Ever again," Christian finishes with a wry smile. "I just got back into town last night." He heads for the door, pulling on his jacket. "Two months on the road and all that."
"Yeah, Liz keeps up with your band," Don says, following him out to the sidewalk. "It seems like you're doing pretty well for yourself these days."
Christian smiles and shrugs. "We do all right, I guess," he says. "Two albums out, a third about to start production. I keep my hand in songwriting for other artists a bit."
Don nods, tucking his hands inside the pockets of his jacket. "Still modest," he says, looking over Christian. Still cute, he thinks. "I bet you'd say it was just all right if you won a Grammy. It was too bad you lost last year. That other song, the one that won, sounded like cats fighting in an alley next to a construction site."
"It did at that," Christian says with a laugh. "And there'll be other years. We've--there's one song on the new album that I'm feeling really strongly about. I think it might get somewhere." He brushes a curl out of his eyes, glancing around quickly.
"You'll have to tell me more about it then," Don says. "You worried about something? You keep looking around like something might jump out at you, but I don't think you're *that* big of a rock star yet."
"Force of habit," Christian says as easily as he can. "We got used to fans hiding in the oddest places, on tour. Here we are." He takes the steps to the shop and opens the door for Don.
"Thanks," Don says, stepping inside and almost groaning at the sweet, warm smells that meet him. He moves toward the dessert case almost without realizing it, and hopes Christian will overlook it.
"I'll get us a table, yeah?" Christian asks. "You get whatever you want." He grins and goes to find the table in the corner, taking a seat against the wall.
What Don wants, they don't sell here, and there's no reason on earth he should be this nervous. It's not like it's a date, just coffee with an old acquaintance/former boyfriend who's successful and still gorgeous and probably seeing someone anyway. He can handle this.
He still orders the White Russian cheesecake with hopes that the vodka and Kahlua haven't really cooked off, though, and a coffee for himself. "And if you could bring water for tea, I'd appreciate it," he says to the woman behind the counter. "I'm not sure what my friend is having."
She nods and sends him on his way, promising to bring everything over in a "Two ticks, dear."
"I feel like I'm in the middle of my own personal British invasion," Don says as he joins Christian at the table. "I think they've got Angela Lansbury working at the counter."
Christian laughs. "It's a little taste of home," he says. "I love New York, but I miss England."
"I know. You say that every time I see you," Don points out with a smile. "Last time... you were on your way to London, weren't you? Or were you just getting back? It was your grandmum's birthday, I remember that much."
"I--was just on my way, I think," Christian says. "That--was that really four years ago?"
Don thinks about it for a moment and finally nods. "Yeah, it was," he says. "Longer than I thought. I guess we were kinda overdue for this, then."
"I should think," Christian says, looking up as the woman comes over with their order.
"Thank you," Don says as she sets down their drinks and two slices of cheesecake. "You still like raspberries, don't you? I should have asked."
"I do," Christian says, smiling. "Thank you. I like mostly the same things I did back then." He sets his tea to steeping. "So what have you been up to in the last four years?"
"Working," Don says, adding sugar to his mug. "Right around the time I saw you, I started working more with the crime lab, and now that's pretty much all I do. I'm kind of their pet detective, right down to Stella patting me on the head and bribing me with treats."
"I suppose there are worse things in the world," Christian says, considering. "Is the work still satisfying, at least?"
"It's always satisfying to get bad guys off the street," Don says. "We've had some pretty bizarre cases lately, so every day's definitely an adventure."
"Oh? Anything you can talk about?" Christian asks as he pours his tea and adds a splash of milk.
Don shrugs, picking up his fork. "You probably would have read about most of it," he says, taking a bite of the cheesecake.
"Probably not," Christian says. "I don't read the news much these days." He sips his tea.
"Might be a wise move with the way things are," Don says. "I'm trying to think of one that's not too... Well, there was the killer cheerleader back in the spring. That one was definitely memorable."
"Killer cheerleader?" Christian asks. "What happened, was it over a pair of pom-poms?"
"No, over some schmuck calling a girl fat," Don says. "Danny and I went to watch the Empires, thinking we're getting a night off, maybe having a--having a guy's night, you know? Instead, the game sucks, we get to half-time and they do that million dollar shot thing and the guy drops dead at half-court. We end up working the case."
"Guy's night or a date?" Christian asks with a grin. "Is Danny your boyfriend?"
"A date," Don says, looking down into his mug. He goes on with the story; there's time to kick himself later. "And he's not. Never really was, but that's a different story. So, the guy just drops dead right there, and it turns out one of the cheerleaders gave him the kiss of death. She slipped him nightshade when all of them congratulated him because two years ago, he insulted her at a game for being overweight."
"It's--gods." Christian shakes his head. "It's really a sad commentary on prejudices in our society, isn't it?" he asks quietly.
"I gotta admit, I felt sorry for her," Don says. "I can kinda see where the guy was coming from but he was way out of line. Then for her to do what she did is just crazy. I mean, she had stomach surgery, plastic surgery, all of this stuff to get back at *one* guy. One of my co-workers, she said it best, I think, called it a crime of patience."
"That--yeah." Christian shakes his head, hands tightening around his mug. "You have to be incredibly patient to get back at someone like that." Not that he knows. Really.
"So, that's the kind of thing I'm dealing with every day, and the way most of my dates have gone," Don says, smiling wryly. "What about you? I know you're not seeing David but is there someone else?"
"No," Christian says quickly. Probably too quickly. He tries for a sheepish grin and shrugs. "I haven't--I kind of gave up on dating," he says casually. "My last boyfriend was--about four years ago."
"Can't say I blame you." Don takes a sip of coffee and leans back in his chair. "Sometimes, it's just not worth it."
"Spoken like a man who knows from personal experience," Christian says. Someone comes in the door and he glances up, taking a long sip of tea to settle himself.
"The last guy I dated was a mistake," Don says. "I'm figuring out that I'm better keeping things easy. I don't think Mr. Right's out there."
"Why was he a mistake?" Christian asks.
Don runs a hand through his hair, trying to figure out the diplomatic way to answer. "He wasn't over his ex, for one thing," he says. "She didn't really seem to know she was his ex until I mentioned something about getting together in front of her. It really... it was a mess."
"That sounds...painful," Christian says. "I'm sorry."
"Eh, it's all right. We're all getting past it. They're getting ready to have a kid together," Don says, trying to keep his skepticism about it out of his voice and off of his face. He thinks he almost manages it this time. "I think we'll all be friends as long as Danny doesn't ask me to be the godfather."
"I'll hope, for your sake, then," Christian says, absently toying with his ring.
"You know," Don says after a moment, "it really is good to see you again."
"Yeah," Christian says softly. "It's good to see you, too." It is. Just being here with him like this, two guys out for dessert and coffee, is good. "Do you--do you maybe want to have dinner some night? Or something?"
Don smiles, surprised by the question. "That sounds good," he says. "Maybe sometime next week?"
"Sure," Christian says. "I--give me your card, I'll call you. I don't have anything to write mine down on."
"Sure," Don says, pulling one of the cards from his wallet and handing it to Christian. "Now, you really will call, right? You're not just going to take it and then wait another four years, are you?"
"I will call, I promise," Christian says, tucking the card away in his pocket. "Dinner, next week."
* * *
Calling Don for dinner plans turns out to be easier than Christian thought. He gets Don's voicemail, leaves him a message suggesting a place and time. Two hours later Don calls him back when he's in the shower and leaves a message agreeing. That's all there is to it, and Wednesday night Christian shows up at the little Vietnamese place two minutes before seven.
He gets a table along the wall and takes a seat, watching people come and go. Don walks in just about on time and Christian smiles, raising a hand in hello. There's nothing to be nervous about, he tells himself. This is just two old friends having dinner. Really.
If he could believe that, he'd be a lot calmer.
It's just dinner, Don tells himself for the seven thousandth time. Just dinner with a friend and there's no reason to have changed his tie twelve times before ditching it all together or for the way his heart speeds up when he sees Christian across the restaurant. Or for how it gets worse when he leans down to kiss Christian's cheek before he can second guess it.
"Sorry I'm late," he says, dropping into the chair across from Christian.
"Oh, it's fine, you're not really," Christian says. "I was a bit early." He smiles and tucks an errant curl behind his ear. "How was your day?"
"Not bad," Don says. "It helped knowing I'd get to see you at the end of it." It's true, he's been looking forward to this, to doing something other than hanging out with his sisters or having more take out in front of the TV.
The tiny waitress comes by and sets mugs of tea in front of them before bustling off again. Christian wraps his hands around the stoneware, leaning back in his seat. "I've been looking forward to seeing you, too," he admits.
"Yeah?" Don blushes a little, looking down at his hands.
Christian smiles and looks at his tea. "We're hopeless," he says after a moment. "If we sit here all night not looking at each other and being awkward--can we maybe try and avoid some of that? Maybe?"
"Maybe," Don says, looking up at the same moment Christian does. He shakes off the urge to look away again. "So, how badly did your friends interrogate you last week?"
Christian winces theatrically. "It took me two hours and several expensive coffees to get them off my back," he says. "David and Travis can be a bit--protective. Did your sisters bother you?"
"I had twenty-two messages from them before I got home from seeing you," Don says. "They're, um, a little... Okay, they think it's romantic." He all but spits out the word and it still leaves a funky taste in his mouth. "Liz keeps going on about destiny and first loves and I shouldn't be telling you that."
It's Christian's turn to blush, looking down at his mug. "I--oh," he says, not sure what to say to that. "Well. Um." He's saved from further embarrassment by the waitress who shows up to take their orders.
"It's ridiculous," Don says when she's gone again. "I keep trying to explain that we're not teenagers anymore, we don't even really know each other. I think she and Karen have both seen one too many chick flicks."
