New York State of Mind

Disclaimer: I don’t own CSI:LV, CSI:Miami, or CSI:NY. I don’t own any of those characters. I don’t own CBS. I don’t own Billy Joel, either. All I own are some vicious plot bunnies, boxed sets of several seasons of the aforementioned shows, and a good use for AA batteries. This particular bunny has had its teeth in my ankle for quite a while now, so hopefully I can fling it at you people and get to work on chapter 2 in this little escapade.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I was considering posting each chapter as a separate story, but since they all are going to effect each other and somewhat run together, I'll just go ahead and post the chapters all in one story and post chapter-specific warnings at the beginning of each. Sorry from any confusion that may result.

Time period: In the teensy little timeframe between Season 2's "Zoo York" and "Youngblood", probably right after "Corporate Warriors," but only because I love that episode.

Beta: No betas here. I just write something, fiddle with it until I think it looks good, and if I think others will enjoy it, I'll post it. That, and the only way to get persistent ideas out of my head is to toss them at other people.

Update as of 7/8/07: Figured out the HTML coding for bolds and italics. Go me.

Please, PLEASE rate and review! I love how the “number of views” counter is climbing, but that’s just people that have seen it. I’d still like to know how I’m doing, please? *sad puppy face*

This chapter's summary: Mac and Danny are seeing each other in secret, and nobody has any idea until Flack accidentally gets an eyeful.

This chapter's warnings: M/M, M/M/M (but only in Flack's head), anal, and oral. And maybe a little voyeurism.

And now, for our feature presentation.

All the waiters in you grand cafe
Leave their tables when you blink
Every dog must have his everyday
Every drunk must have his drink
Don't wait for answers
Just take your chances
Don't ask me why

Billy Joel - "Don't Ask Me Why"

It was late, and Don Flack was tired.

It had been a long shift, with the usual helpless victims and complete scumbags. Now, as the little hand on his watch menaced the 10--he'd clocked in at friggin' 8 in the morning, for chrissakes--the victims were given justice, the scumbags were behind bars, and Don was looking forward to going home and zoning out in front of the tube before calling it a night.

The crime lab was nearly deserted at this hour, as nearly all the other swing-shifters had finished their jobs and gone home. As far as he knew, it was just him and Mac.

In fact, he was on his way to see Mac. Just a couple of papers for the former Marine to sign, then Flack was home free. Looking around the darkened, lonely corridors, Don figured that the boss was in his office, going over some last-minute paperwork of his own. Flack leafed through the papers as he flipped the light off in the break room, telling the tired part of himself to shut up and wait. He so wanted to get out of his brand new suit--charcoal gray looked good on him if he did say so himself, but the fit was all wrong. The pants were somehow longer than his legs, and the arms bunched around his wrists. That, and one of his witnesses-turned-scumbags had remarked that she hadn't seen a tie that ugly since some kids in her neighborhood had played a cruel joke on a blind man down the street. This bothered Flack; he liked to dress nice, and a man could only own so many suits before it got weird.

Flack shoved these thoughts on the back burner. Almost done, he thought to himself. Feeling oddly like an intruder when his footsteps echoed, he walked a bit quieter, somehow unwilling to disturb the satisfied silence of the lab, monitors darkened and machines humming with the quiet contentment of a job well done.

Silently Flack rounded the corner, seeing Mac at his desk, the door open. Flack started to raise his voice to grab the man's attention when something else caught his eye.

For one thing, Mac was seated kinda funny. Sure, he was at his desk, his dress shirt buttoned properly, sleeves rolled up, jacket hanging over his chair, but that wasn't what Flack had noticed. Mac was sitting with his chair turned sideways, his right hand on the desk. For another thing, Mac had an odd look on his face; he almost looked in pain as far as Flack could see, when suddenly the Lab Boss threw his head back, gasping quietly, the right hand flexing and extending and rubbing slow circles on the desk top.

Flack's voice died completely. Mac's jerkin' himself off? Sure enough, he could see the man's shoulders swaying slightly and in a regular rhythm. Flack was ready to make a U-turn when Mac's left hand raised from its former position on the armrest of the chair to run his fingers through his own hair. A choked groan escaped the Marine's lips, his shoulders still swaying.

Flack's brain crashed. Mac Taylor, Mr. Professionalism himself, is getting a blowjob in his office, after hours. Part of his mind recovered enough to get the detective wondering. Who? Stella? Lindsay? That new girl in the trace lab?

Flack couldn't tear his eyes from the sight of Mac writhing in exquisite agony as his mystery lover knelt between his knees. He watched for a few more minutes before he realized it was giving him a hard-on. This disturbed him on one level--he felt like he was violating Mac's privacy--when another side of him thought that it was one of the hottest things Flack's blue eyes had ever seen. Mac mouthed a few silent curses, licking his lips, and the heat began to pool in Flack's good dress pants before he even realized it.

I wonder what that tongue tastes like...
What the hell am I thinking?!

Don Flack squared his shoulders, resolving to walk quickly--and very quietly--away when Mac stiffened in his chair, a low growl bouncing down the corridor. He twitched and grunted for several seconds before collapsing back in the chair with a satisfied sigh. What happened next, Flack simply couldn't believe.

