kathierif_fic (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kathierif_fic) wrote2009-05-24 07:41 pm
kathierif_fic) wrote2009-05-24 07:41 pm
Fic: Midnight (CSI:NY, Mac Taylor/Don Flack, Mac Taylor/Peyton Driscoll, FRAO)
Title: Midnight
Author: Kathie
Fandom: CSI:NY
Rating: FRAO
Disclaimer: All not mine.
Pairing: Mac/Don, Mac/Peyton
Beta: Ginny.
Summary: Late at night, in the lab…
Author’s Notes: written for the challenge at MacFlack_fic: prompt 1) Fantasy.
A special thanks goes to Ginny, who didn’t just beta it (despite the fact that her laptop is still dead, and other things), but also sent plotbats and is, generally, a wonderful person. Thank you.
The clock was quietly ticking towards midnight and, for once, the lab was empty.
Mac Taylor took in the silence around him for a moment before returning his attention to the paperwork in front of him. He liked these hours late at night, when everyone had gone home or was out on a crime scene, and he could concentrate on the task at hand.
He’d sent Danny home earlier, half an hour after Stella and Lindsay had left, insisting that the paperwork could wait another twelve hours.
However, he didn’t take his own advice, and so he was the only one left at the lab.
Only – he wasn’t.
A soft cough from the door interrupted the silence and made him look up from the file on his desk. With a small frown, Mac identified the intruder in his solitude.
“Detective Flack,” he greeted and leaned back in his chair. “I thought you went home earlier.”
He scribbled his name on the report and closed it before looking up again.
Flack entered the office quietly. He had taken off his tie and the top buttons of his shirt were undone. Compared to his usual impeccable style of dressing, this was rather unusual, Mac thought as he took in all these details with the quick eye of an experienced criminalist, but on the other hand, he was sure that Flack was not exactly working. Not at this time of the night.
“Why are you still here, Mac?” Flack asked without acknowledging Mac’s comment.
Mac held up the file before putting it away. “Paperwork,” he answered and shrugged. “Can’t sleep.”
He absent-mindedly grabbed another file and opened it. A stack of crime scene photographs fell into his hands.
Don nodded and wandered into Mac’s office, closer and closer, until he stood right next to Mac. He sat on the edge of his desk, facing Mac. The only light in the office, coming from the lamp on Mac’s desk, cast dark shadows and sharp contrasts on his face, and Mac had to take a deep, calming breath before he could lift his eyes from where Don had settled against the surface of his desk to his face.
“Paperwork?” Don repeated with a small, easy smile and tilted his head to one side, scrutinizing Mac like he would a suspect. “Don’t you want to do something else?”
A million possible answers shot through Mac’s head, from a simple, much-telling shrug – of course there were things he would prefer doing – to pointing out the importance of paperwork to the younger detective. But something in Don’s voice, in his posture, stopped him. Flack had sounded amused, with a hint of gentle teasing that promised Mac something dark and sweet, something forbidden and dangerous. Something Mac hadn’t had in a very long time.
Suddenly, he felt like a starving man, lonely, and desperate. It had to be that mixture that made him ask: “Something else? Like what?”
Flack grinned, showing flashes of teeth, and dropped something he’d pulled out of his pocket on the report next to him.
“I could think of something,” he said and leaned forwards, towards Mac. His blue eyes didn’t leave Mac’s face, studied him, focused on him, and Mac suddenly became very aware of Don’s aftershave, and every little detail of the other man’s face, and over the rush of blood in his ears he almost didn’t catch his next words.
“You could do me.”
Mac swallowed heavily and looked down – at the condom and lube Don had dropped on his desk.
Right on top of the report he was supposed to read.
“What do you say?” Don grinned.
Mac chuckled and took another carefully measured breath. Don’s smell was intoxicating; he could feel how it affected him. He couldn’t think clearly anymore. He should get away; he should read his report, go home and try to get at least a few hours of sleep.
Something kept him glued to his chair.
“We’re at the lab,” he objected quietly.
“Yeah, but nobody else is. I checked,” Don murmured and leaned down a bit more.
Mac looked up again, into the younger man’s eyes, and came to a decision.
He rose almost before he finished his last thought. His hands came up and tangled in Don’s short hair to pull him even closer.
They kissed, softly at first, a simple brushing of dry lips against dry lips. But soon their tongues tangled playfully, and Don’s hand came up and gripped Mac’s shoulder to hold him close. Mac’s tongue thrust into Don’s mouth, traced along his tongue and the sharp edge of teeth, while his hand curled around Don’s neck.