"Possibly," Christian says, smiling. "Although." He tilts his head to the side. "Is your favorite ice cream flavor still mint chocolate chip?"
Don laughs. "You would remember that, wouldn't you?" he asks. Their second date was a trip to an ice cream shop that's long since been torn down and turned into a Starbucks. They ate themselves sick and spent the rest of the evening laying in the grass somewhere in Central Park, moaning about belly aches and sharing kisses that tasted like sugar. "Some things don't change."
Some things don't, and some things do. Christian turns his mug around in his hands, smiling a little. "I wasn't able to eat rocky road for months after that," he says.
"You wouldn't even look at any kind of chocolate for weeks," Don says. "And we both cringed when ice cream trucks went by. I remember you dragging me to all those midnight movies, all the classics. You got mad at me when we saw Casablanca."
"You didn't appreciate it," Christian protests. "How can you not love that movie? Best romance ever."
"I appreciated you more and that was the problem," Don says. "You didn't even..." He shakes his head, deciding not to follow that thought. "It was a long time ago. You think you can forgive me for being stupid?"
"I think so," Christian says. "Think you can forgive me for being stubborn?"
"That night, yes," Don says. "I don't think that's changed, either, though. Couldn't have with your career, or even with the way you shut down your friends before."
"Yeah, well." Christian shrugs. "Sometimes being stubborn is necessary. I do my best to avoid the prima donna bit though. No requests for bowls of blue M&Ms or that rubbish."
"Just English breakfast tea and cream," Don says. "Salt and vinegar crisps because you would never call them chips, and a stock of pens and a notepad. Am I right?"
"You are," Christian says, laughing. "I suppose I haven't changed much after all."
"You have," Don says, moving his hands out of the way as their food arrives. He nods a thanks to their waitress and continues. "You've grown up, we both have, and you might---you might be even cuter now."
Christian ducks his head. "I could say the same about you, you know," he says. "You look fantastic."
"I don't know. Fantastic might be a little much," Don says. "I'm settling for just not tripping over my own feet anymore."
"You've--" Christian takes a bite of pho as he thinks about how to put it. "You look comfortable with yourself," he says finally. "You're settled in your skin."
"Happens to all of us sooner or later," Don says, taking another sip of his tea. "I've been wondering about something."
"What's that?" Christian asks, setting down his spoon.
"How is it you're still single?" Don asks. "You're talented, you're smart, you're as far from troll as you can get, so what am I missing here?"
* * *
Turns out it doesn't matter why Christian's still single, just that he is. It's not like he gives Don a straight answer, just a lot of blushing and hedging, and proof that he's as different from Danny as might be humanly possible. Different is good, very good, and enough that Don really hates for the evening to end.
"You could come back to my place," Don offers as they're leaving the restaurant. "I mean, if you wanted. Maybe have a drink, talk some more?"
"Ah--sure," Christian says, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "Sure, I'd like that." He smiles at Don. "How far away do you live?"
"Not far, six, seven blocks," Don says. "What about you?"
"About four blocks," Christian says. "South and west. I--" He lets out a slow breath. This is normal. This is what normal people do. "I don't have alcohol or coffee, but if you'd like to come up, you're welcome to," he says.
"Why don't we go to mine and I'll see you home after?" Don suggests, hearing something like hesitation in Christian's voice. "I do have tea, and one of my mom's coffee cakes."
"The kind with the crumb topping? Sold," Christian says, feeling a surge of relief and a tiny bit of disappointment.
Something still sounds off, but Don decides to leave it, giving directions where they're needed and filling the space between with a lot of talk about nothing. He nods to his doorman and falls in step with Christian on the way to the elevator.
"I've only lived here a couple of years," he says. "It's the biggest apartment I've ever had, and I still barely have room to turn around, just so you know."
"But do you have a roommate?" Christian asks. "That's the important part."
"I don't," Don says. "Liz lived with me for the first year, but her girlfriend convinced her to move out to Park Slope. Not a minute too soon, if you ask me."
No roommate. That's--Christian grins a little sheepishly to himself. It doesn't matter, it's not like--"I don't have a roommate either," he says, distracting himself. "I--don't think I could live with anyone else right now." Not now. Possibly not ever again.
"I thought I'd miss it," Don says as the elevator rises. "I'm finding out I really don't. It's nice to have someone else who'll make coffee in the morning, but I don't miss coming home dirty dishes or having somebody use up all the hot water. There's a time and place for a cold shower, you know?"
"Yeah, I know," Christian says. "I had enough of those at Julliard to last me the rest of my life." He steps out of the elevator after Don. "It's kind of funny that you live so close, and yet we've never really run into each other."
Don shrugs, pulling out his keys. "I'm either here or at work," he says. "If I go out, it's usually closer to work or uptown. I might spend more time in the neighborhood now, though."
"Travis accuses me of hermiting," Christian says. "I don't go out much anymore."
"Well, you're getting older," Don says, flipping on the light in the entry way and resetting the alarm. "You were partying at sixteen the way most people do at eighteen. I hate to think what you were doing at eighteen. Hell, I hate to think what *I* was doing at eighteen."
"At eighteen--I was still partying like I was immortal," Christian says, laughing. "What *were* you doing at eighteen?"
Don shakes his head, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it up on one of the hooks along the wall. "Trust me, you don't want to know," he says. "I'm surprised I'm not still grounded."
Christian hangs his jacket up next to Don's. "I was never so glad my mum wasn't around," he says.
"She was something. I still have nightmares about the one time I met her," Don says, continuing on into the living room and turning on a few of the lamps. He moves a stack of mostly read newspapers from the coffee table to their proper basket near the recliner and looks back at Christian, wondering what he makes of the place.
"I like your flat," Christian says, looking around. "Oh, sorry, apartment." He wanders over to the bookcase, looking at the small collection of pewter animals. "You still have the horse I gave you," he says, surprised and pleased.
"You started a trend," Don says, crossing to stand beside him. "Mom gave me the elephant when I started at the academy. The bird's from Stella; she picked it up on her first trip to Greece. I got the lizard when Lizzie lived in Taos for a couple of months." He doesn't mention the others, a dozen or so from various people on various bookshelves in the office and on his dresser.
"They're lovely," Christian says, turning slightly so Don's next to him, instead of partially behind him.
"It's silly, but I like them," Don says, resting his hand against Christian's back for a brief moment. "I promised you tea and cake. I should go take care of that."
"You should," Christian says. Before he realizes it, he leans over to kiss Don's cheek. "I get cranky without my tea."
"I remember that, too," Don says, softer than he intends. He turns away and heads into the kitchen, going through the motions of plugging in the electric kettle and starting coffee, trying to figure out what the hell is happening. It's all just friendly, he thinks that's all it could be as he cuts two slices of cake and finds mugs that actually match the saucers.
Alone in the living room, Christian blows out a breath and drops down on the couch, rubbing his hands over his face. This is proving to be an interesting evening. He's not sure he's up for interesting anymore.
Don brings Christian's tea in, a small cup of milk with it, and sets it on the end table beside him. "You can put on some music if you want, or the TV," he says. "The remotes are both in that drawer and the CDs are all in the binders on the bookcase."
"You know, I still don't own a TV," Christian says. "Thank you for the tea." He adds milk and takes a sip, bringing his cup with him as he goes to leaf through the CDs. "You have our albums," he says, looking up with a probably idiotic grin.
"Liz," Don says, ducking back into the kitchen. He comes back with the coffee cake and his own mug, and sits down in the recliner. "If it's a band she knows someone in, she buys everything. She thought it was criminal I didn't have them."
"And here I thought you were a fan," Christian says sadly. He finds a Norah Jones CD and slips it into the stereo. "My hopes, crushed again."
"Never said I wasn't," Don points out. "All I said was Liz bought them for me, not when."
"When did she buy them?" Christian takes his seat on the couch again, tucking one leg under himself.
"I don't know about the first one, maybe a month or two after it came out," Don says. "She came over with the other one the day it was released and made me listen to it."
Christian grins and ducks his head. "Always nice to hear," he says. "Next time, if you want a copy, I can probably get you a free one. Did you like them?"
"I did. I told you, you're talented," Don says. "I was kind of surprised you went with a rock band, but you guys are really good."
"I needed a change," Christian says simply. "And I was lucky enough to find the others."
Don takes a sip of coffee and searches for something else to talk about. He doesn't miss the irony, he interrogates people for a living and can't manage to keep a conversation going in his own living room. "I'm sorry," he finally says. "I don't---it's been a long time since I really did this."
Christian shakes his head, smiling. "Don, the last time I had anything close to resembling a date it was over four years ago," he says. "Define 'long time'."
"Not that long," Don says. "I just... Danny and I were friends for a long time before we hooked up, and before that I didn't... I wasn't dating the kind of girls where conversation was a priority."
"It seems kind of a shame, you know," Christian says softly, looking at Don. "You're a very intelligent man. Why date people who don't appreciate it?"
"You're giving me too much credit, Christian," Don says. "It was easy, not going in expecting anything, not getting attached. I make a good escort, clean up well in a tux, and the sex wasn't bad most of the time." He shrugs, taking another drink from his mug. "I'm not a good boyfriend. I work too much, I don't come home on time, and I'd rather watch ESPN than cuddle."
"I seem to remember you liking to cuddle," Christian says, setting down his mug. "I was always the restless one. You kept trying to keep me in bed. Or is my memory faulty?" He's pretty sure it isn't. Memories of staying in bed with Don are one of the good things he holds on to.
"I was seventeen and finally having sex involving another person," Don says, smiling a little. "I never wanted to get out of bed. My priorities have changed a little. So has my recovery time."
"We've both gotten older," Christian says. "It happens. I still think snuggling in bed is a perfectly acceptable way to spend a Saturday morning, though." He smiles and shrugs. "Maybe that's just me."
