One Week
Fandom: CSI:NY
Author: Kimmychu
Rating: FRAO (we're talkin' Karma Sutra-rating here)
Pairing: Danny/Flack
Content Warning: Major sexual tension, Flack-snark overload, dirty thoughts. Lotsa dirty thoughts.
Spoilers: Meh, nothing important, but to be safe, post Season 2.
Summary: Danny and Flack love to dance the horizontal tango. Everyday. Three times a day. And night. But one day, Flack says yes, and Danny says no. What will Flack the sex maniac do when his lover gives him the ultimatum of no sex … for one whole week?
Disclaimer: YES, THEY BELONG TO ME - I mean, why, of course not, they're just fictional … hot … characters. Mmm, hot.
OoooooooooooooooooooooooooO
Author's Notes: Indeed, Flack is a total horndog ... And, uhm. To anyone who loves them hotdogs. I'm sorry. -runs away quickly-
OoooooooooooooooooooooooooO
iv. Ekabandha
For Danny to say that the following morning was awkward was the understatement of the century. He had been awake before six in the morning, alone in the bed, faintly shivering from the chill.
And no Flack there with him, around him or inside him.
Which was really peculiar and distressing, to say the least.
But not as distressing as the apparent morning wood that was tenting his blanket right where his groin was.
Danny flopped back onto the bed, groaning, shielding his eyes with an arm. Damnit. According to Flack's rules, neither of them were allowed to jerk themselves off. Which meant, either he cheated by masturbating without Flack's knowledge, or it was time to revisit the cold shower days.
Damnit.
He hated cold showers.
Especially when he had to take them this early in the morning.
Danny sighed loudly. Stupid Flack. The guy didn't have to make up that dumbass rule in the first place. One of his hands instinctively slid past the waistband of his track pants, downwards to his erection. He could … touch himself … just a bit -
The CSI bit himself hard enough in the lip to hurt. He wrenched his hand away at the last minute, cursing endlessly under his breath. No way, there was no way he was going to prove Flack's words right.
He made an incensed sound, rolled over onto his flat stomach, hugging a pillow beneath his head and chest. Shit, this was even worse. The pillow smelt just like his lover. And this was one of Flack's favorite positions while he thrust insi-
"Fuck!"
Danny scrambled out of bed, stamping angrily for the closed bedroom door. He didn't give a crap whether Flack was asleep or not and was making enough noise to rival a stampeding herd of elephants. He was not going to suffer alone.
He flung the door open, storming into the living area.
Well, what did he know, the guy was sitting there on the couch like he owned the place or something.
"Mornin'," Flack said curtly.
The homicide detective sat at ease on the sofa, legs spread and his arms crossed over his chest. He was looking out the window, with his head turned away from Danny. The two pillows at the end of the couch appeared slept in, if the head-shaped dent in the center of the top one was any indication. Danny's toes curled inwards at the sight of the taller detective bathed in warm, bright sunlight. God, why did that man have to. Look. So. Good.
Danny couldn't help glancing at the other man's groin.
Unlike himself, Flack didn't appear like he was having any trouble down there.
"Mornin'," Danny rejoined just as tersely, tearing his eyes away from the other man, scuffing the floor with his bare feet. He unconsciously tugged the hem of his black tank top down as low as it could go.
Flack snickered.
The CSI's head snapped back in the taller man's direction. He snarled deep in his throat, blue eyes narrowed dangerously at Flack's evil smirk. The fucker was laughing at him!
"I'm gettin' the shower first." Danny stalked off for the bathroom, not waiting for a reply.
Behind him, Flack sniggered again, a rumbling sound that went straight to a certain part of his anatomy that was happily disobeying him at the moment.
"That's fine. I'm sure there'll be plenty of hot water left."
That sonofa-
Without looking back, Danny flipped his third finger high in the air to make sure Flack saw it. He rushed into the bathroom and banged the door shut with a foot, hands in tense fists. Flack's snickering was loud even through the closed door.
"Hey, you're the one who doesn't wanna do that for a week, remember?"