Finally they pulled apart and Don licked his lips before leaning close again. His breath ghosted over Mac’s face as he asked: “Well?”
“What if someone comes in?” Mac murmured against his lips. He felt the smile more than saw it, but there was no doubt that it was there.
“You have to hurry up, then,” Don breathed, right before Mac pulled him into another deep kiss.
This time, when they separated, Don’s grin had turned into triumph and arousal, and Mac had to concentrate on his breathing again while Don shrugged out of his suit jacket and dropped it carelessly to the floor.
Mac grabbed his elbow and pushed him back against the edge of the desk. Don’s fingers scrabbled against the surface; but neither of them cared when the file fell to the floor and photos spilled all over the carpet. They kissed again, with their teeth clashing and cutting into the soft flesh of lips and stubble rasping against stubble and against calloused palms.
Mac pressed his hand against the front of Don’s pants teasingly. When Don’s hips twitched forwards, off the desk, Mac repeated the move once before pulling Don’s shirt out of his pants while kissing and nibbling a trail over his chin and throat, sucking softly at the soft skin right above the collarbone. He raised one hand to trace the thin, almost invisible scar on Don’s face with his fingertips before kissing him again. This time, the kiss was gentler, almost sweet, until Don bit playfully at Mac’s tongue and ran his own hands over Mac’s chest, downwards, to come to a stop at his belt.
Mac pulled him close again and ran his hands under Don’s shirt, over his back and sides. He was only dimly aware of the button on his pants being opened, the zipper lowered, and both his pants and underwear being pushed past his hips. Then Don’s hands on his chest forced him to take a step back, and he watched, unable to turn away, how Don opened his own pants and wriggled out of them and his boxers. They pooled around his ankles, and Don grinned again at Mac before turning around, placing both hands firmly on Mac’s desk and spreading his legs as far as possible.
Mac couldn’t help the way his breathing quickened at the sight, but he refused to acknowledge that his hands shook when he grabbed the lube.
Don smirked over his shoulder. “Arrest me, detective,” he said in a low, rough voice that went straight to Mac’s groin. He brushed Don’s shirt up and pressed a quick kiss to the small of his back.
Opening the small container and squeezing a liberal amount of the lube on his hand took him only a few heartbeats.
Mac ran his hands over Don’s ass one last time before slipping in just the tip of his index finger and stopping all movement.
Don impatiently pushed back against him, and Mac chuckled. “My pace,” he said, and Don looked back at him over his shoulder. “Indecent exposure,” he simply answered. “Come on, Mac.”
Mac shook his head amusedly, but he began moving his fingers, spreading the lube around. One finger quickly became two and finally three. By the time he pulled them out and ripped open the condom wrapper, Don was biting his lip to stop himself from making too much noise.
Mac smoothed the condom over his own erection with a few quick movements and covered it with lube, then he gripped Don’s hips again and began to slowly push into him. His hands kept the detective still, and Don’s shirt wrinkled under his sweaty palms.
Finally they were pressed tightly against each other, thigh against thigh, chest against back, one of Mac’s arms wrapped Don, idly tracing the scars on his stomach through his shirt. For a moment, they simply breathed, then Mac murmured: “Okay?”
Don nodded shakily, and Mac began to move. Slowly he pulled out and pushed back in, in the same, teasingly light and slow rhythm. However, there was no time for teasing, and they both knew it. The risk of getting caught was too high.
The rhythm Mac set was quick, his thrusts deep and hard. Don moaned deeply in his throat every time Mac hit his prostate, a sound that fuelled Mac’s passion.
Don pushed back and deliberately clenched around the hard length in him, finally bringing Mac to the edge of his tight self-control. His hips moved in shorter and more forceful thrusts, relentlessly pushing Don against the edge of the desk.
Mac clenched his teeth when his release came; only the quickening of his breathing and, finally, the sudden stillness of his body indicated that he had come.
Slowly his hands loosened their grip and ran soothingly over Don’s sides. Carefully, almost reluctantly, he pulled out, got rid if the condom, and silently pulled his pants back up.
“Turn around,” he ordered softly. His voice was coarse, as if he’d screamed loudly, although he hadn’t said a single word.
The kiss that followed was sweet and tender, again, and then Mac dropped to his knees and took Don’s erection deep into his mouth. He ran his tongue over the sensitive head and pressed it against the underside of Don’s cock.
Don threw his head back and mewled, a high-pitched sound that made Mac suck even harder.