"It works better when there's someone to snuggle with," Don says, resolutely not imagining spending a lazy Saturday next to Christian. "You haven't touched the cake. Is there something wrong with it?"
"What--oh, no, not at all. I guess I was just more full from dinner than I thought," Christian says. He picks up his fork and takes a bite. "Oh, that's just as good as I remember."
"I'll tell mom you said so." Don eats a few bites of his own piece and sets the plate back down, studying Christian. He finds his attention wandering back to Christian's mouth more than once and finally has to look away.
"What?" Christian asks, blushing. "You keep looking at me and looking away. Have I got cake on my cheek or something?" He puts down his fork.
"No," Don says quickly, embarrassed at being caught staring. "No, you're fine. I'm sorry."
Christian takes one last sip of his tea. "I think maybe I'd better go," he says hesitantly.
"Yeah, it's---it's getting late," Don says, a little disappointed. "I could call down and have George get you a cab if you wanted."
"You--you said something about walking me home," Christian says, not quite believing he's saying it. "I'm only about three blocks that way. If you--if you want, I mean--" He stops, blushing.
"Sure. I just thought maybe---it doesn't matter," Don says. "You, uh, you still blush when you get flustered." And it still makes Don want to kiss him, but no force on earth could make him admit it.
"You thought maybe what?" Christian asks, walking over to Don.
"That maybe you were sick of me already," Don says, looking up at him.
Christian shakes his head. "No, I'm not," he says. "I promise. It's just--it's getting late and I should check on Mimi. But you're welcome to--to walk me home and maybe come up for a bit, if you want." He can't believe he's inviting Don to come up. Only David and Travis have ever been inside his place.
"Okay," Don says, getting to his feet. it brings him close to Christian, enough that a deep breath on either side would have them touching, and he lets himself brush a kiss against Christian's cheek and his hand catches Christian's lightly. "If you're sure."
"I'm sure," Christian says, although his free hand tenses and he only lasts a moment before he pulls free. "I'm--I'd better get my jacket. It's cold out there." He kisses Don's cheek and goes to get his jacket.
Don follows him, pulling his own jacket back on and checking for his keys, a little bewildered at how fast Christian pulled away from him. "After you," he says, holding the door open.
It is cold out; their breath comes in white puffs and Christian hunches down into his jacket as they walk to his building. "I'm right here," he says, nodding at the old warehouse.
Don raises an eyebrow. He knew Christian was doing well, but he also knows spaces in this building weren't exactly cheap. "Not what I expected."
"No?" Christian grins as they walk up to the door. "Hi, Tom," he says to the doorman.
"No," Don says. "I know someone who applied for an apartment here and it's not an easy building to get into."
"I moved in here about three years ago," Christian says, hitting the button for the elevator. "I think it was my charming smile."
"It'd certainly convince me," Don says, purposely not looking at Christian this time.
Christian blushes and runs a hand through his hair. The elevator arrives and he swipes his card for the top floor.
"Do you really want to know why I was staring before?" Don asks softly, after they've risen a few floors.
"I do," Christian says, glancing at him.
"Thinking about all the things that haven't changed," Don says, "I wondered if... if you still kissed like you used to."
"You could find out," Christian says, almost a whisper.
Don smiles, taking a small step closer. He raises his hand to Christian's cheek and tilts his head just so to bring their lips together. It's soft and sweet and better than he remembered.
The elevator dings, startling Christian. "C'mon," he says, taking the opportunity to sneak one more kiss before going to unlock his door. The third lock sticks, it always does, and he thinks once again he should get it fixed. But then it's open and they're inside. Christian resets the alarm and locks the door automatically, hanging up his keys and his jacket. "Welcome to my place," he says shyly.
"I... wow," Don says, ever the intelligent one. Again, he knew the apartments were nice, but his could fit in here twice over and the huge windows and high ceilings would be worth the price alone. "I think I'm glad we went to mine first or I'd have never been able to invite you in."
"It's--well, I bought the apartment so I could fit the piano in it," Christian says as Mimi comes running for him. He scoops her up, stroking her fur. "Mimi, this is Don. Don, this is the true love of my life Mimi."
"Hi, Mimi," Don says, reaching up to pet her lightly.
Mimi sniffs his fingers warily and gives him a skeptical look, but allows Don to scratch behind her ears. "I know what you want," Christian says, shifting her to his shoulder. "You want dinner. Don, make yourself comfortable, I'll be right back." He carries Mimi to the kitchen to give her fresh food.
Don uses the time to take another look around, appreciating the simple furniture and how uncluttered but comfortable the apartment seems. Well, uncluttered until his eyes reach the piano and the stacks of notebooks and folders on and under the bench and lining the shelves nearby. He takes a seat on the couch and picks up the magazine on the coffee table. He's just started reading the interview with Christian and Belfry's drummer, Kevin, when Christian comes back.
Christian takes a seat next to Don. "Reading anything good?" he asks, brushing white fur off his jeans.
"Just a description of your 'disconcertingly blue eyes and gentle voice,'" Don says, amused by the journalist.
"Oh, gods, not that piece," Christian says with a wince. "Put it away before she gets ito my tats."
"Only if you tell me about them yourself," Don says, setting the magazine aside.
"Which one do you want to know about? I have six," Christian says. "One's unfinished, though."
"Six?" Don repeats before he can stop himself. "Are you serious?"
"Mm-hmm," Christian says, pushing up his sleeves. "Music is what makes life worth living." He holds out his right arm, the ink wrapping around it in a spiral. "And the Belfry logo. We all got it done." He turns over his left forearm to let Don see. "There's one on my shoulder, and then three on my back."
"What are the ones on your back?" Don asks, touching his fingertips to the Belfry tattoo lightly.
"It's easier to show you," Christian says, his skin prickling at Don's touch. Before he loses his nerve, he pulls off his shirt, turning around. "The quote was the second tattoo I ever got," he says, bending forward a little to let Don read the words. "Music doesn't lie. The staff is unfinished. Someday I'll know what I want to put there, but right now I don't, and then the G clef at the nape of my neck."
Don draws in a breath and draws his hands back before he can touch Christian, no matter how much he wants to. "What's the story with the ying-yang symbol? Yes and no?"
Christian pulls his shirt on again and turns around. "It's a quote by Aaron Copeland," he says. "I'll misquote it now, but the gist is--" He tips his head back, thinking. "Is there a meaning to music? Yes. And can you state in so many words what that meaning is? No."
"I like that," Don says. "Music is something different to everyone, so it makes a lot of sense."
"I thought so too," Christian says, smiling. "Would you--I've tea, or cocoa, if you want something hot to drink?" He licks his lower lip absently.
Don shakes his head slowly once the question registers. "I should..." He gestures toward the door. It's the right thing to do, the sensible thing.
"Don't," Christian says, barely audible. "Don't go." Fear is a cold ball in the pit of his stomach. He hasn't done this in years, and not since--and he doesn't care. Not right now. Christian reaches out, covering Don's hand with his own. "You don't have to go," he says softly.
"I don't---I don't know what I'm doing," Don whispers, turning his hand under Christian's. He brushes his thumb across Christian's palm and realizes it's true, he feels as clueless as he did when he was seventeen but with less bravado to cover it.
"I'm not sure I do either," Christian says, looking down at their hands. He smiles a little. "You could kiss me," he says. "That'd be a place to start." That's how it all started back then, a party and an awkward kiss that tasted of punch.
"I could do that," Don says, thinking of how Christian never did like making the first move, even when they'd been together for months. He slides a little closer, seeing the way Christian blushes, and that's where he starts, a brush of his lips against Christian's cheek.
Christian turns his head, meeting Don's lips with his own. One kiss turns into another, and then another, each one getting a little longer, a bit deeper. Don doesn't taste of sticky-sweet punch now but coffee and cinnamon and sugar. Infinitely preferable and possibly a little bit addictive.
He doesn't quite know how it happens, one kiss turning into kisses and kisses turning into not wanting them to ever stop, but Don does know better than to fight it. He loses himself somewhere between the tangle of his fingers in Christian's hair and the soft sounds Christian makes.
It's easier to just feel, to not think about what they're doing. Christian reaches out to unbutton Don's shirt, wanting to feel his skin, but gets thwarted by his undershirt. He shifts a bit so he's almost straddling Don's lap, trying to get shirt and undershirt out of the way. They're going to have to stop kissing for that to really work, which he's not quite willing to do yet.
This is moving too fast, Don can't keep up and he knows he has to do something, has to pull back and slow down. Guiding Christian's hands beneath his undershirt is not the answer, and he does it anyway, almost hissing at the feel of his fingers against his skin. His own hands settle on Christian's hips, pulling him more firmly into his lap, conscious that this is not teenaged fumbling anymore.
Maybe this was the solution all along, to just stop thinking for a bit and let go, let himself get caught up in touch and taste and sensation. And yet he can't turn his brain off entirely, can't stop wondering what they're doing, if this is really right. Christian pulls back a little, searching Don's face for answers to a question he can't form.
"Tell me what you want," Don says, running his hands over Christian's back. "Where is this... where is this going?"
"I don't know," Christian says, his hands on Don's shoulders. "Do you--do you want to spend the night with me?" He feels the little curl of cold in his belly, but he ignores it.
Don's going to hate himself for it in the morning, but he shakes his head, just once. "I want to, so bad," he says. "It's too soon. Too fast, this is too fast for---for us. For me."
He's right. Of course he's right. Christian swallows and nods, sliding out of Don's lap and back to his corner of the couch. "You're right," he says. "You're--yeah."
"I didn't mean... I like you," Don says, ready to kick himself for how lame that sounds and yet he can't stop talking. "You're the first guy in a long time, the first anybody, I don't wanna just jump into bed with. I mean, I want to, of course I want to, but..."