Danny ran his hands through sleep-ruffled hair, releasing an infuriated roar through gritted teeth. It was okay if he went back out there and kicked the guy in the nuts, right, right?
He clung onto his displeasure for a minute, then let it go with a resigned sigh, slumping against the bathroom door. As much as he hated to admit it, Flack was right. He was the one who came up with the damn challenge in the first place. He gazed down at his groin, cursing for the first time his body's inability to not jump to total attention at the mere thought of sex.
"Why can't ya listen ta me fer once, huh?"
He slapped his forehead with his palm. Oh great, now he was talking to his dick.
Muttering under his breath, Danny went to turn on the shower, setting it to the coldest setting. The chilly water washed over his hand as he stuck it under the cascade, causing goosebumps all over his body. A quiver ran through him at the stark sensation. Oh, this would definitely work. Even the hardest erection wouldn't be able to withstand iciness like this.
He hastily stripped, leaving his clothes on the tiled floor, and leapt under the shower. He yelped. Gyaaah, it was fucking cold. Danny hopped around in the shower stall, his teeth chattering. He swiftly became drenched.
It took some time for the shivers to diminish so he could wash his hair and body. He opened one eye to a slit, using his hands to feel for the shampoo and liquid soap. It was bad enough he had to touch himself where he shouldn't be touching according to some idiot's rule. Memories of all the times he and Flack had sex there in the shower assaulted him as intensely as the cold water, making him tremble in a very different way.
Fuck, no, nothinkingaboutsexnothinkingaboutsexnothinkingaboutsex …
Danny tried his hardest to think of sad and depressing issues, except all he could imagine in his mind was the homicide detective standing behind him, stroking his torso and legs with large hands, whispering into his ear as he -
The CSI deliberately curled his fingers into his palms until it stung. Okay, this was not a good start. Why the hell did he bring up the damn challenge in the first place?
The image of Flack staring at the television last night materialized in his head. Flack, staring at that model like he wanted to eat the guy up.
The same stare Flack always aimed at him.
Danny's lips thinned into an unhappy line. They'd barely passed the one year mark, and Flack was already openly ogling other men on the television. How long was it going to be before the man began ogling men in real life too? How long was it going to be before Flack got bored and moved on to someone else? Danny let his forehead touch the tiled wall of the shower stall, closing his eyes. That dismal notion that it was possibly not very long at all deflated him more effectively and faster than the ice-cold water did.
He shut off the shower, silence filling the bathroom. Well, he couldn't back out now. By the time the week was over, he was certain he'd find out if he truly had something good going on with Flack.
Or if he was headed straight for yet another awful crash and burn situation.
Danny stepped out, using the towel hanging on the shower stall door to dry himself briskly. The ten million dollar question was whether he would even survive this one. His brain wouldn't permit him to really contemplate on it.
The brown-haired detective hung the towel back on the rail attached to the shower stall door. It was then that he realized he had completely forgotten to bring a fresh change of clothes with him into the bathroom. He scrunched his eyes closed, groaning softly.
Oh great. Just great.
In any other situation, he'd simply saunter out in the buff without any reservation whatsoever and tease Flack with his nakedness -
Danny suddenly smirked. Oh yeah, the ultimate revenge.
He strolled unperturbedly to the bathroom door and opened it.
"Took ya long 'nough."
Flack was leaning against the wall next to the bathroom doorway. He was smirking, but the second he saw that Danny was nude, the smirk instantaneously disappeared.
The CSI's pink tongue flitted out, licking at parted lips. Gazing directly into Flack's wide, blue eyes, he rubbed at his lower belly, baring white teeth in a wayward grin.
Flack's gaze drifted downwards. Those beautiful eyes of his became even wider.
Danny cackled, tongue flitting out once more.
"Don't worry … I'm sure you won't be needin' the hot water either."
Danny felt Flack's intense stare on him all the way to the bedroom. More specifically, the man's stare on his bottom. He laughed under his breath at the other man's loud and clear swearing. Served the guy right for poking fun at him before.