DANNY MESSER rose from his spot on the floor between his boss's knees, a thin line of white trickling down his chin. As Flack watched in shock, Danny braced his hands on the chair's armrests and leaned down, capturing Mac's lips in a kiss that made Flack's knees wobble. The Marine opened his mouth, tongue clearly dueling with that of the Italian, before they finally broke apart to breathe. Danny didn't get too far away as Mac's hand shot out to cradle the back of the younger man's head, the Lead Detective's broad pink tongue cleaning every trace of himself off Danny's goateed face.

Once he was properly cleaned, Danny straightened, and the two simply looked at each other for several seconds before Mac shifted in his chair, tucking himself back into his pants and zipping up. The Marine gave another contented sigh, rolled his head on his shoulders and looked up at Danny. "You want some help with that?" he asked quietly, indicating the visible tent in Danny's tight jeans.

Danny gave a casual smirk. "Nah. I don't go now, I'll miss the train. I'm catchin' the red-eye bus, remember?"

"Yeah," Mac grumbled, disappointed. Rubbing his brow, the Marine reached to the surface of his desk, grasping something and handing it back to Danny. It was the Italian's badge, Flack realized, as he clipped it back onto his belt. When it was secure, Mac handed him his gun. While Danny fiddled with that, Mac stood and reattached his own weapon and shield.

This done, the demeanor of both changed visibly. Gone were the lovers, here was two NYPD detectives going home for the night. "Have a safe trip, Danny. See you in a couple of days." The Marine reached over, clapping the Italian's shoulder in a friendly way.

Danny nodded graciously. "Take it easy, Mac." With that, Danny turned and pulled his jacket off the chair across from Mac's desk--Flack hadn't even noticed it--put it on, and grabbed a small duffel off the floor. He shouldered it, turning to glance and smile over his shoulder before heading out the door.

Flack suddenly realized that he was horribly, horribly exposed, and panic overrode caution: he ducked back into the hallway, running as quickly and quietly as humanly possible. The movement caught Danny's eye, but he got little more than a glimpse of the fleeing, long-legged detective as he rounded the corner and dove out of sight. Danny halted in mid-stride, going pale.

Noticing this, Mac stood and moved to the doorway of his office. "What's wrong, Danny?"

The Italian swallowed. "Flack." He turned and looked the Marine in the eye. "I think he saw us."

All your life you've had to stand in line
Still you're standing on your feet
All your choices made you change your mind
Now your calendar's complete
Don't wait for answers
Just take your chances
Don't ask me why

Billy Joel - "Don't Ask Me Why"

Mac is going to kill me. This thought would not leave Flack's mind. He'd fled to the men's room of all places, picking a stall at random, ducking inside and slamming the pitiful lock home. He lowered the seat and the lid before plonking himself on the john, papers forgotten at his feet. Elbows on his knees, face in his hands, he sighed and figured it would be a lot easier to think if this damn hard-on would go away.

I'm a straight man; I've never looked sideways at another guy before. There's no way I can be this turned on. This thought whispered in his head, only to drown in the realization that Flack didn't think he'd ever been so hard in his life. He found himself imagining himself seated behind Mac's desk, Danny on his knees, looking up at him with those pretty blue eyes as his lips slowly closed around Flack's aching hard dick...

Biting back a moan, Flack massaged himself through his pants. In his little fantasy, Mac towered over him, pinning his wrists to the armrests, face inches from Flack's ear. "You like that, don't you?" Mac whispered in a throaty growl, hot breath tickling the side of Flack's face as Danny's head bobbed over his crotch.

"Oh, God," Flack whispered to the empty bathroom. Throwing self-preservation to the wind, Flack unzipped himself quietly, leaning back on the toilet seat, wrapping his fist around his iron-hard cock. He knew he should be getting the hell out of there, maybe making a run for the border, but the images just would not leave him alone. In his waking wet dream, Mac kept Flack's hands pinned as he ran his tongue down the side of Flack's neck, parting the mysteriously open collar of Flack's shirt, teasing his collarbone with tongue and teeth and lips. "Oh, fuck yeah..."

Eyes tightly shut, Flack pumped himself hard as dream-Danny relaxed his throat muscles and sucked Flack all the way down to the root. He didn't even realize he was cursing quietly until he heard a voice and stilled, realized that it was his own words bouncing off the tile walls. Biting down what sounded suspiciously like a whine, Flack stroked himself harder, faster. His orgasm snuck up on him, and he barely contained the shout as he came hard, Danny's and Mac's names on his lips. When his breathing quieted and he opened his eyes, he stared down at himself, then past himself to the papers on the floor.

Papers. For Mac. With Flack's cum splattered all over them.

Fuck.

His spent equipment still dangling from his open fly, Flack leaned forward again, face in his hands. "Mac is going to kill me."

You can say the human heart is only make believe
And I am only fighting fire with fire
But you are still a victim of the accidents you leave
As sure as I'm a victim of desire

Billy Joel - "Don't Ask Me Why"

Just outside the men's room, Danny and Mac stood silently, Mac holding the door open by a mere inch and a half. Both found themselves getting hard again--well, Mac was getting hard, anyway; Danny had yet to relieve himself--and as Flack came with their names echoing toward them, they threw heavy-lidded glances at each other.

Danny leaned into the side of Mac's face. "You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" he whispered, running a thin tongue around the shell of Mac's ear for good measure.