"But it's too soon," Christian says softly. "I understand. I like you too, you know." He fiddles with his ring absently. "It's just--not tonight, I guess."
Don sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. "I don't want to fuck this up," he says. "I don't want it to be another four years before I see you. Waiting a week was bad enough, you know?"
"Yeah," Christian says. "I know." He smiles a little. "Maybe we can do dinner again this week. Friday? We can see how things go from there?" Friday will give him more time to think about this, to figure out if he's really ready to try and be with someone again.
"Yeah, that sounds good," Don says. "Maybe I could cook for you? You could even invite David and Travis, convince them I'm not a complete psycho."
"We've been there done that, but I could invite them if you like," Christian says. "Seven okay?"
Don nods, stretching his hand into the space between them, offering it to Christian. "They're important to you," he says. "Even if... I plan on sticking around, okay? Whether we date or whatever, I still want to spend time with you."
Christian takes Don's hand. "I want to spend time with you, too," he says. "Four years--it's been too long. I don't want to do that again."
"Then we won't," Don says, bringing Christian's hand up to his lips. He kisses each fingertip and the center of his palm, wondering if that's still something he likes.
Christian's breath catches and his hand flexes in Don's hold. "You'd--ah--that's not a good idea if you want to leave," he says, a little breathless.
"I don't want to, but I will," Don says, squeezing Christian's hand gently. "I'm going to go home, soon, to a very cold shower and spend the night kicking myself for not staying."
Christian smiles a little, taking his hand back. "I'll see you out," he says, getting to his feet. "I think I need a shower of my own."
Don can't help smiling at that as he stands up. "I'll give you a call Thursday about dinner."
* * *
Don's in the middle of not-so-gently booting Danny out the door when the intercom buzzes to let him know Christian and David are there. He can hear something boiling over on the stove, he has tomato sauce smeared down his apron and Danny is not leaving.
"You have to go," Don says at the same time Danny says, "I want to meet him."
Don wants to shoot something. Possibly Danny, right in the ass.
"No," he says firmly, holding the door open. "I swear I'll tell you all about it later, but you are not staying. You are not meeting him. You are going home to your baby mama like you were never here."
"This is why we didn't work out," Danny says. "You're bitchy when you have to be domestic."
"No, we didn't work because you forgot to use a condom," Don says, biting back the laundry list of other reasons he wants to name. "Now, please, go."
"Going, going," Danny says, finally leaving the apartment. Don would slump against the door in relief behind him but the massive amounts of steam pouring out of the kitchen pretty much kill that idea. He leaves the door open for David and Christian and go to try and salvage the pasta.
"Hello the house," Christian calls, poking his head inside the apartment. "Anyone home?"
"Kitchen," Don calls back, having turned down the heat on the stove and ditched the apron. He sets the timer on the oven, makes sure the kettle is heating and coffee brewing, and goes out to meet David and Christian. "Sorry about that. I had to get rid of help that wasn't helpful and then make sure nothing exploded."
"Whatever it is it smells great," Christian says. "We come bearing gifts." He hands Don the pink box. "Homemade brownies, quite possibly the best you've ever had in your life. I didn't make them."
"For which we're all grateful," David says, grinning.
"You still haven't mastered the American oven, Christian?" Don teases, setting the box on the dining table. "My mom tried to teach him to make cupcakes once. We played hockey with them for a week after."
"My talents lie in other areas," Christian says, the tips of his ears going pink.
"Honey, we know," David says. "Hi. I'm David. Have we ever officially met?" He holds out his hand to Don.
"We haven't," Don says, shaking his hand. "I'm glad you could make it. Can I get you guys something to drink?"
"Water'd be great," David says. Christian just shakes his head.
"Are you sure, Christian?" Don asks, hand light on Christian's arm when what he really wants is to be able to kiss him. "I've got water heating for tea."
"Oh, well, if you've already put the kettle on," Christian says with a sheepish smile. "I'd love a cup." He kisses Don on the cheek.
"Did you like the flowers?" Don asks softly, returning Christian's kiss. "You didn't say when we talked."
"I did," Christian says, blushing a bit. "They're sitting in a vase next to the piano. Thank you for them."
"You're welcome," Don says, smiling. "I'll get those drinks if you want to go sit down. You, uh, might want to change the CD to something else." He doesn't mind Christian knowing he's been listening to Take Me Home, but he can't imagine he wants to hear it.
"Did I tell you he's cute?" David murmurs to Christian once Don's out of the room.
"Yes," Christian says, going to find a new CD. "Hands off, darling."
"I would never." David gives Christian an indignant look.
"I know, I know." Christian puts in Sarah Vaughan and turns to look at David. "Honey, what the hell am I doing?"
David crosses to him and kisses his cheek. "Scared?" he asks.
"It's been four years," Christian says softly. "And really it's been longer than that. I don't know if I can do this anymore."
"Only way to find out is to try," David says, stroking Christian's hair.
Christian smiles and leans into him for a moment. "He doesn't know," he says. "About any of it."
"You'll tell him when he needs to," David says.
Don stands in the doorway for a moment, glass in one hand, saucer and cup in the other, trying to figure out exactly what he's seeing. The bigger question is why it feels like being tackled to see Christian that close to David, that easy with him, even though he knows they're just friends. He shakes his head and forces himself into the room, setting both cups down on the coffee table and clearing his throat.
"Thank you," David says, going to get his glass. "So you have to tell me something, Don. Was Christian as much of a--well, blonde--at sixteen as he is now?"
"Hey!" Christian objects. "You're blonde too, you know."
"Yes, honey, but you forgot to take off your pajamas before you stepped into the shower this morning," David says patiently. "Our hair may be the same color, but I can at least remember when I'm dressed and when I'm not."
"He was never good with mornings," Don says, refusing to consider why David would know what he did or didn't wear into the shower. "Or afternoons, for that matter."
"What he's not telling you is that he shoved me into the shower," Christian says, picking up his teacup. "He had the nerve to show up at noon and demand I get up and dressed so he could take me out looking for--what the bloody hell were we looking for again?"
"A birthday present for Travis," David says.
"Did he at least give you tea first?" Don asks, remembering that being the only way he could bribe Christian to wake up when he'd sleep over.
"I did," David says. "It's the only way I know of to get him up and moving."
Christian sighs. "I am not that bad," he says. "And it was noon. I got to bed at five in the morning. Show a little understanding."
"He is," Don says. "Very little." He's saved from any response by the timer going off in the kitchen and he ducks out again to check on dinner.
"If you two start bonding over making fun of me, I'm going to take the brownies away and you won't get any," Christian warns David.
"We wouldn't do that." David slips his arm around Christian's waist and hugs him. "Besides, I have to get him to like me so I can interrogate him later."
"No, you don't," Christian says firmly.
"I don't have to get him to li--" David shuts up when Christian puts his hand over his mouth.
Don's cell phone rings while he's taking the chicken cacciatore out of the oven and he scowls at Danny's name on the display. "What?"
"Was he guy with the earrings or the one with the curls?" Danny asks just as bluntly.
"Jesus, Messer. Did she turn you into a thirteen year old girl on top of taking your balls?" Don asks, setting the pan on the counter. "And curls."
"He's cute and you're an asshole, Flack," Danny says. "You set the kitchen on fire yet?"
"No, but you're not helping. Seriously, stop acting like a---" Don starts to say jealous ex, but that's exactly what he's doing, and they don't talk about that. "Like one of my sisters. I'm turning the phone off." And he does, or at least switches it to vibrate and tucks it back into his pocket. One of these days, they're going to sit down and set some boundaries, but he can't think about that while he's trying to arrange everything onto a serving dish.
* * *
Part 2
Authors: blueraccoon & sandersyager
Fandom: CSI:NY
Pairing/character: Don Flack/OMC, past Don Flack/Danny Messer
Rating: FRAO
Word Count: 8,869
Prompt: handing over control
Kink: hurt/comfort
Notes/Warnings: Vague spoilers through season five, specific spoiler for season four's Personal Foul. Vanilla sex. References to past domestic violence. Just Wait and Waiting at Home precede this story in the universe.
It's been at least two years since the last time Don saw him in the flesh, the magazine photos and newspaper articles don't count, and he likes to think he'd know Christian anywhere. The blonde curls, too blue eyes, gentle lilt of his accent, those are unmistakable, just like the urge Don has to turn back and find somewhere else to have lunch.
His sisters, laughing and loud and waving him over, stop from backing out and he loses himself in Karen's story about some guy she met at her Ultimate Frisbee game and Liz's showing off her new tattoo. By the time they eat and pay the check, he's mostly forgotten about Christian being there at all.
Of course, it'd be too easy if he could just leave and not have to speak to him, and nothing lately has been easy. So, Don finds himself standing there like a dope while Liz and Karen walk up to Christian, one gushing about Belfry's new single-apparently available for download-and the other saying how it's been entirely too long since they've seen each other.
"Email me, I'll make sure you get a free copy," Christian says to Liz, getting up to kiss her on the cheek. "Karen, it's been--" He breaks off when he sees Don. Two years, at least, probably more like three. "Don," he says, smiling a little shyly. "How the bloody hell have you been? It's been--gods, ages." Christian pushes a hand through his hair. "Would you like--come, sit down, we'll have tea or something."
"We can't," Liz says, smiling apologetically. "Karen's got to work and I have to get home, but you and Don should catch up."
Don thinks of at least five ways to kill her and ten places to hide her body before Karen gives him a nudge. "Go on," she says. "It's not like you're doing anything today." She turns back to Christian. "Make sure he doesn't leave here without your number. Allyson's coming in from that Midwest hellmouth she moved to in a few weeks and she'd love to see you."
"I really..." Don shakes his head, wondering how the hell women manage to do that, completely snow him and then disappear in a flash. He looks at Christian and shrugs. "I guess I'm---are you sure you've got time? You must have somewhere else to be."