Breakfast turned out to be an edgy affair. Flack had been wise enough to take his fresh change of clothes into the bathroom with him, so Danny never got the chance to eyeball the guy. Maybe that was a good thing anyway. The shorter detective wasn't sure how he was going to handle a hot, naked Flack knowing he couldn't even touch the man without exploding on the spot. The guy already looked so damn fine in a pink-colored suit and striped tie.
Flack kept staring at him all the way through their meal at the kitchen table. Any other time, Danny would be preening under the attention, and stare as much at the other man. Probably kiss each other silly and grope one another like they usually did. Now, he had to battle the constant urge to hurl himself at Flack to receive his special daily dose of protein that no one else could give him.
Danny ran his tongue over his lower lip. The homicide detective's eyes followed its movement, and Flack mirrored his action by licking at his own lip. Danny couldn't help licking his lip again. And Flack did the same, staring at Danny as if he was all that existed.
"C'mon, we gotta go," Danny rasped, forcing himself to look away. "We're gonna be late."
The CSI could tell Flack was itching to say something, and he hurriedly dumped his used utensils into the sink and walked into the living area before Flack could do so. He put on his coat, checking that he had his wallet, keys and cel phone, and that everything he needed for the day was in his bag.
The taller man came out of the kitchen a moment later, lips pursed and blue eyes as intense as ever. Flack stood before Danny, saying nothing. They stared into each other's eyes, frozen in place, lit on one side by sunlight. For an instant, it seemed like Flack was going to grab him by the arms and kiss him, challenge be damned.
Flack stared at him for another minute, then silently went to pick up his car keys on the coffee table. Danny had to close his eyes once his lover moved out of sight, his breath leaving his body in a shuddering exhalation. His toes curled inside his shoes. He was going to remember the sheer yearning in his lover's eyes the entire day and more.
When they were out of Danny's apartment and got into Flack's car, the tension between them spiked severely. Danny's fingers drummed frenetically on his thighs as he sat quietly in the passenger seat, avoiding eye contact with the other man by glancing out the window. Flack's hands were tight around the steering wheel, to the point the knuckles were white. The shorter man could sense the growing pressure within the other man eventhough he wasn't looking at Flack. He started an internal countdown to the moment the homicide detective finally blew up.
Ten, nine, eight …
Danny heard Flack take a deep breath.
Seven, six, five, four …
Flack was staring at the back of his head now, probably glowering in that sizzling way of his.
Three … two … one -
"Danny, this is stupid!"
Boom.
Danny turned his head to gaze at Flack. Flack had an expression that was an amalgam of frustration and supplication on his handsome mien, blue eyes big with contained exasperation.
"This - this challenge thing is stupid, 'kay? What's the point of it anyway!" Flack twisted sideways so he faced Danny. "C'mon, take it back, okay? We don't need this."
Shit, Flack was giving him his best puppy-eyed look. The one he could never deny for long.
"Please?"
Danny gritted his teeth. God, he wanted so bad to just say yes, but …
"No."
Flack threw up his hands, falling back against the driver's seat heavily.
"No, Don. I just … can't."
"Why? Why not?"
All of a sudden, Danny was pissed off himself. "Look, what's the big deal if we don't have sex for a week, hahn?"
Flack couldn't answer. Instead, he went back to gripping the steering wheel like he was strangling it, face contorted in a scowl.
"C'mon, Don, tell me." When the taller detective remained silent, Danny said, "What, if we don't fuck, we got nothin' else, that it?"
That made Flack gawk at him with sharp, wide eyes.
"Well?"
Flack's eyes stayed focused on him. Danny's foot twitched, but the CSI displayed no other outward reaction, apart from gazing back at Flack just as obstinately.
Flack's mouth opened. There was no sound. Almost immediately, Flack clamped it shut, shaking his head in a resolute manner and starting up the car.
"Forget 'bout it. We're both mad, and I ain't talkin' 'bout this now."
Danny crossed his arms over his chest, staring out the car window, lips downturned in dissatisfaction. "Fine."
