![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kathierif_ficTitle: In Control
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kathierif_fic
Fandom: CSI:NY
Pairing: Danny Messer/Mac Taylor
Rating: FRM
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit.
Warnings: orgasm control
Word Count: 1183
Summary: He could do it – he knew he could do it, just because Mac had told him he could.
Author’s Notes: Written for![[community profile]](https://s.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kink_bingo, prompt orgasm denial/control.
“I can do it.”
Danny didn’t know who he was talking to, himself maybe, saying it aloud when just thinking it wasn’t enough anymore and he needed to hear the words to believe them, or maybe he was telling it to Mac, in case the evidence wasn’t compelling enough and he needed something else to convince Mac that he could trust Danny. If Danny said he could do it, he did, and Mac could trust him, had to trust him.
“I can…do it.”
He was kneeling in the middle of Mac’s living room on Mac’s hardwood floor, turned away from the windows and facing the bookshelves on the opposite wall. His knees throbbed and hurt from the position he was in and had been in for quite a while already. Sweat was running down the length of his back and along his temple, tickling and distracting him, but he didn’t reach up to wipe it out of his eyes.
It wouldn’t help him if he did – his glasses were somewhere behind him, on the small table, together with the rest of Danny’s clothes. They were haphazardly folded, because Danny had been in a hurry to get where he was now.
He had been eager. Eager to prove to Mac that he could be trusted, that Mac could believe in Danny, and that Danny wouldn’t disappoint him again. He had learned his lesson, and Mac could give Danny more responsibility, because Danny was in control now, even if he was kneeling in the middle of Mac’s apartment, sweating and panting, his legs splayed open slightly and with Mac’s fist wrapped tightly around his dick and stroking him, slowly and patiently, never stopping or slowing down, and never speeding up.
Mac was pressed to his back, his skin sticking to Danny’s back, his chin hooked over Danny’s shoulder, carefully watching every twitch of Danny’s body, every rise and fall of his chest, every drop of white pre-come sliding down his darkened, hardened flesh and wetting Mac’s hand, easing its glide and making it easier to rub along Danny’s dick. He had only taken off his shirt, the denim of his jeans rubbed against Danny’s ass tantalizingly. It was a sharp counterpoint to the sweet friction caused by Mac’s fingers, almost painful in its roughness, but it only served to heighten and sharpen every other sensation already running through his body and driving him closer to the edge.
An edge he wasn’t allowed to fall over, not until Mac told him so, because Danny had promised he could do this. Even more, he had sworn he could do this, could hold on to his control.
Because if Mac could trust him to know what he could do here, in the privacy of Mac’s living room, he could also trust that Danny knew what he was doing at a crime scene.
He needed Mac to trust him. Both here and out there, in the field.
His arousal spiraled higher when Mac focused his ministrations on the soft head of his dick, almost purple now, swollen and sensitive, but in a good way; a way that was almost too good. He gasped, a choked-off, half-swallowed moan, and his hips twitched, moving toward Mac’s hands, helplessly pumping forward until he locked his muscles and forced himself back under some semblance of control.
Another drop of milky-white fluid collected at the slit and succumbed to gravity, sliding down the underside until it was stopped by Mac’s hand and rubbed into his skin. Mac’s free hand came up around his chest, sliding through his sweat as if he was drawing, creating a masterpiece - Danny was his masterpiece, taken apart by Mac’s talented fingers and put back together in a new, revealing shape, a shape Mac could be proud of. The thought made Danny smile for a split second, up to the moment when Mac’s thumb and forefinger closed around his nipple and squeezed.
Danny’s hips shot up, toward Mac’s other hand, blindly seeking friction and relief, release, and he couldn’t hold back the keening sound. He sounded like a dog, wailing and keening and panting, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t bring himself to bother about it – all what mattered was Mac’s approval, Mac being proud of him for following his orders.
His focus narrowed on that one thought – on Mac. Every breath Mac took, every little shift of muscles under Mac’s skin, every touch became the reason to live for Danny. He managed to ignore his own arousal; put it aside like a tool in the lab that was there but not needed right now, and that would get picked up later again.