"We--" Travis starts, but Christian shakes his head.
"No, not really," he says. "Well, Travis and David do, but I haven't got anywhere to be this afternoon."
"I'm sure we can change our plans," David says easily.
They're protecting him, just like they always do, and Christian smiles. "Don't be silly. You two go, have fun. I'll call you later." He leans down to kiss David on the cheek. "Go on then."
"Christian, really, if you guys had plans," Don says, not missing the way they're both looking at him like they'd rather gnaw off their own hands than leave Christian alone with him. "We could do this some other time." Or not at all.
"We didn't," Christian says firmly, giving both Travis and David a look. "They're just being silly. Guys, really, I've known Don longer than I've known both of you combined, I'm *fine*, go on." He wants to do something normal for once.
David sighs. "C'mon, Travis, let's go," he says, getting to his feet. "You'll call me later, okay, honey?" It's not a question.
Christian smiles and hugs him. "I will. Have a good afternoon." He exchanges cheek kisses with Travis and watches them leave.
"Does your boyfriend usually leave you with strange men?" Don asks, smiling a little at Christian. "I thought he'd put up a bigger fight to stay or take you with him."
"My--oh, you thought--" Christian dissolves into laughter, wiping tears out of his eyes. "You thought we--" He eventually gets hold of himself. "David's my best friend," he says finally. "But there's nothing between us, never has been."
"Right," Don says, wondering if maybe Christian's suffered some kind of brain injury since the last time they saw each other. That would explain the laughter. "So, um. Do you want to stay here or..."
"There's a good tea shop a couple blocks west of here," Christian suggests. "I've been told they also have excellent coffee. Would that work?" Now that he's alone with Don, he's starting to wonder if this was a good idea.
"Depends," Don says. "Do they have cheesecake? Karen and Liz split a slice but you know---you remember how they are about sharing chocolate? I'd have better luck getting a kidney from one of them."
"They have cheesecake," Christian promises.
"Okay, then," Don says, looking at some spot just over Christian's left shoulder. "Let's do this."
"If you--if you'd rather not--" Christian hesitates, fiddling with the ring on his right hand.
It's an out. Finally. And Don can't take it. "No. It's---it's fine," he says. "I just wasn't---I didn't expect to see you. Here. Today."
"Ever again," Christian finishes with a wry smile. "I just got back into town last night." He heads for the door, pulling on his jacket. "Two months on the road and all that."
"Yeah, Liz keeps up with your band," Don says, following him out to the sidewalk. "It seems like you're doing pretty well for yourself these days."
Christian smiles and shrugs. "We do all right, I guess," he says. "Two albums out, a third about to start production. I keep my hand in songwriting for other artists a bit."
Don nods, tucking his hands inside the pockets of his jacket. "Still modest," he says, looking over Christian. Still cute, he thinks. "I bet you'd say it was just all right if you won a Grammy. It was too bad you lost last year. That other song, the one that won, sounded like cats fighting in an alley next to a construction site."
"It did at that," Christian says with a laugh. "And there'll be other years. We've--there's one song on the new album that I'm feeling really strongly about. I think it might get somewhere." He brushes a curl out of his eyes, glancing around quickly.
"You'll have to tell me more about it then," Don says. "You worried about something? You keep looking around like something might jump out at you, but I don't think you're *that* big of a rock star yet."
"Force of habit," Christian says as easily as he can. "We got used to fans hiding in the oddest places, on tour. Here we are." He takes the steps to the shop and opens the door for Don.
"Thanks," Don says, stepping inside and almost groaning at the sweet, warm smells that meet him. He moves toward the dessert case almost without realizing it, and hopes Christian will overlook it.
"I'll get us a table, yeah?" Christian asks. "You get whatever you want." He grins and goes to find the table in the corner, taking a seat against the wall.
What Don wants, they don't sell here, and there's no reason on earth he should be this nervous. It's not like it's a date, just coffee with an old acquaintance/former boyfriend who's successful and still gorgeous and probably seeing someone anyway. He can handle this.
He still orders the White Russian cheesecake with hopes that the vodka and Kahlua haven't really cooked off, though, and a coffee for himself. "And if you could bring water for tea, I'd appreciate it," he says to the woman behind the counter. "I'm not sure what my friend is having."
She nods and sends him on his way, promising to bring everything over in a "Two ticks, dear."
"I feel like I'm in the middle of my own personal British invasion," Don says as he joins Christian at the table. "I think they've got Angela Lansbury working at the counter."
Christian laughs. "It's a little taste of home," he says. "I love New York, but I miss England."
"I know. You say that every time I see you," Don points out with a smile. "Last time... you were on your way to London, weren't you? Or were you just getting back? It was your grandmum's birthday, I remember that much."
"I--was just on my way, I think," Christian says. "That--was that really four years ago?"
Don thinks about it for a moment and finally nods. "Yeah, it was," he says. "Longer than I thought. I guess we were kinda overdue for this, then."
"I should think," Christian says, looking up as the woman comes over with their order.
"Thank you," Don says as she sets down their drinks and two slices of cheesecake. "You still like raspberries, don't you? I should have asked."
"I do," Christian says, smiling. "Thank you. I like mostly the same things I did back then." He sets his tea to steeping. "So what have you been up to in the last four years?"
"Working," Don says, adding sugar to his mug. "Right around the time I saw you, I started working more with the crime lab, and now that's pretty much all I do. I'm kind of their pet detective, right down to Stella patting me on the head and bribing me with treats."
"I suppose there are worse things in the world," Christian says, considering. "Is the work still satisfying, at least?"
"It's always satisfying to get bad guys off the street," Don says. "We've had some pretty bizarre cases lately, so every day's definitely an adventure."
"Oh? Anything you can talk about?" Christian asks as he pours his tea and adds a splash of milk.
Don shrugs, picking up his fork. "You probably would have read about most of it," he says, taking a bite of the cheesecake.
"Probably not," Christian says. "I don't read the news much these days." He sips his tea.
"Might be a wise move with the way things are," Don says. "I'm trying to think of one that's not too... Well, there was the killer cheerleader back in the spring. That one was definitely memorable."
"Killer cheerleader?" Christian asks. "What happened, was it over a pair of pom-poms?"
"No, over some schmuck calling a girl fat," Don says. "Danny and I went to watch the Empires, thinking we're getting a night off, maybe having a--having a guy's night, you know? Instead, the game sucks, we get to half-time and they do that million dollar shot thing and the guy drops dead at half-court. We end up working the case."
"Guy's night or a date?" Christian asks with a grin. "Is Danny your boyfriend?"
"A date," Don says, looking down into his mug. He goes on with the story; there's time to kick himself later. "And he's not. Never really was, but that's a different story. So, the guy just drops dead right there, and it turns out one of the cheerleaders gave him the kiss of death. She slipped him nightshade when all of them congratulated him because two years ago, he insulted her at a game for being overweight."
"It's--gods." Christian shakes his head. "It's really a sad commentary on prejudices in our society, isn't it?" he asks quietly.
"I gotta admit, I felt sorry for her," Don says. "I can kinda see where the guy was coming from but he was way out of line. Then for her to do what she did is just crazy. I mean, she had stomach surgery, plastic surgery, all of this stuff to get back at *one* guy. One of my co-workers, she said it best, I think, called it a crime of patience."
"That--yeah." Christian shakes his head, hands tightening around his mug. "You have to be incredibly patient to get back at someone like that." Not that he knows. Really.
"So, that's the kind of thing I'm dealing with every day, and the way most of my dates have gone," Don says, smiling wryly. "What about you? I know you're not seeing David but is there someone else?"
"No," Christian says quickly. Probably too quickly. He tries for a sheepish grin and shrugs. "I haven't--I kind of gave up on dating," he says casually. "My last boyfriend was--about four years ago."
"Can't say I blame you." Don takes a sip of coffee and leans back in his chair. "Sometimes, it's just not worth it."
"Spoken like a man who knows from personal experience," Christian says. Someone comes in the door and he glances up, taking a long sip of tea to settle himself.
"The last guy I dated was a mistake," Don says. "I'm figuring out that I'm better keeping things easy. I don't think Mr. Right's out there."
"Why was he a mistake?" Christian asks.
Don runs a hand through his hair, trying to figure out the diplomatic way to answer. "He wasn't over his ex, for one thing," he says. "She didn't really seem to know she was his ex until I mentioned something about getting together in front of her. It really... it was a mess."
"That sounds...painful," Christian says. "I'm sorry."
"Eh, it's all right. We're all getting past it. They're getting ready to have a kid together," Don says, trying to keep his skepticism about it out of his voice and off of his face. He thinks he almost manages it this time. "I think we'll all be friends as long as Danny doesn't ask me to be the godfather."
"I'll hope, for your sake, then," Christian says, absently toying with his ring.
"You know," Don says after a moment, "it really is good to see you again."
"Yeah," Christian says softly. "It's good to see you, too." It is. Just being here with him like this, two guys out for dessert and coffee, is good. "Do you--do you maybe want to have dinner some night? Or something?"
Don smiles, surprised by the question. "That sounds good," he says. "Maybe sometime next week?"
"Sure," Christian says. "I--give me your card, I'll call you. I don't have anything to write mine down on."
"Sure," Don says, pulling one of the cards from his wallet and handing it to Christian. "Now, you really will call, right? You're not just going to take it and then wait another four years, are you?"
"I will call, I promise," Christian says, tucking the card away in his pocket. "Dinner, next week."
* * *
Calling Don for dinner plans turns out to be easier than Christian thought. He gets Don's voicemail, leaves him a message suggesting a place and time. Two hours later Don calls him back when he's in the shower and leaves a message agreeing. That's all there is to it, and Wednesday night Christian shows up at the little Vietnamese place two minutes before seven.