Danny felt the other man staring at him again.
Obviously, he had to be a masochist, because he swiveled his head to return the gaze. Something deep inside him clenched hard at the blatant torment in the homicide detective's blue eyes. His hand also tightened on the armrest of the car door.
"Fine."
Flack turned away, scowl more grave than ever, stepping harder on the accelerator than normal. Danny resumed staring out the window, one hand over his mouth. He swallowed visibly, his throat feeling so parched.
Not even twelve hours into things, and they were already quarrelling with each other. And the sexual frustration alone was going to drive Danny crazy before he knew it.
Danny closed his eyes.
How the heck were they going to survive the next six and a half days this way?
OoooooooooooooooooooooooooO
Danny was moaning.
The piercing sounds seemed to echo in the room, overwhelming the muted noise of the red silk sheets rustling beneath the writhing man. Danny was lounging on a pile of similarly red pillows, his lean legs spread apart on the bed. He was nibbling on one thumb, while the other hand was busy stroking his hard and dripping cock.
It was utterly erect, bouncing up towards Danny's flat belly everytime he completed a stroke from root to flushed head. Some pre-come had splattered against the smooth skin of his abdomen, glistening under the ambient lighting of the room.
Flack licked his lips, rubbing at his own stomach.
This was the Danny he loved seeing most, the Danny who had no inhibitions, no secrets, no masks. The Danny who opened up only to him this way.
The man on the bed stroked himself one more time, then beckoned Flack to him with a crook of one forefinger and an impish smile. The homicide detective grinned, clambering onto the velvety bed and positioning himself on his hands and knees over the other man.
Danny hummed, stretching up both arms to caress his neck, shoulders and chest. The shorter man was murmuring something under his breath, but Flack couldn't catch the words. The homicide detective lowered himself on top of his lover's body, molding them together from chest to thighs, shifting his head until the tips of their noses touched.
Danny's lips moved again. Flack frowned lightly, still unable to hear what the other man was saying.
"What is it?" Flack tilted his head to the side so his ear was right in front of Danny's mouth.
"ARIGATO GOZAIMAAAAAAAAAASU!"
The taller man jumped violently at the yelled salutation, temporarily blinded by extreme bursts of light. Barely a second after that, he heard the identifiable sounds of camera clicks.
Flack blinked numerous times, a comical expression of surprise on his visage.
His vision gradually cleared from the bright camera flashes, and he discovered he was face to face with a gigantic entourage of Japanese tourists carrying expensive cameras of varying sizes, eagerly snapping photographs of him. Flack gaped at them with eyes as huge as saucers, frozen to the spot by something akin to horror.
What the hell was going on here!
"Wha -"
A couple more flashes and clicks, and the photoshoot ended as quickly as it began. Together as one, the whole group of Japanese tourists bowed before him. Then, they stood upright and ambled off, smiling and waving goodbye at him as if he was some famous New York city attraction or something. Some of the young women in the group giggled amongst themselves as they glanced back at him, covering their smiles with dainty hands.
Flack blinked some more. Wow, that was weird.
He heard someone attempting to smother an amused guffaw next to him.
"Flack, what has gotten into you today?"
Flack glanced at the man who was beside him.
Hey, it was Hawkes. The Doc was attired in a long-sleeved, collared shirt and jeans, along with a black leather jacket. The guy was seriously fighting to stop himself from laughing his head off, one hand wrapped over his mouth. Hawkes' kind, brown eyes were crinkled up so much Flack could hardly see them.
"What the friggin' hell was that all 'bout, Doc?"
Hawkes coughed, sniffled once and made a great effort to smooth out his facial features into his usual professional mien. "Well, that's what you get for daydreaming away and standing in the middle of Times Square like one of those human statues."
Flack made a face. "Aww, c'mon, ya don't think those tourists thought …"
Hawkes cracked and burst out laughing, bending over and clutching at his sides.
The homicide detective threw up his arms in a huff. "Oh, that's wonderful, just wonderful."