Mac gave a pleased twitch, turning to the Italian with a predatory smile. He controlled himself, closing the door without a sound before leaning down to catch Danny's mouth in a quick kiss. "Go catch your shuttle, Danny. I'll take care of Don."

Danny grinned. "Don't scare 'im off, Mac. I want a piece, too."

Mac smiled broadly and slid his hands around Danny's thin waist. "I'll do my best."

Danny started to say something when the sound of running water came from behind the door. Danny darted in to mash his lips against Mac's before making a silent dash for the stairwell. Mac turned and headed back for his office.

All the servants in your new hotel
Throw their roses at your feet
Fool them all, but baby I can tell
You're no stranger to the street
Don't ask for favors
Don't talk to strangers
Don't ask me why

Billy Joel - "Don't Ask Me Why"

Mac didn't see Don again for the rest of the night; probably he'd slipped out the back and run for the hills. It did bother him when Flack didn't come to work the next day, until he remembered that it was Flack's scheduled day off. He didn't like it; on one hand, this gave Flack time to think, to come to terms with both what he had seen, and his little trip to the bathroom afterward. On the other hand, this situation needed to be resolved quickly and before Flack worked himself up into a panic, believing that Mac was going to come barreling through his apartment door at any moment, bearing one of any number of large and terrifying automatic weapons.

Which was why it surprised Mac to hear a knock on his door, late that night after work. Frowning, he stood and walked to the door, eyebrows climbing to the ceiling as he threw open the lock, stepping back and spreading his arms to catch Danny as he flew at Mac like a homesick puppy.

Danny buried his face in Mac's neck, letting his duffel drop to the floor. For his part, Mac had long ago grown used to Danny's enthusiastic greetings, and simply wrapped his arms around the thin waist and held him. He could feel the younger man trembling, though whether it was delight at being home, or at being in Mac's arms, he couldn't tell. When Danny shifted and Mac felt something hard poking him in the leg, he revised his opinion.

"Miss me?" came Danny's voice, slightly muffled by Mac's well-muscled neck.

Mac smiled. "You know I did... but honestly, Danny, it's only been a couple of days. In fact, I didn't expect you to be back until tomorrow."

Danny shrugged, letting Mac's scent overwhelm him. "Trial went smoother than I thought. The defense caved, so they let me go home early. And besides," and here he leaned back, giving Mac that dazzling smile of his. "It's only been a couple'a days for you. Me, I ain't touched myself since last time."

Mac blinked as all sorts of titillating and unwholesome images filled his mind. The last time Danny had pulled this stunt, it had taken whole hours before both of them were finally sated. "Danny..."

"C'mon, Mac. I need it..." Danny whined, nibbling on the Marine's neck.

"At least let me close the door first."

"...oh."

They broke apart, Mac moving to the door. "Have you eaten?" he asked, as much to calm Danny down as to be courteous.

"Well, I tried eatin' some pizza from this shop across from th' bus station, but..."

Mac gave a half-smile, sliding the deadbolt closed and locking the chain into place. "Not like what you can find at home?"

"Nah, more like a rental than a buy." Danny gave him the other half of the smile as he stretched his arms. "Now that ya mention it, I'm starvin'."

Mac moved to the kitchen, Danny following by a few feet. "How does cheeseburgers sound?" Mac finally asked after browsing through the fridge. Danny made a noise of approval as he reached into the cupboard over the sink for the glasses.

Danny seated himself comfortably at Mac's table as the Marine took the first offered glass, filling it with ice and handing it back to Danny along with a beer out of the fridge. Danny usually drank straight out of the longnecks, but Mac didn't approve of such things in his household. Too easy to drink too many. Once Danny was situated, Mac repeated the same process for his own drink.

Setting the glass and bottle on the counter, Mac squirted some cooking oil into a frying pan and set it on the stove. While it was heating up, he reached for a peg on the wall, slipping an olive-green apron over his neck and tying it neatly in the back. It had been a gift from Danny, and was a source of amusement for both of them: black block letters graced the front, as though they'd been spray-painted through a stencil. "GRILL SERGEANT," the apron proclaimed, with a spatula and a barbecue fork crossed like swords underneath the letters, and a large Sergeant's stripes below that.

There was something comforting to Danny about watching Mac cook, watching him wash his hands before reaching into the container of ground beef, shaping the patties on a cutting board as the frying pan now hissed and spat. With practiced carefulness, Mac moved the patties to the hot grease, pressing some, turning others, poking occasionally with a fork to check doneness. Danny's stomach was growling by the time the first set of patties was almost done, and he hopped up to grab plates and trimmings.

By the time the table was set, Mac was sprinkling some seasonings on the meat, laying two slices of cheese over each and moving them to the plate. Danny hadn't said anything throughout the whole process; Mac didn't like to be interrupted while he was cooking, but once the meat was on the plate, he hung up his apron and began pre-cleaning the kitchen. He would clean the whole thing after he ate, but the thought of leaving cooling grease and thawing meat just sitting there bothered him.

"How'd the thing with Flack go?" Danny asked finally, hissing quietly as he grabbed a burger with his bare hands, dropping it haphazardly on the bun and sticking wounded fingers in his mouth.