He gets a table along the wall and takes a seat, watching people come and go. Don walks in just about on time and Christian smiles, raising a hand in hello. There's nothing to be nervous about, he tells himself. This is just two old friends having dinner. Really.
If he could believe that, he'd be a lot calmer.
It's just dinner, Don tells himself for the seven thousandth time. Just dinner with a friend and there's no reason to have changed his tie twelve times before ditching it all together or for the way his heart speeds up when he sees Christian across the restaurant. Or for how it gets worse when he leans down to kiss Christian's cheek before he can second guess it.
"Sorry I'm late," he says, dropping into the chair across from Christian.
"Oh, it's fine, you're not really," Christian says. "I was a bit early." He smiles and tucks an errant curl behind his ear. "How was your day?"
"Not bad," Don says. "It helped knowing I'd get to see you at the end of it." It's true, he's been looking forward to this, to doing something other than hanging out with his sisters or having more take out in front of the TV.
The tiny waitress comes by and sets mugs of tea in front of them before bustling off again. Christian wraps his hands around the stoneware, leaning back in his seat. "I've been looking forward to seeing you, too," he admits.
"Yeah?" Don blushes a little, looking down at his hands.
Christian smiles and looks at his tea. "We're hopeless," he says after a moment. "If we sit here all night not looking at each other and being awkward--can we maybe try and avoid some of that? Maybe?"
"Maybe," Don says, looking up at the same moment Christian does. He shakes off the urge to look away again. "So, how badly did your friends interrogate you last week?"
Christian winces theatrically. "It took me two hours and several expensive coffees to get them off my back," he says. "David and Travis can be a bit--protective. Did your sisters bother you?"
"I had twenty-two messages from them before I got home from seeing you," Don says. "They're, um, a little... Okay, they think it's romantic." He all but spits out the word and it still leaves a funky taste in his mouth. "Liz keeps going on about destiny and first loves and I shouldn't be telling you that."
It's Christian's turn to blush, looking down at his mug. "I--oh," he says, not sure what to say to that. "Well. Um." He's saved from further embarrassment by the waitress who shows up to take their orders.
"It's ridiculous," Don says when she's gone again. "I keep trying to explain that we're not teenagers anymore, we don't even really know each other. I think she and Karen have both seen one too many chick flicks."
"Possibly," Christian says, smiling. "Although." He tilts his head to the side. "Is your favorite ice cream flavor still mint chocolate chip?"
Don laughs. "You would remember that, wouldn't you?" he asks. Their second date was a trip to an ice cream shop that's long since been torn down and turned into a Starbucks. They ate themselves sick and spent the rest of the evening laying in the grass somewhere in Central Park, moaning about belly aches and sharing kisses that tasted like sugar. "Some things don't change."
Some things don't, and some things do. Christian turns his mug around in his hands, smiling a little. "I wasn't able to eat rocky road for months after that," he says.
"You wouldn't even look at any kind of chocolate for weeks," Don says. "And we both cringed when ice cream trucks went by. I remember you dragging me to all those midnight movies, all the classics. You got mad at me when we saw Casablanca."
"You didn't appreciate it," Christian protests. "How can you not love that movie? Best romance ever."
"I appreciated you more and that was the problem," Don says. "You didn't even..." He shakes his head, deciding not to follow that thought. "It was a long time ago. You think you can forgive me for being stupid?"
"I think so," Christian says. "Think you can forgive me for being stubborn?"
"That night, yes," Don says. "I don't think that's changed, either, though. Couldn't have with your career, or even with the way you shut down your friends before."
"Yeah, well." Christian shrugs. "Sometimes being stubborn is necessary. I do my best to avoid the prima donna bit though. No requests for bowls of blue M&Ms or that rubbish."
"Just English breakfast tea and cream," Don says. "Salt and vinegar crisps because you would never call them chips, and a stock of pens and a notepad. Am I right?"
"You are," Christian says, laughing. "I suppose I haven't changed much after all."
"You have," Don says, moving his hands out of the way as their food arrives. He nods a thanks to their waitress and continues. "You've grown up, we both have, and you might---you might be even cuter now."
Christian ducks his head. "I could say the same about you, you know," he says. "You look fantastic."
"I don't know. Fantastic might be a little much," Don says. "I'm settling for just not tripping over my own feet anymore."
"You've--" Christian takes a bite of pho as he thinks about how to put it. "You look comfortable with yourself," he says finally. "You're settled in your skin."
"Happens to all of us sooner or later," Don says, taking another sip of his tea. "I've been wondering about something."
"What's that?" Christian asks, setting down his spoon.
"How is it you're still single?" Don asks. "You're talented, you're smart, you're as far from troll as you can get, so what am I missing here?"
* * *
Turns out it doesn't matter why Christian's still single, just that he is. It's not like he gives Don a straight answer, just a lot of blushing and hedging, and proof that he's as different from Danny as might be humanly possible. Different is good, very good, and enough that Don really hates for the evening to end.
"You could come back to my place," Don offers as they're leaving the restaurant. "I mean, if you wanted. Maybe have a drink, talk some more?"
"Ah--sure," Christian says, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "Sure, I'd like that." He smiles at Don. "How far away do you live?"
"Not far, six, seven blocks," Don says. "What about you?"
"About four blocks," Christian says. "South and west. I--" He lets out a slow breath. This is normal. This is what normal people do. "I don't have alcohol or coffee, but if you'd like to come up, you're welcome to," he says.
"Why don't we go to mine and I'll see you home after?" Don suggests, hearing something like hesitation in Christian's voice. "I do have tea, and one of my mom's coffee cakes."
"The kind with the crumb topping? Sold," Christian says, feeling a surge of relief and a tiny bit of disappointment.
Something still sounds off, but Don decides to leave it, giving directions where they're needed and filling the space between with a lot of talk about nothing. He nods to his doorman and falls in step with Christian on the way to the elevator.
"I've only lived here a couple of years," he says. "It's the biggest apartment I've ever had, and I still barely have room to turn around, just so you know."
"But do you have a roommate?" Christian asks. "That's the important part."
"I don't," Don says. "Liz lived with me for the first year, but her girlfriend convinced her to move out to Park Slope. Not a minute too soon, if you ask me."
No roommate. That's--Christian grins a little sheepishly to himself. It doesn't matter, it's not like--"I don't have a roommate either," he says, distracting himself. "I--don't think I could live with anyone else right now." Not now. Possibly not ever again.
"I thought I'd miss it," Don says as the elevator rises. "I'm finding out I really don't. It's nice to have someone else who'll make coffee in the morning, but I don't miss coming home dirty dishes or having somebody use up all the hot water. There's a time and place for a cold shower, you know?"
"Yeah, I know," Christian says. "I had enough of those at Julliard to last me the rest of my life." He steps out of the elevator after Don. "It's kind of funny that you live so close, and yet we've never really run into each other."
Don shrugs, pulling out his keys. "I'm either here or at work," he says. "If I go out, it's usually closer to work or uptown. I might spend more time in the neighborhood now, though."
"Travis accuses me of hermiting," Christian says. "I don't go out much anymore."
"Well, you're getting older," Don says, flipping on the light in the entry way and resetting the alarm. "You were partying at sixteen the way most people do at eighteen. I hate to think what you were doing at eighteen. Hell, I hate to think what *I* was doing at eighteen."
"At eighteen--I was still partying like I was immortal," Christian says, laughing. "What *were* you doing at eighteen?"
Don shakes his head, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it up on one of the hooks along the wall. "Trust me, you don't want to know," he says. "I'm surprised I'm not still grounded."
Christian hangs his jacket up next to Don's. "I was never so glad my mum wasn't around," he says.
"She was something. I still have nightmares about the one time I met her," Don says, continuing on into the living room and turning on a few of the lamps. He moves a stack of mostly read newspapers from the coffee table to their proper basket near the recliner and looks back at Christian, wondering what he makes of the place.
"I like your flat," Christian says, looking around. "Oh, sorry, apartment." He wanders over to the bookcase, looking at the small collection of pewter animals. "You still have the horse I gave you," he says, surprised and pleased.
"You started a trend," Don says, crossing to stand beside him. "Mom gave me the elephant when I started at the academy. The bird's from Stella; she picked it up on her first trip to Greece. I got the lizard when Lizzie lived in Taos for a couple of months." He doesn't mention the others, a dozen or so from various people on various bookshelves in the office and on his dresser.
"They're lovely," Christian says, turning slightly so Don's next to him, instead of partially behind him.
"It's silly, but I like them," Don says, resting his hand against Christian's back for a brief moment. "I promised you tea and cake. I should go take care of that."
"You should," Christian says. Before he realizes it, he leans over to kiss Don's cheek. "I get cranky without my tea."
"I remember that, too," Don says, softer than he intends. He turns away and heads into the kitchen, going through the motions of plugging in the electric kettle and starting coffee, trying to figure out what the hell is happening. It's all just friendly, he thinks that's all it could be as he cuts two slices of cake and finds mugs that actually match the saucers.
Alone in the living room, Christian blows out a breath and drops down on the couch, rubbing his hands over his face. This is proving to be an interesting evening. He's not sure he's up for interesting anymore.
Don brings Christian's tea in, a small cup of milk with it, and sets it on the end table beside him. "You can put on some music if you want, or the TV," he says. "The remotes are both in that drawer and the CDs are all in the binders on the bookcase."
"You know, I still don't own a TV," Christian says. "Thank you for the tea." He adds milk and takes a sip, bringing his cup with him as he goes to leaf through the CDs. "You have our albums," he says, looking up with a probably idiotic grin.
"Liz," Don says, ducking back into the kitchen. He comes back with the coffee cake and his own mug, and sits down in the recliner. "If it's a band she knows someone in, she buys everything. She thought it was criminal I didn't have them."
