CSI: NY fic (Danny/Flack/Mac)
Jun. 1st, 2005 04:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bedlamsbardSo, basically, I have no explanation or excuse for this. None at all. It was all the evil Tibetan monkeys' faults. I don't particularly like it, and it probably won't be continued, and I don't think they're all that in character, but it amuses me, sort of.
Flack has big hands, broad and long-fingered, and the skin on them seems darker than it is against the crisp white of Danny's shirt. Danny has him backed up against one bay of lockers and they're kissing like crazy, hands and mouth sliding over each other like the world's ending around them.
Mac doesn't know why's he's still standing there. It's not that there's something intensely private about them, because there's not. Flack has a flair for the dramatic even on the job, and it's still there as he rubs his knuckles up Danny's thigh, like he wants to be seen and appreciated for what he does, and Mac suspects Danny just doesn't care.
They've all been working so much overtime it's like they're drunk from lack of sleep and not drink. It's that which keeps Mac by the door, watching in silent fascination, and it's that which keeps Danny's mouth on Flack's neck, and it's probably that that makes Flack look up and grin, "He-eeey, Mac," with a devilish, considering expression in his blue eyes.
Danny twists around and grins too, the exhaustion drunk written clear across his face in black bags and pale skin. "Hey, Mac," he says giddily. "Come to join the party?"
Mac still doesn't know why he's still standing there, why he didn't run while he had the chance, or for that matter, why he hadn't left as soon as they'd decisively closed the case instead of staying around to finish up the paperwork and look at cold case files in case anything jumped out at him. "I -"
Flack peels Danny off him like a limpet. There's something besides lust and exhaustion in his eyes, something curious and speculative, and maybe it's that which keeps Mac from leaving. It's not the sight of Danny with his shirt half unbuttoned, or the hickeys that trace their way down Flack's throat past his collar, or the tie that Danny's bound around his wrists. Definitely not.
Flack steps forward, tugging absently at one wrist until he frees it from the tie, and his eyes are bright and determined. "Hey, Mac," he says again, and it's the exhaustion that make Mac step back and not toward the door, letting Flack catch him neatly against the wall. It's lack of sleep that blurs his mind so that he kisses Flack back without thinking. flack's mouth is hot and heedless, teeth and tongue blending into a blinding glare of want that shoots straight down to his groin.
The feel of a second pair of lips on his neck makes him break the kiss and flinch wildly away, but there's nowahere to go and Danny catches him open-mouthed. His kisses are lighter and more playful, without the brusing force behind Flack's. Flack scrapes his teeth across Mac's pulsepoint, licks up the line of his jaw, and meets Danny's mouth on Mac's, so that they're kissing him and each other.
At some point during this Mac has closed his eyes and he opens them to Flack's twin mind-numbing blurs of eerily pale blue that hold no secrets this close up. There are scars on his face, thin white liens that spiderweb like cracks in glass. They're faint enough and old enough Mac hasn't seen them before, and the realization gnaws at him like regret and acid.
Danny's hand on his chest, warm though the fabric of his shirt and undershirt, and Flack's fingers brush against his thigh. Danny's hands are smaller and more nimble than Flack's, who touches him with gun-callused hands rough with promise. Mac doesn't know why they're doing this or how, no evidence to give him an answer or chain of custody to blame. Just Danny's hands and Flack's mouth, and he thinks of DNA like he's a victim waiting to happen.
Things that will be finished before June 19: New York Minute. It will be done by then, or I swear to God I'll stay up all night writing the 18th to get it done, because after the 19th I'm not going to be here. The band's going to Disneyland for a week, and I don't want to take a weeklong hiatus from one fic. After that I have a couple days at home, then Bioengineering Summer Camp for another week at the University of Washington in Seattle. This means I will not be home, and I probably won't have Internet access.
Things you can expect this summer:
Snafu 2.0 (a.k.a. the rewrite, because, plot holes big enough to drive a tanker through)
Omerta
possibly Black Monday (the first Mac story).
Flack has big hands, broad and long-fingered, and the skin on them seems darker than it is against the crisp white of Danny's shirt. Danny has him backed up against one bay of lockers and they're kissing like crazy, hands and mouth sliding over each other like the world's ending around them.
Mac doesn't know why's he's still standing there. It's not that there's something intensely private about them, because there's not. Flack has a flair for the dramatic even on the job, and it's still there as he rubs his knuckles up Danny's thigh, like he wants to be seen and appreciated for what he does, and Mac suspects Danny just doesn't care.
They've all been working so much overtime it's like they're drunk from lack of sleep and not drink. It's that which keeps Mac by the door, watching in silent fascination, and it's that which keeps Danny's mouth on Flack's neck, and it's probably that that makes Flack look up and grin, "He-eeey, Mac," with a devilish, considering expression in his blue eyes.
Danny twists around and grins too, the exhaustion drunk written clear across his face in black bags and pale skin. "Hey, Mac," he says giddily. "Come to join the party?"
Mac still doesn't know why he's still standing there, why he didn't run while he had the chance, or for that matter, why he hadn't left as soon as they'd decisively closed the case instead of staying around to finish up the paperwork and look at cold case files in case anything jumped out at him. "I -"
Flack peels Danny off him like a limpet. There's something besides lust and exhaustion in his eyes, something curious and speculative, and maybe it's that which keeps Mac from leaving. It's not the sight of Danny with his shirt half unbuttoned, or the hickeys that trace their way down Flack's throat past his collar, or the tie that Danny's bound around his wrists. Definitely not.
Flack steps forward, tugging absently at one wrist until he frees it from the tie, and his eyes are bright and determined. "Hey, Mac," he says again, and it's the exhaustion that make Mac step back and not toward the door, letting Flack catch him neatly against the wall. It's lack of sleep that blurs his mind so that he kisses Flack back without thinking. flack's mouth is hot and heedless, teeth and tongue blending into a blinding glare of want that shoots straight down to his groin.
The feel of a second pair of lips on his neck makes him break the kiss and flinch wildly away, but there's nowahere to go and Danny catches him open-mouthed. His kisses are lighter and more playful, without the brusing force behind Flack's. Flack scrapes his teeth across Mac's pulsepoint, licks up the line of his jaw, and meets Danny's mouth on Mac's, so that they're kissing him and each other.
At some point during this Mac has closed his eyes and he opens them to Flack's twin mind-numbing blurs of eerily pale blue that hold no secrets this close up. There are scars on his face, thin white liens that spiderweb like cracks in glass. They're faint enough and old enough Mac hasn't seen them before, and the realization gnaws at him like regret and acid.
Danny's hand on his chest, warm though the fabric of his shirt and undershirt, and Flack's fingers brush against his thigh. Danny's hands are smaller and more nimble than Flack's, who touches him with gun-callused hands rough with promise. Mac doesn't know why they're doing this or how, no evidence to give him an answer or chain of custody to blame. Just Danny's hands and Flack's mouth, and he thinks of DNA like he's a victim waiting to happen.
Things that will be finished before June 19: New York Minute. It will be done by then, or I swear to God I'll stay up all night writing the 18th to get it done, because after the 19th I'm not going to be here. The band's going to Disneyland for a week, and I don't want to take a weeklong hiatus from one fic. After that I have a couple days at home, then Bioengineering Summer Camp for another week at the University of Washington in Seattle. This means I will not be home, and I probably won't have Internet access.
Things you can expect this summer:
Snafu 2.0 (a.k.a. the rewrite, because, plot holes big enough to drive a tanker through)
Omerta
possibly Black Monday (the first Mac story).