He knew that he couldn’t get all of Don into his mouth without gagging, so he wrapped one hand around Don’s cock while the other one slipped between Don’s slightly spread legs. His fingers unerringly found the entrance to his body, slick with lube, and pushed in.
He doubled his efforts, swirling his tongue expertly over the swollen flesh in his mouth, while brushing his fingertips over Don’s prostate, and with a hoarse shout, Don’s hips buckled forwards and he came.
Mac slowly pulled back and licked his lips. He released Don’s cock and lifted his shirt, revealing torn, scarred flesh. His cheek rasped over the soft, pale warmth and coarseness of hair as he pressed his lips to the smooth, raised skin of the scars. Don sucked in air through his teeth with an audible gasp, but he didn’t try to pull away.
Mac raised, and they shared one last kiss, filled with the taste of Don’s come and something else, something richer, darker, something neither man could describe and didn’t even attempt to.
Don bent down with a small smile and pulled some paper towels out of his pocket to wipe himself down before dressing again.
“Thanks, Mac,” he said, quietly, and looked Mac in the eyes. “For everything.”
And with these words he left.
“Hey.”
Peyton looked up and smiled at Mac. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes shone in the almost-darkness of the lab.
“Hey,” she answered and brushed her fingertips against his arm. They were alone, but she knew that Mac still was uncomfortable with signs of affection in public.
However, Mac surprised her. He grabbed her hand and pulled her against him for a soft, gentle kiss that ended far too quickly.
“I’m almost done,” he murmured against her hair. “The rest can wait until tomorrow.” She didn’t answer, only nodded and breathed in his scent: the unique mixture of chemicals, gunpowder, and something that was simply Mac.
“Did you wait for long?” Mac asked after a moment of silence.
Peyton smiled again. “I kept myself occupied,” she explained and winked at him. “Don’t worry.”
Yes, she had kept herself entertained with some thoughts she would probably never share with anyone. This fantasy of hers, the mental image of Mac with Don Flack was simply irresistible, and she knew that nobody had observed her stare at Mac through the glass walls of his office while he, tirelessly, read and signed one report after the next. Imagining him with Flack -
She smiled again and squeezed his wrist briefly. Mac looked down at her with an amused smirk, and Peyton suddenly had the odd feeling that he knew what she’d been thinking.
Mentally, she shrugged. So what, she didn’t mind him knowing. In fact…her smile widened as she asked:
“Mac, why don’t you invite Don over for dinner tomorrow?”
The End.
Author: Kathie
Fandom: CSI:NY
Rating: FRAO
Disclaimer: All not mine.
Pairing: Mac/Don, Mac/Peyton
Beta: Ginny.
Summary: Late at night, in the lab…
Author’s Notes: written for the challenge at MacFlack_fic: prompt 1) Fantasy.
A special thanks goes to Ginny, who didn’t just beta it (despite the fact that her laptop is still dead, and other things), but also sent plotbats and is, generally, a wonderful person. Thank you.
The clock was quietly ticking towards midnight and, for once, the lab was empty.
Mac Taylor took in the silence around him for a moment before returning his attention to the paperwork in front of him. He liked these hours late at night, when everyone had gone home or was out on a crime scene, and he could concentrate on the task at hand.
He’d sent Danny home earlier, half an hour after Stella and Lindsay had left, insisting that the paperwork could wait another twelve hours.
However, he didn’t take his own advice, and so he was the only one left at the lab.
Only – he wasn’t.
A soft cough from the door interrupted the silence and made him look up from the file on his desk. With a small frown, Mac identified the intruder in his solitude.
“Detective Flack,” he greeted and leaned back in his chair. “I thought you went home earlier.”
He scribbled his name on the report and closed it before looking up again.
Flack entered the office quietly. He had taken off his tie and the top buttons of his shirt were undone. Compared to his usual impeccable style of dressing, this was rather unusual, Mac thought as he took in all these details with the quick eye of an experienced criminalist, but on the other hand, he was sure that Flack was not exactly working. Not at this time of the night.
“Why are you still here, Mac?” Flack asked without acknowledging Mac’s comment.
Mac held up the file before putting it away. “Paperwork,” he answered and shrugged. “Can’t sleep.”
He absent-mindedly grabbed another file and opened it. A stack of crime scene photographs fell into his hands.
Don nodded and wandered into Mac’s office, closer and closer, until he stood right next to Mac. He sat on the edge of his desk, facing Mac. The only light in the office, coming from the lamp on Mac’s desk, cast dark shadows and sharp contrasts on his face, and Mac had to take a deep, calming breath before he could lift his eyes from where Don had settled against the surface of his desk to his face.