The former ME managed to stand up after a few minutes, wiping at his face. "You were - you were just standing there with this goofy smile on your face," Hawkes said between chortles. "And - and you didn't even react when those Japanese tourists came up to you and asked you if … if they could take pictures of you -"
"So they came up to me when you didn't say anything, and they asked if it was all part of your act to be like a statue … I - I don't know why I did it, but I told them that it was -" Hawkes was wracked with more amused laughter, shaking his head and pressing a hand against his abdomen. "And they put some money into your jacket pocket … and - and after that, they all took photos of you. So they could show their relatives back home … one of the wonders of America, they said."
Hawkes rubbed at his eyes, still grinning. "Ah, I do love the Japanese."
Flack gawped at Hawkes a little more, then looked down at his jacket pocket. Sure enough, there were a couple of money bills sticking out of it. He pulled them out, eyes widening at the amount in his hands. Whoa, these Japanese folk sure were generous people. The tall detective folded them up and placed them back in his pocket, greatly appeased. Well, that was the easiest hundred bucks he ever made yet.
Hawkes was gazing at him with a very curious expression, teeth gleaming in the midday sunshine. "Okay, I really want to know what you were thinking all that time, Flack. Because, I have never seen you like that. Ever."
The erotic image of Danny sprawled nude and sweaty and sexy on those red silk sheets dominated Flack's brain for the twentieth time that day. He gulped, lips twitching perceptibly. Nuh uh, no way was he going to tell Hawkes that. Nobody apart from Danny and himself even knew they were in a relationship far beyond plain friendship.
"Trust me, ya don't wanna know, Doc." Flack waved it off, looking as blasé as he could. He only hoped he wasn't blushing as red as he thought he was.
Hawkes angled his head to one side, his eyes narrowed astutely. His smile widened. "Okay, okay, I won't push you about it."
"Thanks," Flack replied sincerely, letting out an inward sigh of relief. Thank God Stella was working with Danny today instead of him. He didn't need to deal with a whirlwind of a Greek woman on top of his lust-addled condition. Flack was dead certain Stella would have bombarded him with questions and teasing until he crumbled like a cookie. The Doc, on the other hand, was a nice guy. Hawkes never butt his head into anyone's business or lost his temper, and Flack was absolutely cool with that.
"I don't know about you, but I'm starving." Hawkes scanned the crowded area they stood in, mulling over what to eat for lunch. The former ME smirked. "That chase earlier was a nice end to the morning, wasn't it?"
Flack grinned broadly. Oh yeah, that had been good. He and Hawkes had been assigned to what appeared to be a clear-cut case of a robbery gone bad. The victim, a middle-aged man in a pricey business suit, had been found dead in an alley a few blocks away from the Times Square Armed Forces Recruiting Station between Broadway and 7th Avenue. Point blank shot to the heart. From the slack face, no dirt or rips in the clothes plus the lack of any bruising or cuts anywhere, the poor bastard probably didn't even know what hit him.
The homicide detective's job had been made much, much easier when Hawkes came upon what was a dropped ID card, about a dozen feet away from where the victim was found. It didn't belong to the dead guy, so the logical deduction was that it might very well belong to the murderer. Flack had been on his mobile phone checking up details on their potential suspect when he caught sight of a lanky man in a green hoodie, who looked a hell lot like their perp.
Flack nearly whooped with joy when it dawned on him that it was their suspect. Of all the freaking idiotic things to do, the dumbass actually returned to the scene of the crime to retrieve his missing ID. He and Hawkes had a hell of a time racing after the perp through the congested city crowd. And boy, did it feel great to tackle the guy NFL-style and flatten him like a pancake on the sidewalk. All that pent-up energy inside him since he woke up had to go somewhere.
"I think I'll get a salad from there," Hawkes said, motioning with his head towards a small cafeteria further down the opposite side of the road. "What about you?"
The taller detective already had his eyes set on a hotdog vendor nearby. "Nah. I'm a hotdog guy."
Hawkes chuckled. "To each his own. Meet you back here?"
"Yeah, get our munchies, then I'll drive ya back to the labs."
