bedlamsbard (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bedlamsbard) wrote2006-03-17 04:08 pm
bedlamsbard) wrote2006-03-17 04:08 pm
Entry tags:
CSI:NY fic: Bardverse: "Luck of the Irish" (Danny/Flack)
Happy St. Pat's Day, all!
Danny/Flack ficlet, Bardverse, post-Bloody Sunday and pre-There But for the Grace of God.
Flack shoved the refrigerator door shut with his shoulder and turned toward the living room, sixpack dangling from his hand. The TV was on mute, Danny curled on the couch with his laptop perched on his knees and his fingers flying over the keys. Flack admired the back of his head for a moment, then crossed the narrow hallway and dropped down next to Danny, pressing a kiss to his partner's brow before turning his attention to the beer.
"Whatcha workin' on, Messer? Thought we closed our case. Mac nail you with a new one already?" He punctured the top of the can with the tip of his hook and leaned forward to pour the beer into the frosted glass on the coffee table. Easier that way -- the fractured edges of aluminum had a bad habit of cutting his lips.
"The only thing here Mac's nailing is Stella," Danny said. "This isn't for the lab."
"'s not?" Flack leaned over his shoulder. "Looks like NYPD files, though. Aiden ask a favor?"
"Val did," Danny said. "One of the Lancione capos tuned up dead this morning and I'm the only cop the Commission trusts to break a few rules and get his rap sheet."
"I thought Mac was the one the Commission trusted."
Danny glanced over at him. "Mac's a wild card, Flack. The only loyalties he's got are to the lab, the city of New York, and the good old U.S. of A. The Commission doesn't trust him any farther than the NYPD. Me, I'm a small fry, and I've got blood ties to the Mob. Much easier to call on for little favors like this."
"Also thought the NYPD didn't mess in Mob business."
"I'm not acting as NYPD, Flack," Danny said, and met his eyes for a long minute.
Flack chewed on his lip. "Yeah, okay," he said finally, leaning back as the couch springs protested. "Take a break for a couple hours, though, huh? It's St. Patrick's Day. You're supposed to be getting drunk and laid, not working."
Danny flashed him a mischievious grin. "Didn't you get the memo, Donny-boy? I'm Italian, not Irish."
"Yeah, because MEsser is real Italian, boyo."
"German," Danny said, lips parting slightly. "Messer is German. Means 'knife'."
Flack leaned over him. "Close enough. Same continent, at least."
Danny shoved him back. "Ireland's an island, you idiot."
"Well, you may not be Irish," Flack said smirking. He put his beer down and began to undo the straps on his hook. "But I am. Do I really needta go get the tie again? Because I will if that's what it takes for me to get laid."
"Oh, trust me, Flack," Danny said, "you're getting laid today." He put the laptop aside. "Just watch the equipment. Expensive NYPD property that is --"
Flack put his hand on the bulge in his pants. "What about this?" he asked, leering. "That NYPD equipment too?"
Danny squirmed around to kiss him. "Nope. That's all privately owned." He pressed Flack down into the couch. "You haven't been drinking Otto's Berlinerbier again, have you? Because a good German brew isn't supposed to be fruit-flavored."
"Oh-ho, says the man that ate fucking centipedes." Flack stroked down the front of his pants. "Hell, it's green. Which is more than I can say for this pansy canned stuff you --"
"I'm not letting a drunked cop with a sharp knife attached to one arm anywhere near my dick," Danny said, grinning.
"Hell, it's still there, ain't it? Sure feels like it." Flack leaned up and kissed him again. "Well, come on then, Messer. Let's put those fancy Italian skills to work. The whole diversity thing Monroe was goin' on about the other day."
Danny put one hand on his waist and the other on his chest. "Don't talk about Lindsay," he said.
SPRING BREAK YAY!
Danny/Flack ficlet, Bardverse, post-Bloody Sunday and pre-There But for the Grace of God.
Flack shoved the refrigerator door shut with his shoulder and turned toward the living room, sixpack dangling from his hand. The TV was on mute, Danny curled on the couch with his laptop perched on his knees and his fingers flying over the keys. Flack admired the back of his head for a moment, then crossed the narrow hallway and dropped down next to Danny, pressing a kiss to his partner's brow before turning his attention to the beer.
"Whatcha workin' on, Messer? Thought we closed our case. Mac nail you with a new one already?" He punctured the top of the can with the tip of his hook and leaned forward to pour the beer into the frosted glass on the coffee table. Easier that way -- the fractured edges of aluminum had a bad habit of cutting his lips.
"The only thing here Mac's nailing is Stella," Danny said. "This isn't for the lab."
"'s not?" Flack leaned over his shoulder. "Looks like NYPD files, though. Aiden ask a favor?"
"Val did," Danny said. "One of the Lancione capos tuned up dead this morning and I'm the only cop the Commission trusts to break a few rules and get his rap sheet."
"I thought Mac was the one the Commission trusted."
Danny glanced over at him. "Mac's a wild card, Flack. The only loyalties he's got are to the lab, the city of New York, and the good old U.S. of A. The Commission doesn't trust him any farther than the NYPD. Me, I'm a small fry, and I've got blood ties to the Mob. Much easier to call on for little favors like this."
"Also thought the NYPD didn't mess in Mob business."
"I'm not acting as NYPD, Flack," Danny said, and met his eyes for a long minute.
Flack chewed on his lip. "Yeah, okay," he said finally, leaning back as the couch springs protested. "Take a break for a couple hours, though, huh? It's St. Patrick's Day. You're supposed to be getting drunk and laid, not working."
Danny flashed him a mischievious grin. "Didn't you get the memo, Donny-boy? I'm Italian, not Irish."
"Yeah, because MEsser is real Italian, boyo."
"German," Danny said, lips parting slightly. "Messer is German. Means 'knife'."
Flack leaned over him. "Close enough. Same continent, at least."
Danny shoved him back. "Ireland's an island, you idiot."
"Well, you may not be Irish," Flack said smirking. He put his beer down and began to undo the straps on his hook. "But I am. Do I really needta go get the tie again? Because I will if that's what it takes for me to get laid."
"Oh, trust me, Flack," Danny said, "you're getting laid today." He put the laptop aside. "Just watch the equipment. Expensive NYPD property that is --"
Flack put his hand on the bulge in his pants. "What about this?" he asked, leering. "That NYPD equipment too?"
Danny squirmed around to kiss him. "Nope. That's all privately owned." He pressed Flack down into the couch. "You haven't been drinking Otto's Berlinerbier again, have you? Because a good German brew isn't supposed to be fruit-flavored."
"Oh-ho, says the man that ate fucking centipedes." Flack stroked down the front of his pants. "Hell, it's green. Which is more than I can say for this pansy canned stuff you --"
"I'm not letting a drunked cop with a sharp knife attached to one arm anywhere near my dick," Danny said, grinning.
"Hell, it's still there, ain't it? Sure feels like it." Flack leaned up and kissed him again. "Well, come on then, Messer. Let's put those fancy Italian skills to work. The whole diversity thing Monroe was goin' on about the other day."
Danny put one hand on his waist and the other on his chest. "Don't talk about Lindsay," he said.
SPRING BREAK YAY!
no subject
I have a feeling they'd *all* be dangerous on St. Patrick's Day.
no subject
Dysfunctional domesticity is the only the kind we get in this fandom, isn't it?
Yeah, basically by now the crime lab's screwed and really special.