Later, when Mac told him he could.
Not now.
Mac exhaled, sharp and hissing. “Danny,” he murmured. “Danny…”
His voice sounded rough, like sandpaper, and Danny tipped his head back until it came to rest on Mac’s strong shoulder, and reached back with both hands, to clench them in Mac’s thighs. The denim of Mac’s pants rasped against his palms, just like it brushed against his ass, and he closed his eyes and let his mouth fall open.
“Danny,” Mac murmured again and bit down on the side of his neck.
Danny flinched as if an electrical current had just gone through his entire body and left him tingling, but he didn’t beg Mac to stop or to let him come.
He could take this. He knew he could do this, just because Mac had told him he could, and because Mac expected it from him. He wasn’t the screw-up with the ties to Tanglewood and the brother in a coma anymore. He was someone else now, someone Mac had created.
Someone Mac could be proud of.
Mac pressed the flat of his tongue against Danny’s throat, soothing the spot he’d just nipped at, and murmured against his skin, “Now, Danny. Come for me, let me see you…”
Danny groaned as he finally was allowed to pick up the tool of his arousal again, to let go of his control and really concentrate on the feeling of Mac’s hand on his erection, Mac’s fingers on his nipple, Mac’s mouth on his throat, tasting Danny’s swat, taking a part of Danny and mixing it with his own, and even if it was just sweat and saliva, it was a thought that was arousing enough to push him over the edge and made him come.
He gasped and panted, his chest rising and falling with every breath he managed to take, while leaning back against Mac’s chest and trusting him to hold him upright while saliva, sweat and semen dried on his body.
He needed a moment to collect himself, but then, he grinned exhaustedly up at Mac.
“Told you I can do it,” he mumbled, exhaustion and satisfaction making his words slur together and almost incomprehensible.
Mac chuckled softly and kissed his shoulder briefly. “You did,” he replied, amusement and fondness in his voice, and also something else.
Danny wasn’t sure, but he thought that it was pride.
It made him feel better than any orgasm could.
~end.
Author:
kathierif_ficFandom: CSI:NY
Pairing: Danny Messer/Mac Taylor
Rating: FRM
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit.
Warnings: orgasm control
Word Count: 1183
Summary: He could do it – he knew he could do it, just because Mac had told him he could.
Author’s Notes: Written for
kink_bingo, prompt orgasm denial/control.“I can do it.”
Danny didn’t know who he was talking to, himself maybe, saying it aloud when just thinking it wasn’t enough anymore and he needed to hear the words to believe them, or maybe he was telling it to Mac, in case the evidence wasn’t compelling enough and he needed something else to convince Mac that he could trust Danny. If Danny said he could do it, he did, and Mac could trust him, had to trust him.
“I can…do it.”
He was kneeling in the middle of Mac’s living room on Mac’s hardwood floor, turned away from the windows and facing the bookshelves on the opposite wall. His knees throbbed and hurt from the position he was in and had been in for quite a while already. Sweat was running down the length of his back and along his temple, tickling and distracting him, but he didn’t reach up to wipe it out of his eyes.
It wouldn’t help him if he did – his glasses were somewhere behind him, on the small table, together with the rest of Danny’s clothes. They were haphazardly folded, because Danny had been in a hurry to get where he was now.
He had been eager. Eager to prove to Mac that he could be trusted, that Mac could believe in Danny, and that Danny wouldn’t disappoint him again. He had learned his lesson, and Mac could give Danny more responsibility, because Danny was in control now, even if he was kneeling in the middle of Mac’s apartment, sweating and panting, his legs splayed open slightly and with Mac’s fist wrapped tightly around his dick and stroking him, slowly and patiently, never stopping or slowing down, and never speeding up.