"I haven't talked to him yet," Mac admitted, pouring the grease carefully into a tin can that he kept around for just such a purpose; once it cooled, he'd throw it away. It was one of the first things he'd taught Danny after he'd first cooked for him: never pour hot grease down the sink. It would cool, then clog, then become both messy and expensive to clean up. Mac filled one side of the sink with hot soapy water, then ran piping hot water on the other side to rinse the pan before dropping it in the water. Rule number two: never put hot metal into water that was anything less than scalding. Otherwise, the pan could warp, and Mac would be out one perfectly good frying pan. "You heard what he said, Danny. He thinks I'm going to kill him."

"He knows you wouldn't do that, Mac," Danny offered, opening a bun on Mac's plate and reaching for the plate of burgers again, this time with a fork. "You're friends, remember?"

"I know," Mac sighed, running hot water over a paper towel and carefully sliding the raw meat from his counter over the side to the tin can. "I can't tell you what's going through his mind. All I know is that me talking to him probably wouldn't be the best idea." He dropped the towel in the trash can and grabbed a fresh one, wetting it and repeating the process. Rule number three: never use a sponge to clean up raw meat. Only use paper towels with hot water, change towels frequently, and when he'd decided that he'd gotten all the meat up, he'd go over it again with cleaner and disinfectant.

Mac stood back and eyed his kitchen for a moment, hands on his hips. He nodded to himself, deciding that it was clean enough for him to sit down and eat comfortably, but dishes were the first thing on his list when the meal was over. He'd timed it perfectly, too; stepping over to the table, Danny had fixed a plate for Mac and himself, the Italian rubbing his hands together and waiting with strained politeness for the Marine to seat himself before diving in.

"Breathe, Danny," Mac said with amused pride, watching Danny gulp down his food like he hadn't eaten in weeks.

Danny held up a finger to gain a few seconds, chewing furiously, reaching for his glass and washing down his mouthful with beer. "I told you I was hungry. And besides, Mac, you make better burgers than anybody I know." Mac ducked his head, pleased, and took another neat bite of his meal. "So what do you wanna do about Flack?"

Mac chewed thoughtfully for a moment. "I think you'd better be the one to talk to him. If I showed up at his door, he'd probably use the fire escape."

Danny couldn't help a snort at that one. "I wonder if he knows that we both want to jump him," he cackled, and then his amusement faded. "Yeah, I should talk to him. I'm the reason we got caught in the first place."

Mac sat his half-eaten burger on the plate, taking a drink before propping an elbow on the table and pointing a stern finger at his guest. "You're right, it is your fault," he growled, but Danny could see the twinkle in his eye. "You broke our rule."

"I know," Danny whined, slumping his shoulders. "I just knew that I wasn't gonna see you for a few days, and we wouldn't have time at home before I had to catch the train."

"Danny," Mac sighed, shaking his head. "You remembered what we agreed to. We keep seeing each other exclusively like this, and we're bound to slip up again. I agreed to it on the conditions that we would protect the reputation and the integrity of the lab."

"I know it's just a fling, Mac, and the badge comes first. It's just... we got a good thing goin' on, here." Danny pleaded, pouting up at Mac with those big blue eyes, and Mac sighed.

"Why do I let you do this to me?" the Marine grumbled good-naturedly, picking up his burger for another bite.

Danny grinned. "'Cause I'm the only one that'll let you do that to me?"

Mac made a choking noise, reaching for his beer.

Danny's grin grew even wider. "Breathe, Mac."

Half an hour later, Danny was sprawled on Mac's couch with his glass of beer in one hand, stomach full to bursting as he caught the sports cast on the evening news. Mac was back in the kitchen, washing the dishes. Finally the water stopped running, and Danny twisted to look over his shoulder as Mac emerged, drying his hands on a towel and hanging it on the bar bolted to the oven door. Mac grabbed his glass of beer from the table, heading back to the fridge long enough to grab another pair of longnecks before wandering towards the couch.

Danny slid a few inches to the left as Mac eased down next to him, beers finding their way to coasters on the coffee table. Once Mac was down, Danny scooted back to the right, their thighs pressed together. Mac relented and swung his left arm to lay on Danny's shoulder. "You're right, I missed you," he admitted finally.

"Oh, yeah?" Danny smirked, moving his beer to his left hand and laying his right on Mac's muscled thigh. "How bad?"

Mac said nothing, pretending to be engrossed in the TV as Danny's hand moved slyly closer to Mac's crotch. The Marine couldn't completely control a twitch as the younger man's hand gently grasped his half-hearted erection. Knowing what was coming, Mac took a long pull from his glass and leaned forward to set it on the coffee table. Danny handed his over to join the first on the table, and Mac leaned back, allowing Danny to work his magic.

It didn't take long before Mac was shifting in his seat, the delicious pleasure of Danny's hand warring with his own tightening pants. Absently Mac's hand rubbed Danny's shoulder, roaming around that section of the Italian's smaller frame before wandering to the collar of Danny's T-shirt. Danny made a small noise and leaned his head back, inviting the hand to slip under the cotton fabric, ghosting over the fine hairs before locating a nipple.

Danny made a soft noise in his throat, stroking Mac harder. While nipples may not do much for Mac, Danny's were ultra-sensitive. It was after a few minutes of teasing strokes across one hardening bud before Mac removed his hand, tugging on Danny's shirt. Danny lifted his arms long enough for Mac to pull the fabric off, and suddenly Danny dove, his mouth going for Mac's trapped cock like a scud missile locked on target.