"And here I thought you were a fan," Christian says sadly. He finds a Norah Jones CD and slips it into the stereo. "My hopes, crushed again."
"Never said I wasn't," Don points out. "All I said was Liz bought them for me, not when."
"When did she buy them?" Christian takes his seat on the couch again, tucking one leg under himself.
"I don't know about the first one, maybe a month or two after it came out," Don says. "She came over with the other one the day it was released and made me listen to it."
Christian grins and ducks his head. "Always nice to hear," he says. "Next time, if you want a copy, I can probably get you a free one. Did you like them?"
"I did. I told you, you're talented," Don says. "I was kind of surprised you went with a rock band, but you guys are really good."
"I needed a change," Christian says simply. "And I was lucky enough to find the others."
Don takes a sip of coffee and searches for something else to talk about. He doesn't miss the irony, he interrogates people for a living and can't manage to keep a conversation going in his own living room. "I'm sorry," he finally says. "I don't---it's been a long time since I really did this."
Christian shakes his head, smiling. "Don, the last time I had anything close to resembling a date it was over four years ago," he says. "Define 'long time'."
"Not that long," Don says. "I just... Danny and I were friends for a long time before we hooked up, and before that I didn't... I wasn't dating the kind of girls where conversation was a priority."
"It seems kind of a shame, you know," Christian says softly, looking at Don. "You're a very intelligent man. Why date people who don't appreciate it?"
"You're giving me too much credit, Christian," Don says. "It was easy, not going in expecting anything, not getting attached. I make a good escort, clean up well in a tux, and the sex wasn't bad most of the time." He shrugs, taking another drink from his mug. "I'm not a good boyfriend. I work too much, I don't come home on time, and I'd rather watch ESPN than cuddle."
"I seem to remember you liking to cuddle," Christian says, setting down his mug. "I was always the restless one. You kept trying to keep me in bed. Or is my memory faulty?" He's pretty sure it isn't. Memories of staying in bed with Don are one of the good things he holds on to.
"I was seventeen and finally having sex involving another person," Don says, smiling a little. "I never wanted to get out of bed. My priorities have changed a little. So has my recovery time."
"We've both gotten older," Christian says. "It happens. I still think snuggling in bed is a perfectly acceptable way to spend a Saturday morning, though." He smiles and shrugs. "Maybe that's just me."
"It works better when there's someone to snuggle with," Don says, resolutely not imagining spending a lazy Saturday next to Christian. "You haven't touched the cake. Is there something wrong with it?"
"What--oh, no, not at all. I guess I was just more full from dinner than I thought," Christian says. He picks up his fork and takes a bite. "Oh, that's just as good as I remember."
"I'll tell mom you said so." Don eats a few bites of his own piece and sets the plate back down, studying Christian. He finds his attention wandering back to Christian's mouth more than once and finally has to look away.
"What?" Christian asks, blushing. "You keep looking at me and looking away. Have I got cake on my cheek or something?" He puts down his fork.
"No," Don says quickly, embarrassed at being caught staring. "No, you're fine. I'm sorry."
Christian takes one last sip of his tea. "I think maybe I'd better go," he says hesitantly.
"Yeah, it's---it's getting late," Don says, a little disappointed. "I could call down and have George get you a cab if you wanted."
"You--you said something about walking me home," Christian says, not quite believing he's saying it. "I'm only about three blocks that way. If you--if you want, I mean--" He stops, blushing.
"Sure. I just thought maybe---it doesn't matter," Don says. "You, uh, you still blush when you get flustered." And it still makes Don want to kiss him, but no force on earth could make him admit it.
"You thought maybe what?" Christian asks, walking over to Don.
"That maybe you were sick of me already," Don says, looking up at him.
Christian shakes his head. "No, I'm not," he says. "I promise. It's just--it's getting late and I should check on Mimi. But you're welcome to--to walk me home and maybe come up for a bit, if you want." He can't believe he's inviting Don to come up. Only David and Travis have ever been inside his place.
"Okay," Don says, getting to his feet. it brings him close to Christian, enough that a deep breath on either side would have them touching, and he lets himself brush a kiss against Christian's cheek and his hand catches Christian's lightly. "If you're sure."
"I'm sure," Christian says, although his free hand tenses and he only lasts a moment before he pulls free. "I'm--I'd better get my jacket. It's cold out there." He kisses Don's cheek and goes to get his jacket.
Don follows him, pulling his own jacket back on and checking for his keys, a little bewildered at how fast Christian pulled away from him. "After you," he says, holding the door open.
It is cold out; their breath comes in white puffs and Christian hunches down into his jacket as they walk to his building. "I'm right here," he says, nodding at the old warehouse.
Don raises an eyebrow. He knew Christian was doing well, but he also knows spaces in this building weren't exactly cheap. "Not what I expected."
"No?" Christian grins as they walk up to the door. "Hi, Tom," he says to the doorman.
"No," Don says. "I know someone who applied for an apartment here and it's not an easy building to get into."
"I moved in here about three years ago," Christian says, hitting the button for the elevator. "I think it was my charming smile."
"It'd certainly convince me," Don says, purposely not looking at Christian this time.
Christian blushes and runs a hand through his hair. The elevator arrives and he swipes his card for the top floor.
"Do you really want to know why I was staring before?" Don asks softly, after they've risen a few floors.
"I do," Christian says, glancing at him.
"Thinking about all the things that haven't changed," Don says, "I wondered if... if you still kissed like you used to."
"You could find out," Christian says, almost a whisper.
Don smiles, taking a small step closer. He raises his hand to Christian's cheek and tilts his head just so to bring their lips together. It's soft and sweet and better than he remembered.
The elevator dings, startling Christian. "C'mon," he says, taking the opportunity to sneak one more kiss before going to unlock his door. The third lock sticks, it always does, and he thinks once again he should get it fixed. But then it's open and they're inside. Christian resets the alarm and locks the door automatically, hanging up his keys and his jacket. "Welcome to my place," he says shyly.
"I... wow," Don says, ever the intelligent one. Again, he knew the apartments were nice, but his could fit in here twice over and the huge windows and high ceilings would be worth the price alone. "I think I'm glad we went to mine first or I'd have never been able to invite you in."
"It's--well, I bought the apartment so I could fit the piano in it," Christian says as Mimi comes running for him. He scoops her up, stroking her fur. "Mimi, this is Don. Don, this is the true love of my life Mimi."
"Hi, Mimi," Don says, reaching up to pet her lightly.
Mimi sniffs his fingers warily and gives him a skeptical look, but allows Don to scratch behind her ears. "I know what you want," Christian says, shifting her to his shoulder. "You want dinner. Don, make yourself comfortable, I'll be right back." He carries Mimi to the kitchen to give her fresh food.
Don uses the time to take another look around, appreciating the simple furniture and how uncluttered but comfortable the apartment seems. Well, uncluttered until his eyes reach the piano and the stacks of notebooks and folders on and under the bench and lining the shelves nearby. He takes a seat on the couch and picks up the magazine on the coffee table. He's just started reading the interview with Christian and Belfry's drummer, Kevin, when Christian comes back.
Christian takes a seat next to Don. "Reading anything good?" he asks, brushing white fur off his jeans.
"Just a description of your 'disconcertingly blue eyes and gentle voice,'" Don says, amused by the journalist.
"Oh, gods, not that piece," Christian says with a wince. "Put it away before she gets ito my tats."
"Only if you tell me about them yourself," Don says, setting the magazine aside.
"Which one do you want to know about? I have six," Christian says. "One's unfinished, though."
"Six?" Don repeats before he can stop himself. "Are you serious?"
"Mm-hmm," Christian says, pushing up his sleeves. "Music is what makes life worth living." He holds out his right arm, the ink wrapping around it in a spiral. "And the Belfry logo. We all got it done." He turns over his left forearm to let Don see. "There's one on my shoulder, and then three on my back."
"What are the ones on your back?" Don asks, touching his fingertips to the Belfry tattoo lightly.
"It's easier to show you," Christian says, his skin prickling at Don's touch. Before he loses his nerve, he pulls off his shirt, turning around. "The quote was the second tattoo I ever got," he says, bending forward a little to let Don read the words. "Music doesn't lie. The staff is unfinished. Someday I'll know what I want to put there, but right now I don't, and then the G clef at the nape of my neck."
Don draws in a breath and draws his hands back before he can touch Christian, no matter how much he wants to. "What's the story with the ying-yang symbol? Yes and no?"
Christian pulls his shirt on again and turns around. "It's a quote by Aaron Copeland," he says. "I'll misquote it now, but the gist is--" He tips his head back, thinking. "Is there a meaning to music? Yes. And can you state in so many words what that meaning is? No."
"I like that," Don says. "Music is something different to everyone, so it makes a lot of sense."
"I thought so too," Christian says, smiling. "Would you--I've tea, or cocoa, if you want something hot to drink?" He licks his lower lip absently.
Don shakes his head slowly once the question registers. "I should..." He gestures toward the door. It's the right thing to do, the sensible thing.
"Don't," Christian says, barely audible. "Don't go." Fear is a cold ball in the pit of his stomach. He hasn't done this in years, and not since--and he doesn't care. Not right now. Christian reaches out, covering Don's hand with his own. "You don't have to go," he says softly.
"I don't---I don't know what I'm doing," Don whispers, turning his hand under Christian's. He brushes his thumb across Christian's palm and realizes it's true, he feels as clueless as he did when he was seventeen but with less bravado to cover it.
"I'm not sure I do either," Christian says, looking down at their hands. He smiles a little. "You could kiss me," he says. "That'd be a place to start." That's how it all started back then, a party and an awkward kiss that tasted of punch.
"I could do that," Don says, thinking of how Christian never did like making the first move, even when they'd been together for months. He slides a little closer, seeing the way Christian blushes, and that's where he starts, a brush of his lips against Christian's cheek.