Mac was pressed to his back, his skin sticking to Danny’s back, his chin hooked over Danny’s shoulder, carefully watching every twitch of Danny’s body, every rise and fall of his chest, every drop of white pre-come sliding down his darkened, hardened flesh and wetting Mac’s hand, easing its glide and making it easier to rub along Danny’s dick. He had only taken off his shirt, the denim of his jeans rubbed against Danny’s ass tantalizingly. It was a sharp counterpoint to the sweet friction caused by Mac’s fingers, almost painful in its roughness, but it only served to heighten and sharpen every other sensation already running through his body and driving him closer to the edge.
An edge he wasn’t allowed to fall over, not until Mac told him so, because Danny had promised he could do this. Even more, he had sworn he could do this, could hold on to his control.
Because if Mac could trust him to know what he could do here, in the privacy of Mac’s living room, he could also trust that Danny knew what he was doing at a crime scene.
He needed Mac to trust him. Both here and out there, in the field.
His arousal spiraled higher when Mac focused his ministrations on the soft head of his dick, almost purple now, swollen and sensitive, but in a good way; a way that was almost too good. He gasped, a choked-off, half-swallowed moan, and his hips twitched, moving toward Mac’s hands, helplessly pumping forward until he locked his muscles and forced himself back under some semblance of control.
Another drop of milky-white fluid collected at the slit and succumbed to gravity, sliding down the underside until it was stopped by Mac’s hand and rubbed into his skin. Mac’s free hand came up around his chest, sliding through his sweat as if he was drawing, creating a masterpiece - Danny was his masterpiece, taken apart by Mac’s talented fingers and put back together in a new, revealing shape, a shape Mac could be proud of. The thought made Danny smile for a split second, up to the moment when Mac’s thumb and forefinger closed around his nipple and squeezed.
Danny’s hips shot up, toward Mac’s other hand, blindly seeking friction and relief, release, and he couldn’t hold back the keening sound. He sounded like a dog, wailing and keening and panting, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t bring himself to bother about it – all what mattered was Mac’s approval, Mac being proud of him for following his orders.
His focus narrowed on that one thought – on Mac. Every breath Mac took, every little shift of muscles under Mac’s skin, every touch became the reason to live for Danny. He managed to ignore his own arousal; put it aside like a tool in the lab that was there but not needed right now, and that would get picked up later again.
Later, when Mac told him he could.
Not now.
Mac exhaled, sharp and hissing. “Danny,” he murmured. “Danny…”
His voice sounded rough, like sandpaper, and Danny tipped his head back until it came to rest on Mac’s strong shoulder, and reached back with both hands, to clench them in Mac’s thighs. The denim of Mac’s pants rasped against his palms, just like it brushed against his ass, and he closed his eyes and let his mouth fall open.
“Danny,” Mac murmured again and bit down on the side of his neck.
Danny flinched as if an electrical current had just gone through his entire body and left him tingling, but he didn’t beg Mac to stop or to let him come.
He could take this. He knew he could do this, just because Mac had told him he could, and because Mac expected it from him. He wasn’t the screw-up with the ties to Tanglewood and the brother in a coma anymore. He was someone else now, someone Mac had created.
Someone Mac could be proud of.
Mac pressed the flat of his tongue against Danny’s throat, soothing the spot he’d just nipped at, and murmured against his skin, “Now, Danny. Come for me, let me see you…”
Danny groaned as he finally was allowed to pick up the tool of his arousal again, to let go of his control and really concentrate on the feeling of Mac’s hand on his erection, Mac’s fingers on his nipple, Mac’s mouth on his throat, tasting Danny’s swat, taking a part of Danny and mixing it with his own, and even if it was just sweat and saliva, it was a thought that was arousing enough to push him over the edge and made him come.
He gasped and panted, his chest rising and falling with every breath he managed to take, while leaning back against Mac’s chest and trusting him to hold him upright while saliva, sweat and semen dried on his body.
He needed a moment to collect himself, but then, he grinned exhaustedly up at Mac.
“Told you I can do it,” he mumbled, exhaustion and satisfaction making his words slur together and almost incomprehensible.
Mac chuckled softly and kissed his shoulder briefly. “You did,” he replied, amusement and fondness in his voice, and also something else.
Danny wasn’t sure, but he thought that it was pride.
It made him feel better than any orgasm could.
~end.