Mac jumped, groaned, at the moist heat seeping through the cloth. "Danny..."

Danny reached up, tugging at Mac's belt. Mac could only watch, heavy-lidded, as Danny popped the button and then grasped the zipper in his teeth, tugging down. One warm hand reached inside, and out came Mac's throbbing cock, which Danny promptly swallowed.

Mac gave a long, low growl, his head rolling back, one hand tangling itself in Danny's hair. Whispers of what may have been words of encouragement, or swearing, fell from his lips. His other hand ran nails over Danny's back in lazy circles, causing the Italian to double his efforts. Danny loved to be scratched.

Mac leaned back a little more, falling under Danny's spell, when Danny shifted slightly. The two locked eyes, and all Mac could see was a pair of blue eyes watching him as they bobbed over his crotch. This was enough for Mac to remove his hands from Danny and work to remove his own shirt.

Somehow they moved, Mac lying down fully on the couch, Danny still molesting Mac's length in the most delightful of ways. Mac wriggled and thrashed, tugging down his own pants. Danny assisted, still with his mouth full, and then Mac was clad only in his boxers, socks, and one hot Italian. Danny was straddling Mac's legs, tongue swirling around the head of his prize, and the Marine wasn't sure how much more he could take. "Danny..."

Danny pulled back a little. "I know," he whispered, wrapping a fist around the meaty rod and ducking down to slurp on Mac's scrotum. Mac hissed, one hand in his own hair, the other grabbing a fistful of couch. "You got any lube over here?" he asked, rolling the soft globes in his palm while the other hand pumped Mac's shaft. Eyes tightly shut, Mac could only give a quick shake of his head. Danny sighed. "Be right back, then."

Suddenly Mac was alone, and he used the opportunity to remove the socks and boxers. He'd barely finished when Danny came padding back over, barefoot but still in jeans, holding the cooking oil in one hand. He'd just set it on the coffee table when Mac attacked him, yanking him down to the couch and straddling him. Danny was too surprised to do more than yelp when a pair of lips snatched up one nipple, Mac's hands working on Danny's fly. The yelp turned into a moan, and Danny's eyes fluttered closed.

Mac worked quickly, stripping Danny of the tight jeans and cotton BVDs and dropping it all in a pile on the floor. Danny's own shaft nosed skyward, which Mac took as an opportunity to repay the favor from earlier. Mac ran a tongue around the straining head, nearly purple with frustration, before taking it into his mouth. Danny nearly leapt off the couch but Mac's broad hands grasped his hips, holding him down. It was a very well-kept secret that Mac could give one hell of a blowjob, and it was all Danny could do to hold on for dear life.

He'd asked Mac, once, where the Marine had learned to suck a dick like that. Mac had merely looked at him and said "Don't ask, don't tell." Danny had wisely left it alone.

Besides, there was something about watching his boss give him head that just made his toes curl. He gasped and swore as Mac expertly sucked Danny all the way down to the root, and even managed to flick a bit of his tongue out to tease the base. Danny loved it when Mac did that, and he hated that it drove him absolutely wild. He'd never met anybody else, on either side of the street, that could do that.

"Mac," Danny managed to groan, knuckles white as they clutched the couch. He recovered enough brainpower to reach down for the duffel that he'd dragged over to the couch earlier, fishing in one pocket. Finally he found what he was looking for, pulling out the foil square and tossing it to the older man. Mac released Danny, earning him a desperate whine, and tore the little packet with his teeth. He tossed the wrapper on the coffee table and unrolled the condom, sheathing himself, then reaching over to the table for the cooking oil. Danny spread his legs wider, one hooking over the back of the couch. "I need it, Mac. Been too long."

"Yeah," Mac growled, focused. He coated one finger with the slick substance, silently giving thanks that he had a leather couch and not some cloth for the oil to seep through. His finger rimmed the ring of Danny's tight pucker, teasing him, before nudging at the opening. Danny took the hint, consciously relaxing his muscles and allowing Mac's finger to slip in.

Danny moaned, all pretenses gone, as Mac's finger invaded him. The finger twisted, pumped, and finally curled, hitting that one spot that nearly made him scream. Mac watched through dark heavy-lidded eyes as he massaged Danny's prostate, pausing only to slip in a second finger as the younger man writhed and howled with pleasure.

Danny took a desperate gulp of air as a third finger slipped in, twisting and scissoring to coax the muscles open farther. He hated that it took so long (in his eyes) for Mac to prepare him, but it was better than the alternative. Mac was only slightly above average in length, but he more than made up for it in width. It was a thick beast of a penis, and Danny could only give silent thanks that Mac was so careful, and watch impatiently as the Marine's free hand slicked himself up.

Finally Mac deemed Danny ready, positioning himself at the entrance to that waiting heat, and leaned down. Danny knew what was coming and rose to meet Mac's lips, one hand sliding to the back of the Marine's neck to hold himself up. Danny felt the head of Mac's cock poking at him and he deepened the kiss, sucking softly until Mac's tongue slid into his mouth even as his cock slowly pushed into him.