“Paperwork?” Don repeated with a small, easy smile and tilted his head to one side, scrutinizing Mac like he would a suspect. “Don’t you want to do something else?”
A million possible answers shot through Mac’s head, from a simple, much-telling shrug – of course there were things he would prefer doing – to pointing out the importance of paperwork to the younger detective. But something in Don’s voice, in his posture, stopped him. Flack had sounded amused, with a hint of gentle teasing that promised Mac something dark and sweet, something forbidden and dangerous. Something Mac hadn’t had in a very long time.
Suddenly, he felt like a starving man, lonely, and desperate. It had to be that mixture that made him ask: “Something else? Like what?”
Flack grinned, showing flashes of teeth, and dropped something he’d pulled out of his pocket on the report next to him.
“I could think of something,” he said and leaned forwards, towards Mac. His blue eyes didn’t leave Mac’s face, studied him, focused on him, and Mac suddenly became very aware of Don’s aftershave, and every little detail of the other man’s face, and over the rush of blood in his ears he almost didn’t catch his next words.
“You could do me.”
Mac swallowed heavily and looked down – at the condom and lube Don had dropped on his desk.
Right on top of the report he was supposed to read.
“What do you say?” Don grinned.
Mac chuckled and took another carefully measured breath. Don’s smell was intoxicating; he could feel how it affected him. He couldn’t think clearly anymore. He should get away; he should read his report, go home and try to get at least a few hours of sleep.
Something kept him glued to his chair.
“We’re at the lab,” he objected quietly.
“Yeah, but nobody else is. I checked,” Don murmured and leaned down a bit more.
Mac looked up again, into the younger man’s eyes, and came to a decision.
He rose almost before he finished his last thought. His hands came up and tangled in Don’s short hair to pull him even closer.
They kissed, softly at first, a simple brushing of dry lips against dry lips. But soon their tongues tangled playfully, and Don’s hand came up and gripped Mac’s shoulder to hold him close. Mac’s tongue thrust into Don’s mouth, traced along his tongue and the sharp edge of teeth, while his hand curled around Don’s neck.
Finally they pulled apart and Don licked his lips before leaning close again. His breath ghosted over Mac’s face as he asked: “Well?”
“What if someone comes in?” Mac murmured against his lips. He felt the smile more than saw it, but there was no doubt that it was there.
“You have to hurry up, then,” Don breathed, right before Mac pulled him into another deep kiss.
This time, when they separated, Don’s grin had turned into triumph and arousal, and Mac had to concentrate on his breathing again while Don shrugged out of his suit jacket and dropped it carelessly to the floor.
Mac grabbed his elbow and pushed him back against the edge of the desk. Don’s fingers scrabbled against the surface; but neither of them cared when the file fell to the floor and photos spilled all over the carpet. They kissed again, with their teeth clashing and cutting into the soft flesh of lips and stubble rasping against stubble and against calloused palms.
Mac pressed his hand against the front of Don’s pants teasingly. When Don’s hips twitched forwards, off the desk, Mac repeated the move once before pulling Don’s shirt out of his pants while kissing and nibbling a trail over his chin and throat, sucking softly at the soft skin right above the collarbone. He raised one hand to trace the thin, almost invisible scar on Don’s face with his fingertips before kissing him again. This time, the kiss was gentler, almost sweet, until Don bit playfully at Mac’s tongue and ran his own hands over Mac’s chest, downwards, to come to a stop at his belt.
Mac pulled him close again and ran his hands under Don’s shirt, over his back and sides. He was only dimly aware of the button on his pants being opened, the zipper lowered, and both his pants and underwear being pushed past his hips. Then Don’s hands on his chest forced him to take a step back, and he watched, unable to turn away, how Don opened his own pants and wriggled out of them and his boxers. They pooled around his ankles, and Don grinned again at Mac before turning around, placing both hands firmly on Mac’s desk and spreading his legs as far as possible.
Mac couldn’t help the way his breathing quickened at the sight, but he refused to acknowledge that his hands shook when he grabbed the lube.
Don smirked over his shoulder. “Arrest me, detective,” he said in a low, rough voice that went straight to Mac’s groin. He brushed Don’s shirt up and pressed a quick kiss to the small of his back.
Opening the small container and squeezing a liberal amount of the lube on his hand took him only a few heartbeats.
Mac ran his hands over Don’s ass one last time before slipping in just the tip of his index finger and stopping all movement.