"Thanks! I'll be right back." Hawkes joined the group of people crossing the street and soon disappeared out of sight in the bustling mass.
The moment the Doc was gone, Flack smacked his forehead a couple of times, berating himself under his breath repeatedly. Damnit, it wasn't even one in the afternoon yet and he'd already made a total fool of himself in public, thanks to him constantly fantasizing about Danny. In front of a whole bunch of foreign tourists, to boot. And probably half of New York city. And Hawkes.
Yep. He was so going to squeeze the life out of Danny the next time they met.
Flack groaned. Damnit, even simple words were enough to get him all revved up. He bit his lower lip hard. How fortunate for him that he had his long coat on.
"Heeeeeey, Flack!"
Flack smirked widely. Well, look who it was, old Big Joe who used to sell hotdogs two blocks away from his precinct. According to the rotund, fifty-four year old vendor with the strong Turkish accent, Flack was his number one client, period.
"Hey, Joe, so this is where ya ran off to, huh?"
Big Joe cackled. "Yeeaah, business is good here, ya know? Felt it was time for a change of scenery. Heh."
Flack put on a mock expression of woe, slapping one large hand over his heart. "Ya hurt me, Joe. Left me all alone without a word, and here I thought I was yer best customer. What did I do, hahn?"
Big Joe cackled once more, placing giant fists on hips. "Ahh, you bein' the top detective that ya are, I figured you'd sniff me out sooner or later." He wagged a pudgy finger at Flack. "And ya did, eh?"
The hotdog seller took out a bun that certainly didn't look like a regular hotdog bun. "Here, I'll make ya somethin' special today!"
Flack's thick eyebrows lifted. If he didn't know any better, he'd swear the bread Big Joe held looked a lot like a pair of …
"See, it's a new thing I thought up. I call it … the Italian Sub!"
At the mention of the word Italian, Flack's mind inevitably floated back to a particular person. Namely, a certain bespectacled man who happened to be very much Italian and had one lovely bottom that looked just like those buns -
" … and after I've spread on the flavored butter, I put in the sausage -"
Flack's blue eyes widened at Big Joe shoving the meat between the buns. Oh hell, that was one thick, long and red sausage. And he knew that brand of butter. In fact, it'd been the same one he used the first time he and Danny had done it doggy-style in the kitchen -
"And instead of mustard, I use mayo now!" The greasy sound of the mayonnaise squeezing out of the bottle made the homicide detective's toes curl inwards. Fuck, that sounded just like lube coming out of -
Perhaps the universe decided it was an excellent moment to play a joke on Don Flack. Jr. Perhaps he was simply standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. Perhaps the hotdog vendor squeezed the bread too much or something.
Without warning, the sausage suddenly shot out from between the buttered buns.
Straight at Flack's face.
It bounced off his cheek, leaving a wide smear of white mayonnaise and butter across his lower face and over a portion of his lips. His large hands instinctively came up to catch the flying sausage in mid-air, his eyes squeezed shut from the astonishment of getting smacked in the face with a giant stick of meat. The dang thing was all slippery from the butter and mayonnaise, so it kept popping out of his grasp like a fish trying to escape. After the third time it slipped out of his hands, he finally had a good hold of it in his left hand.
Oh man, it was just like holding Danny's -
"Ohhh, I'm so sorry!" Big Joe had some tissue papers and rushed around his stall to frantically wipe at Flack's coat. "I don't know what happened!"
Squeezing the sausage, all the homicide detective could see in his mind was Danny stretched out on those red sheets once more, encouraging him to encircle his hand around the man's erect cock.
"I love it when you rub your thumb there, Don."
Flack began stroking his thumb against the underside of the flushed erection, savoring Danny's unrestrained moans. Oh yeah, babe, he had the hottest man in the world right here with him …
It took some time for the tall detective to realize he was using his thumb to stroke the side of a very greasy Italian sausage instead. With his eyes half-open and a dumbass smile on his face. In the middle of Times Square. While a fat Turkish man was waving a hand over his eyes repetitively, tentatively calling his name.