Danny half-shouted into Mac's mouth as the Marine's cockhead finally slipped past the sphincter. Mac leaned back and stared hard at Danny, whose own eyes were closed in an overwhelming mix of pleasure and pain. Mac hated it; every time, no matter how much time he spent preparing the younger man, he still ended up hurting him. It was all Mac could do to avoid thrusting forward, tearing into Danny and making him scream for all the wrong reasons, but Mac wasn't that kind of man. No, he held his hips perfectly still, bending down to run a cautious tongue around one of Danny's erect nipples, rewarded when a moan slipped out from between the stiff wheezing. Danny was right; it had been too long since last time.

Just as Danny started to calm down, Mac slid forward another inch, and Danny jerked again. This time Mac put everything he had into teasing and tormenting those nipples, shifting his weight onto one arm and using his free hand to run faint scratches on the Italian's hairless stomach, and Danny moaned despite Mac sliding farther in, the pace agonizingly slow.

Finally Mac was buried as deep as he could go, and he made the mistake of looking up at Danny. His sharp eyes couldn't miss the gleaming corners of the tightly closed eyes, and he hated himself for it. Call him old-fashioned, but Mac hated to hurt anybody, especially someone that had put so much trust in him.

"Danny?" Mac whispered, and he got no response. "Danny?" he asked again, louder this time, and Danny finally gave a grunt of acknowledgement. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just gimme a... fuck, Mac, you're huge." Danny wheezed, finally opening his eyes.

"So you keep telling me," Mac replied, forcing a note of amusement into his voice.

It worked; Danny gave a tense laugh, and Mac could feel him start to relax. "Yeah, yeah I do. Kinda makes me jealous."

"Don't be," Mac said amiably, leaning forward to give Danny another deep kiss, to which Danny responded enthusiastically. Now that the initial battle was won, never was Danny so animal as when Mac was buried deep within him. Tongues dueled, mapping every square inch of their mouths, and for a moment Mac would have sworn Danny was licking his tonsils. Stars danced in front of Mac's closed eyes and he broke the kiss with a gasp, the renewed oxygen making his head spin. "Don't be jealous," he repeated. "Just makes you easier to give head to."

Danny's face twisted and he gave a half-swipe at the Marine's head, freezing as Mac pulled nearly all the way out and slowly began sliding back in. "Cheater," the Italian grumbled, voice at odds with the lust dancing over his face.

Mac tilted his head, a low growl emerging from his throat as he pushed in until his hips were flush with Danny's ass, then gave an extra twitch forward, making Danny jump and moan again. "Cheater?" Mac rumbled, eyes dark with lust. "I still owe you for breaking the rules."

Danny's eyes locked onto Mac's, the expression on the older man's face sending the blood straight out of his brain and down to his groin. He should've known better than to call Mac that; Mac considered it a personal insult to be accused of playing anything less than fair. And on the other hand... they'd never had angry sex before.

Mac slid back, nearly leaving Danny's tight warmth before sliding back in, this time a bit faster. Danny bit his lip, whimpering. One of the Italian's hands wandered down to his own cock, but Mac slapped it away with a growl. Faster Mac pulled back, and harder he pushed back in, establishing an easy rhythm that soon had Danny moaning. Several times Danny tried to stroke himself, and each time Mac denied it, until finally Mac shifted. He grabbed Danny's hips, lifting him until the man's ass was nearly seated on Mac's thighs and his legs wrapped automatically around his waist. Mac pinned the younger man's wrists above his head, against the arm of the couch, and thrust in harder.

Danny released a string of grunts and curses; the new angle was shoving his head and shoulder into the couch at a not-entirely-comfortable angle, and folded as he was it was kinda hard to breathe, and then Mac started pounding him and he forgot all about air and his spine. The Marine had hips like pistons, and they fired him into that incredible dark heat with speed and force enough that the sound of flesh striking flesh had to be audible in the next apartment. Danny was all but howling now, face twisted in a picture of carnal lust. Mac was finally breaking a sweat, face tight with the effort as he slammed into Danny's tightness again and again, that tight ring of muscle milking and stroking him with every thrust until the muscles on his neck were straining.

"Mac..." Danny managed to whine. "Please..." Mac released Danny's wrists and braced himself against the side and back of the couch, the new angle giving him even more room for thrust. Danny howled again, finally able to stroke himself as one hand reached up to grasp Mac's shoulder, the grip almost as painfully tight as his ass.

Mac shifted again, leaning back a little more, and Danny all but screamed as each stroke pressed against his prostate. He couldn't last long under such an assault, and he arched his back and stroked his aching length and squeezed Mac's waist with his legs and clamped his anal muscles tightly closed, and reared his head back and closed his eyes and shrieked Mac's name as he came hard, bouncing and bucking as much as he could while still pinned in one corner of the couch.

A feral half-roar tore itself from Mac's throat; if Danny had been tight before, he was nearly excruciating now, and as he felt Danny's ass clamp down on him and the blood-hot liquid splatter onto his stomach, Mac's grip tightened so hard that the couch frame creaked. Now he really gave it to Danny hard, breaths coming in thundering gasps that seemed to drown out Danny's cries. Sweat trailed down him as he slammed into Danny again and again, making little trails down his stomach that came to pool around Danny's cum and Danny's sweat and the cooking oil, and it was so tight and so hot that God, he couldn't hold on, couldn't keep going and couldn't stop and then he shouted and then he was coming, pounding into that tight heat one last time, feeling his seed fill the condom and wishing he could fill Danny with it, and his chest heaved like a racehorse and his eyes were open but he couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't breathe.