Don impatiently pushed back against him, and Mac chuckled. “My pace,” he said, and Don looked back at him over his shoulder. “Indecent exposure,” he simply answered. “Come on, Mac.”
Mac shook his head amusedly, but he began moving his fingers, spreading the lube around. One finger quickly became two and finally three. By the time he pulled them out and ripped open the condom wrapper, Don was biting his lip to stop himself from making too much noise.
Mac smoothed the condom over his own erection with a few quick movements and covered it with lube, then he gripped Don’s hips again and began to slowly push into him. His hands kept the detective still, and Don’s shirt wrinkled under his sweaty palms.
Finally they were pressed tightly against each other, thigh against thigh, chest against back, one of Mac’s arms wrapped Don, idly tracing the scars on his stomach through his shirt. For a moment, they simply breathed, then Mac murmured: “Okay?”
Don nodded shakily, and Mac began to move. Slowly he pulled out and pushed back in, in the same, teasingly light and slow rhythm. However, there was no time for teasing, and they both knew it. The risk of getting caught was too high.
The rhythm Mac set was quick, his thrusts deep and hard. Don moaned deeply in his throat every time Mac hit his prostate, a sound that fuelled Mac’s passion.
Don pushed back and deliberately clenched around the hard length in him, finally bringing Mac to the edge of his tight self-control. His hips moved in shorter and more forceful thrusts, relentlessly pushing Don against the edge of the desk.
Mac clenched his teeth when his release came; only the quickening of his breathing and, finally, the sudden stillness of his body indicated that he had come.
Slowly his hands loosened their grip and ran soothingly over Don’s sides. Carefully, almost reluctantly, he pulled out, got rid if the condom, and silently pulled his pants back up.
“Turn around,” he ordered softly. His voice was coarse, as if he’d screamed loudly, although he hadn’t said a single word.
The kiss that followed was sweet and tender, again, and then Mac dropped to his knees and took Don’s erection deep into his mouth. He ran his tongue over the sensitive head and pressed it against the underside of Don’s cock.
Don threw his head back and mewled, a high-pitched sound that made Mac suck even harder.
He knew that he couldn’t get all of Don into his mouth without gagging, so he wrapped one hand around Don’s cock while the other one slipped between Don’s slightly spread legs. His fingers unerringly found the entrance to his body, slick with lube, and pushed in.
He doubled his efforts, swirling his tongue expertly over the swollen flesh in his mouth, while brushing his fingertips over Don’s prostate, and with a hoarse shout, Don’s hips buckled forwards and he came.
Mac slowly pulled back and licked his lips. He released Don’s cock and lifted his shirt, revealing torn, scarred flesh. His cheek rasped over the soft, pale warmth and coarseness of hair as he pressed his lips to the smooth, raised skin of the scars. Don sucked in air through his teeth with an audible gasp, but he didn’t try to pull away.
Mac raised, and they shared one last kiss, filled with the taste of Don’s come and something else, something richer, darker, something neither man could describe and didn’t even attempt to.
Don bent down with a small smile and pulled some paper towels out of his pocket to wipe himself down before dressing again.
“Thanks, Mac,” he said, quietly, and looked Mac in the eyes. “For everything.”
And with these words he left.
“Hey.”
Peyton looked up and smiled at Mac. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes shone in the almost-darkness of the lab.
“Hey,” she answered and brushed her fingertips against his arm. They were alone, but she knew that Mac still was uncomfortable with signs of affection in public.
However, Mac surprised her. He grabbed her hand and pulled her against him for a soft, gentle kiss that ended far too quickly.
“I’m almost done,” he murmured against her hair. “The rest can wait until tomorrow.” She didn’t answer, only nodded and breathed in his scent: the unique mixture of chemicals, gunpowder, and something that was simply Mac.
“Did you wait for long?” Mac asked after a moment of silence.
Peyton smiled again. “I kept myself occupied,” she explained and winked at him. “Don’t worry.”
Yes, she had kept herself entertained with some thoughts she would probably never share with anyone. This fantasy of hers, the mental image of Mac with Don Flack was simply irresistible, and she knew that nobody had observed her stare at Mac through the glass walls of his office while he, tirelessly, read and signed one report after the next. Imagining him with Flack -
She smiled again and squeezed his wrist briefly. Mac looked down at her with an amused smirk, and Peyton suddenly had the odd feeling that he knew what she’d been thinking.
Mentally, she shrugged. So what, she didn’t mind him knowing. In fact…her smile widened as she asked:
“Mac, why don’t you invite Don over for dinner tomorrow?”
The End.