Christian turns his head, meeting Don's lips with his own. One kiss turns into another, and then another, each one getting a little longer, a bit deeper. Don doesn't taste of sticky-sweet punch now but coffee and cinnamon and sugar. Infinitely preferable and possibly a little bit addictive.
He doesn't quite know how it happens, one kiss turning into kisses and kisses turning into not wanting them to ever stop, but Don does know better than to fight it. He loses himself somewhere between the tangle of his fingers in Christian's hair and the soft sounds Christian makes.
It's easier to just feel, to not think about what they're doing. Christian reaches out to unbutton Don's shirt, wanting to feel his skin, but gets thwarted by his undershirt. He shifts a bit so he's almost straddling Don's lap, trying to get shirt and undershirt out of the way. They're going to have to stop kissing for that to really work, which he's not quite willing to do yet.
This is moving too fast, Don can't keep up and he knows he has to do something, has to pull back and slow down. Guiding Christian's hands beneath his undershirt is not the answer, and he does it anyway, almost hissing at the feel of his fingers against his skin. His own hands settle on Christian's hips, pulling him more firmly into his lap, conscious that this is not teenaged fumbling anymore.
Maybe this was the solution all along, to just stop thinking for a bit and let go, let himself get caught up in touch and taste and sensation. And yet he can't turn his brain off entirely, can't stop wondering what they're doing, if this is really right. Christian pulls back a little, searching Don's face for answers to a question he can't form.
"Tell me what you want," Don says, running his hands over Christian's back. "Where is this... where is this going?"
"I don't know," Christian says, his hands on Don's shoulders. "Do you--do you want to spend the night with me?" He feels the little curl of cold in his belly, but he ignores it.
Don's going to hate himself for it in the morning, but he shakes his head, just once. "I want to, so bad," he says. "It's too soon. Too fast, this is too fast for---for us. For me."
He's right. Of course he's right. Christian swallows and nods, sliding out of Don's lap and back to his corner of the couch. "You're right," he says. "You're--yeah."
"I didn't mean... I like you," Don says, ready to kick himself for how lame that sounds and yet he can't stop talking. "You're the first guy in a long time, the first anybody, I don't wanna just jump into bed with. I mean, I want to, of course I want to, but..."
"But it's too soon," Christian says softly. "I understand. I like you too, you know." He fiddles with his ring absently. "It's just--not tonight, I guess."
Don sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. "I don't want to fuck this up," he says. "I don't want it to be another four years before I see you. Waiting a week was bad enough, you know?"
"Yeah," Christian says. "I know." He smiles a little. "Maybe we can do dinner again this week. Friday? We can see how things go from there?" Friday will give him more time to think about this, to figure out if he's really ready to try and be with someone again.
"Yeah, that sounds good," Don says. "Maybe I could cook for you? You could even invite David and Travis, convince them I'm not a complete psycho."
"We've been there done that, but I could invite them if you like," Christian says. "Seven okay?"
Don nods, stretching his hand into the space between them, offering it to Christian. "They're important to you," he says. "Even if... I plan on sticking around, okay? Whether we date or whatever, I still want to spend time with you."
Christian takes Don's hand. "I want to spend time with you, too," he says. "Four years--it's been too long. I don't want to do that again."
"Then we won't," Don says, bringing Christian's hand up to his lips. He kisses each fingertip and the center of his palm, wondering if that's still something he likes.
Christian's breath catches and his hand flexes in Don's hold. "You'd--ah--that's not a good idea if you want to leave," he says, a little breathless.
"I don't want to, but I will," Don says, squeezing Christian's hand gently. "I'm going to go home, soon, to a very cold shower and spend the night kicking myself for not staying."
Christian smiles a little, taking his hand back. "I'll see you out," he says, getting to his feet. "I think I need a shower of my own."
Don can't help smiling at that as he stands up. "I'll give you a call Thursday about dinner."
* * *
Don's in the middle of not-so-gently booting Danny out the door when the intercom buzzes to let him know Christian and David are there. He can hear something boiling over on the stove, he has tomato sauce smeared down his apron and Danny is not leaving.
"You have to go," Don says at the same time Danny says, "I want to meet him."
Don wants to shoot something. Possibly Danny, right in the ass.
"No," he says firmly, holding the door open. "I swear I'll tell you all about it later, but you are not staying. You are not meeting him. You are going home to your baby mama like you were never here."
"This is why we didn't work out," Danny says. "You're bitchy when you have to be domestic."
"No, we didn't work because you forgot to use a condom," Don says, biting back the laundry list of other reasons he wants to name. "Now, please, go."
"Going, going," Danny says, finally leaving the apartment. Don would slump against the door in relief behind him but the massive amounts of steam pouring out of the kitchen pretty much kill that idea. He leaves the door open for David and Christian and go to try and salvage the pasta.
"Hello the house," Christian calls, poking his head inside the apartment. "Anyone home?"
"Kitchen," Don calls back, having turned down the heat on the stove and ditched the apron. He sets the timer on the oven, makes sure the kettle is heating and coffee brewing, and goes out to meet David and Christian. "Sorry about that. I had to get rid of help that wasn't helpful and then make sure nothing exploded."
"Whatever it is it smells great," Christian says. "We come bearing gifts." He hands Don the pink box. "Homemade brownies, quite possibly the best you've ever had in your life. I didn't make them."
"For which we're all grateful," David says, grinning.
"You still haven't mastered the American oven, Christian?" Don teases, setting the box on the dining table. "My mom tried to teach him to make cupcakes once. We played hockey with them for a week after."
"My talents lie in other areas," Christian says, the tips of his ears going pink.
"Honey, we know," David says. "Hi. I'm David. Have we ever officially met?" He holds out his hand to Don.
"We haven't," Don says, shaking his hand. "I'm glad you could make it. Can I get you guys something to drink?"
"Water'd be great," David says. Christian just shakes his head.
"Are you sure, Christian?" Don asks, hand light on Christian's arm when what he really wants is to be able to kiss him. "I've got water heating for tea."
"Oh, well, if you've already put the kettle on," Christian says with a sheepish smile. "I'd love a cup." He kisses Don on the cheek.
"Did you like the flowers?" Don asks softly, returning Christian's kiss. "You didn't say when we talked."
"I did," Christian says, blushing a bit. "They're sitting in a vase next to the piano. Thank you for them."
"You're welcome," Don says, smiling. "I'll get those drinks if you want to go sit down. You, uh, might want to change the CD to something else." He doesn't mind Christian knowing he's been listening to Take Me Home, but he can't imagine he wants to hear it.
"Did I tell you he's cute?" David murmurs to Christian once Don's out of the room.
"Yes," Christian says, going to find a new CD. "Hands off, darling."
"I would never." David gives Christian an indignant look.
"I know, I know." Christian puts in Sarah Vaughan and turns to look at David. "Honey, what the hell am I doing?"
David crosses to him and kisses his cheek. "Scared?" he asks.
"It's been four years," Christian says softly. "And really it's been longer than that. I don't know if I can do this anymore."
"Only way to find out is to try," David says, stroking Christian's hair.
Christian smiles and leans into him for a moment. "He doesn't know," he says. "About any of it."
"You'll tell him when he needs to," David says.
Don stands in the doorway for a moment, glass in one hand, saucer and cup in the other, trying to figure out exactly what he's seeing. The bigger question is why it feels like being tackled to see Christian that close to David, that easy with him, even though he knows they're just friends. He shakes his head and forces himself into the room, setting both cups down on the coffee table and clearing his throat.
"Thank you," David says, going to get his glass. "So you have to tell me something, Don. Was Christian as much of a--well, blonde--at sixteen as he is now?"
"Hey!" Christian objects. "You're blonde too, you know."
"Yes, honey, but you forgot to take off your pajamas before you stepped into the shower this morning," David says patiently. "Our hair may be the same color, but I can at least remember when I'm dressed and when I'm not."
"He was never good with mornings," Don says, refusing to consider why David would know what he did or didn't wear into the shower. "Or afternoons, for that matter."
"What he's not telling you is that he shoved me into the shower," Christian says, picking up his teacup. "He had the nerve to show up at noon and demand I get up and dressed so he could take me out looking for--what the bloody hell were we looking for again?"
"A birthday present for Travis," David says.
"Did he at least give you tea first?" Don asks, remembering that being the only way he could bribe Christian to wake up when he'd sleep over.
"I did," David says. "It's the only way I know of to get him up and moving."
Christian sighs. "I am not that bad," he says. "And it was noon. I got to bed at five in the morning. Show a little understanding."
"He is," Don says. "Very little." He's saved from any response by the timer going off in the kitchen and he ducks out again to check on dinner.
"If you two start bonding over making fun of me, I'm going to take the brownies away and you won't get any," Christian warns David.
"We wouldn't do that." David slips his arm around Christian's waist and hugs him. "Besides, I have to get him to like me so I can interrogate him later."
"No, you don't," Christian says firmly.
"I don't have to get him to li--" David shuts up when Christian puts his hand over his mouth.
Don's cell phone rings while he's taking the chicken cacciatore out of the oven and he scowls at Danny's name on the display. "What?"
"Was he guy with the earrings or the one with the curls?" Danny asks just as bluntly.
"Jesus, Messer. Did she turn you into a thirteen year old girl on top of taking your balls?" Don asks, setting the pan on the counter. "And curls."
"He's cute and you're an asshole, Flack," Danny says. "You set the kitchen on fire yet?"
"No, but you're not helping. Seriously, stop acting like a---" Don starts to say jealous ex, but that's exactly what he's doing, and they don't talk about that. "Like one of my sisters. I'm turning the phone off." And he does, or at least switches it to vibrate and tucks it back into his pocket. One of these days, they're going to sit down and set some boundaries, but he can't think about that while he's trying to arrange everything onto a serving dish.
* * *
Part 2