Finally he came to a stop. He wasn't sure how, but somehow he knew that he'd stopped, that he was still buried in Danny, that Danny still had his legs around him. Sight was the first to return, hazy shades of gray defining his vision. Hearing was next as the blood finally slowed in its pounding through his head. As he looked around, absently swiping a sweaty arm across his sweaty brow, he realized that color had returned, because he looked down and saw Danny staring at him, mouth opened past normal panting, those incredible blue eyes boring into him.

Mac couldn't have asked even if he wanted to, still trying to catch his breath, but Danny answered him anyway. "You've never done that before." Danny whispered.

"Done what?" Mac finally managed to pant, sitting back on his heels but still reluctant to pull out.

Danny was silent for a moment. Then, a quiet "say my name when you come."

Mac blinked. He had? He didn't know why, but the thought of doing that... he hadn't meant to. Noticing Mac's expression change, Danny waved his hand to get the man's attention back. "Don't worry about it. I got enough problems. Won't be able ta sit for a week."

This brought Mac's attention to the next matter at hand: pulling out. Mac did this slowly and tenderly, closing his eyes at the groan from Danny as the Italian finally released him. "I'm sorry," Mac whispered in apology as Danny shuddered, the poor man's much-abused nether muscles spasming closed.

"'s a'right," Danny whispered back, waiting for the cramping to subside.

"No, it's not all right," Mac grumbled, bending down to lick the drying semen off Danny's chest as a peace offering. "I hurt you every single time. I can't stand that."

"I know, I know," Danny soothed, laying there and letting the warm fuzz settle over his brain, the feeling that came whenever Mac just took care of him like this. "I don't mind, I promise." He opened one eye and grinned lazily. "You always make it feel better."

Mac smiled despite himself, running a careful tongue over Danny's abdomen and shrinking cock. When he looked up again, Danny's mouth was open slightly, eyes closed. Mac smiled again; just like Danny to want to roll over and fall asleep after coming. When Danny was clean-ish, Mac stood and headed to the kitchen, running warm water over more paper towels and cleaning himself off, tossing the condom in the garbage. When he came back to the living room, Danny was snoring softly.

Mac clicked his tongue at the messy puddle that had pooled beneath the younger man; Danny would need a shower. Mac could stand to take one, himself, and he could try to mop up the couch while Danny was getting himself clean. At the state the younger man was in--tired, slightly drunk, and screwed out of his mind--there was no way he'd be going to his own home tonight. He could sleep here.

Mac watched him sleep for a minute or so before heading to the bathroom, taking a much-needed piss before getting the hot water running. Typical of Marines, he was in and out of the water in less than five minutes, scrubbing a towel through his hair and then tying it around his waist. Padding back into the living room, Danny was still out, and Mac almost hated to wake him.

Danny wasn't the type to wake easily, and it took Mac a few gentle shakes before the blue eyes cracked open. "Wha...?"

"Danny, you need a shower. Come on, you're going to stick to the couch as it is."

Danny bitched and moaned at being awakened, but he knew Mac was right. With the Marine's strong arms assisting him, Danny struggled to a sitting position, wincing at the pain from his rear. Just as Mac predicted, a long ripping noise bounced around the room as Mac peeled Danny from the couch. Staggering at the good-natured abuse his nether regions had taken, Danny leaned on Mac's arm as the Marine led him to the shower.

The hot water served to wake him up a bit, and once Mac was sure the Italian wouldn't collapse, he left him there, saying that he was going to try to clean off the couch. Danny nodded, his face in the spray.

When Mac came back, he'd made reasonable progress cleaning the couch, and Danny was just toweling off. "You mind if I sleep here tonight?" Danny asked as he put the towel over his head and rubbed vigorously.

Why not, Mac wondered, and decided that it was okay. "Sure." Half-turned as he was, he nearly missed the look on the still-shrouded Danny's face: pleased surprise. Hanging their towels on the rack, Mac headed for the bedroom with a damp Italian hot on his heels. Danny stood by almost nervously, waiting until Mac moved to one side of the bed before Danny moved to the other. Mac almost wondered why the younger man seemed so apprehensive until he realized that despite all the times he'd had Danny in his bed, he'd never stayed the night. The thought niggled at him as he slipped under the covers and flicked out the lamp.

They lay on separate sides for a while, Mac facing away from Danny although he wasn't really sure why. The thought gnawed at his brain, wondering what's wrong with this picture? He couldn't quite put his finger on it when Danny moved, scooting over closer to Mac and slipping an arm around his waist. Mac didn't move as Danny pressed a soft kiss in his shoulder and buried his face in Mac's neck.

"G'night, Mac," Danny whispered quietly.

Mac stared into the darkness for a few seconds. "Good night, Danny."

Yesterday you were an only child
Now your ghosts have gone away
You can kill them in the classic style
Now you Parlez vous François
Don't look for answers
You took your chances
Don't ask me why
Don't ask me why

Billy Joel - "Don't Ask Me Why"

Mac couldn't sleep. He waited until he was sure Danny was out, then carefully disengaged himself from the Italian's clinging arms and legs. Padding silently across the bedroom floor, he slid open the closet door and looked up. Even in the dark, he knew exactly where it was, and he didn't have to see it to reach out and grasp it. Reverently he pulled it down to his chest, staring at it as his eyes slowly began adjusting to the darkness.