Flack jerked, glanced at the meat in hand. Eeewwwww. He let out a funny noise of disgust and chucked the sausage away.
Damnit, he was fantasizing out of control. Again. Why did Danny have to be so freaking hot?
"T-tissue … paper?"
Flack managed to send Big Joe an awkward, polite smile, plucking the tissue papers from the other man's hands and wiping his own with them. He then wiped his face clean, staring hard at the mayo on the tissue paper. Geez, why did the stuff have to look just like -
"I make you another one, okay?" The hotdog seller was back behind his stall, hastily getting out another shapely bun and an even bigger sausage.
"Joe, it's oka-"
"Exxxtra large sausage in HOT BUNS!"
Flack crumpled the tissue paper in his fist. His lower lip had to be raw from being bitten by now. Okay, he. Did. Not. Need that image. His eyes involuntarily closed. Oh crap, there Danny was once more … lying on his belly and looking up at Flack with those pleasure-filled eyes as he pushed ins-
"Exxxtra mayo eeeeverywheeeeere!"
Flack made a keening noise. Danny was convulsing, mouth open in a silent scream, coming and going so tight around him -
"Here." The homicide detective felt something hot and soft placed in his other hand. "It's on me, ah?"
Oh. It was another of Big Joe's special … hotdogs.
Big Joe patted him on his arm, smiling. "You enjoy your Italian Sub!"
Flack smiled tremulously. Danny was back in his gutter of a brain again, licking his lips and wriggling his very own Italian special at Flack.
"God, you have no idea how much I wanna," he murmured.
The hotdog vendor was already busy serving other customers, and hadn't heard Flack's heartfelt admission.
Apparently, Hawkes did.
"How much you want to what?" The CSI had a small plastic bag in hand, probably carrying his salad or whatever he got for lunch.
Flack was startled by the abrupt appearance of the former ME beside him. Geez, how the heck did the guy come and go so quietly like that?
"Uh … nothin'." Flack smiled in what he fervently hoped was a genuine manner. "You want a hotdog?" He handed it over to the other man before Hawkes could protest.
"I -" Hawkes stared at the hotdog in hand before glancing at Flack with a confused expression. "You - you don't want it?"
The taller detective cleared his throat. "I, uh, already had one. Guess I wasn't as hungry as I thought."
At that moment, Flack's stomach growled so audibly a few pedestrians walking past the two detectives turned their heads to look at Flack.
The homicide detective's fingernails dug into his palms. Shit.
Hawkes gazed pointedly at him. "Are you … sure you don't …"
Flack gave the other man a parody of a smile. "Yeah, Doc." He took one look at the dark red, thick sausage snug between the brown buns, and hastily glanced away. "I'm sure."
The former ME blinked, then merely shrugged. "Okay."
Flack gritted his teeth when Hawkes sunk his teeth into the hotdog. Man, who'd have figured the guy's mouth could open up so big. And the way the white mayonnaise was sticking to the man's full lips -
"C'mon, gettin' outta here. Now." Flack stomped off down the sidewalk towards his car parked a couple of blocks away, not hanging around to see if Hawkes was following him.
For the thousandth time that day, Danny was at the forefront of his lusty thoughts. This time, his lover was kneeling before him, nubile tongue out and flicking at the tip of his dripping cock, white fluid spattered all over his face -
The taller detective ran a hand down his handsome visage in frustration.
That did it.
He was totally swearing off hotdogs and anything that remotely resembled a sausage or a pair of hot buns for … for …
Flack got inside his car and leaned his head on his forearms on top of the steering wheel, sighing heavily. Seven days. Seven fucking days without touching his lover like he desired so badly. He unconsciously shifted his legs slightly apart, enormously aware of the hardness between them that was well concealed by his coat. Whatever reason Danny was sticking to this idiotic challenge for, the homicide detective hoped it was worth killing him with an atrocious case of blue balls.
As he waited for Hawkes to show up and get in the car, he whispered five forlorn words to himself.
"Miss ya, ya stubborn bastard."