It was an old beach ball, cheap, but still inflated. It had only cost him a couple of bucks. At the moment, it was priceless. Not really knowing why, he cradled it protectively in one arm and stepped quietly out of the room.

In the living room, the couch still smelled like sex despite his efforts, so he took a chair off to one side. Naked, hair tousled, he sat down with the beach ball in his lap, staring into space. He stayed like that for a long time. "What should I do?" he finally whispered into the stillness.

Over the last four months, he'd cooked for Danny, drank with Danny, taken showers with Danny, fucked Danny, and now he'd slept with Danny. And yet... he remembered the "agreement" he'd made with Danny, that this was only a fling, just relieving stress and feeling good and getting those odd and socially unacceptable urges out of their systems. They wouldn't get attached to each other, they wouldn't go public, and they would never disgrace the badge or the lab.

And tonight, he'd called Danny's name as he came. And now Danny was asleep in Mac's bed, and that had never happened before. Well, actually it had once, but Danny had been drunk and Mac had slept on the couch even after he'd fucked Danny through the mattress.

Mac finally looked down at the beach ball in his lap; this cheap plastic sphere that still held Claire's breath. Claire Conrad had been the other half of his soul... and some fanatical, so-called holy man had seen fit to send suicidal maniacs to crash airplanes into buildings. He closed his eyes, the pang in his chest nearly as fresh as it had been when he'd finally accepted that she was dead. They'd never even found her body in the rubble. If he concentrated, he could almost see her warm eyes and blonde hair and crooked smile, laughing and tugging on his hand as they tried to beat the rain, dashing through Central Park.

It didn't feel right, loving Danny. That popped into Mac's head, and halted his thoughts completely.

Wait, he didn't love Danny. Danny was a guy, like him. But at the same time, Danny was smart and wonderful and kind and sexy and obviously loved Mac. Danny just... he just...

He wasn't Claire.

Mac bent his head, tears threatening. "What should I do?" he rasped again, hugging the colored plastic as tightly as he dared.

"You could come back to bed, for one thing." Danny's voice came quietly out of the darkness, and Mac's head popped up. It wasn't an easy thing to sneak up on Mac Taylor, but Danny had done it, and now was only a few feet away. He knelt beside the Marine, laying a hand on his arm and making damn sure to not touch the beach ball.

"Danny..." Mac lowered his head, chin resting on the ball, eyes on the floor like a petulant child. "I just-"

"I said 'don't worry 'bout it,' remember? B'sides, I know you still got some stuff to sort through. I shouldn't'a said anything." Danny stood and leaned over Mac, pressing his chest against the older man's warm back. Mac leaned into the warmth as Danny's arms slid down his shoulders, wrapping loosely and carefully around his neck. "Take as much time as ya need, Mac, but come back to bed sometime, a'right? Kinda cold in there."

Mac said nothing, just let the soothing heat seep into him, arms cradled protectively around the last bit of Claire he had.

Danny wasn't really sure what was so special about the beach ball, but it was important to Mac, and the way he was acting... the light bulb flashed in Danny's head, and he hugged Mac tighter. "I'm not tryin' to replace anybody, Mac. I just wanna feel close to somebody, ya know? Wanna stop bein' so cold at night."

Mac didn't move, and Danny had started to pull away when Mac's hand came up to grasp his arm, holding him there. The normally firm grip was now trembling, and Danny could feel the slight tremors beginning somewhere deep within the older man's center. "C'mon, Mac," Danny murmured soothingly. "C'mon, come back to bed. I ain't leavin' 'less you want me to." Mac's only answer was a definite tightening of his grip on Danny's forearm, and Danny sighed in relief.

It took some coaxing for Danny to get Mac out of the chair and back to the bedroom, Mac holding his hand like a child. Danny led him to the closet and touched Mac's arm gently, and the Marine took a last look at the beach ball before replacing it in the closet. That done, he followed Danny back to the bed, where he lay down and let the younger man cover him and wrap tight arms around him and whisper soothing things.

That did it. The floodgates opened, and Mac rolled until he lay face to face with Danny, wrapping his arms around the younger man and laying his head against the sparsely-haired chest even as Danny cradled his head and stroked his hair. Mac shook hard, gasping, sobbing in Danny's arms. Danny didn't move; he just held him and comforted him and murmured reassurances in his ear.

Eventually the tremors subsided, and Mac turned his head in order to get some fresh air. Fresh tears squeezed out of his eyes even as Danny ran fingers over his cheeks to wipe them away. He hadn't believed that Danny could be so tender, so caring... and he never would have believed that he himself would ever let anyone else see him cry, see him weak and vulnerable. A feeling of peace drifted over him as Danny bent his head to place gentle kisses on Mac's closed eyes.

"Thank you, Danny," Mac rasped, throat clogged with the usual byproducts that came from crying.

"Hey, no problem," Danny whispered back, laying another kiss on Mac's forehead. "Let's get some sleep, eh? We're both in bright and early tomorrah."

It was a good suggestion, and Mac moved to cradle his younger lover, snuggling close.