To DD or Not to DD
Fandom: CSI:NY
Author: Kimmychu
Rating: FRM (it may go up later)
Pairing: Danny/Flack, Danny/Mac
Content Warning: Cracktasticness, odd body changes, language. Did I mention cracktasticness?
Spoilers: Set after 'Fair Game', so spoilers for any episode previous to that
Summary: After a freak laboratory accident at CSI headquarters, Danny is cursed (or blessed, depending on how you see things) with very unusual … add-ons. Inspired by a forum comment: "Danny is the show's DD breasts."
Disclaimer: Nope, none of the characters belong to me. What a shame. I would treat them oh so well. They have no idea what they're missing.
Chapter 8
Flack awoke to the resounding yowl of a cat somewhere outside.
He blinked twice, rubbed at his eyes and promptly let out a powerful sneeze or two. Sniffling moistly, he wriggled out from under the cream-colored afghan wrap Danny always spread across the back of his couch, wrinkling his nose. His mouth agape in a yawn, he stretched his long, lean body on the couch. He looked at the antique clock hanging on the wall next to the bookshelf. Nine in the morning on a Sunday. Stupid cat. He staggered to the semi-open window facing the street, feeling the early morning draft caress his face and hair before pulling it shut.
Coffee. He needed coffee. Now where did Danny keep the coffee?
Flack stumbled into the small kitchen, scratching his chest. The white ceramic tiles beneath his bare feet were chilly and sent shudders up his back. The next time he crashed at Danny's, he was gonna bring over his fluffy slippers, and he didn't give a shit if Danny laughed his ass off at him because of them. He growled deep in his throat at the lack of any coffee in the kitchen cupboards. No coffee meant a Flack in a bad mood. He made a sardonic face at the millions of tea packets instead. Only sissies drank tea like that.
Okay, sure, Danny drank tea, but he wasn't a sissy. He was in an exclusive class of his own. Where the hell was that lazy ass? Flack yelled his name, demanding to know whether there was any coffee in the place. Then he recalled Danny didn't drink coffee.
Damnit.
Flack plodded back out into the living area, intent on bursting into Danny's bedroom and hopping on the guy if that's what it took to get him up. Half-way there, his foot suddenly snagged on something heavy on the floor, and he barely caught himself from flattening his face on the wooden floor. What the -
It was the rubbish bin. Crammed with empty Chinese takeout cartons. And broken glass shards. Flack gaped at the blood stains on some of them.
Holy shit. Danny.
The whole of last night came back to him like a kick in the teeth six ways to kingdom come.
The vision of sensual, full DD-cup breasts on his best friend's chest woke him up quicker than all the caffeine in the world could.
Flack grimaced a little as the bedroom door creaked open. He was also starting to remember how close he got his head smashed apart by a sailing flower pot hurled by a very furious Danny. He proverbially slapped himself for shouting like he did earlier. He so did not need another flower pot nearly breaking his skull this early in the day.
Danny was still sound asleep, lying on his back with one arm bent over his head and the other partially hanging over the edge of the bed. The curtains of the windows to the left of the bed were half-closed. Vivid sunlight poured through the gap in between and onto Danny from the waist down, saturating the resting man in bright colours on the bottom half while leaving his upper body in the shadows. Right then and there, Flack had his very first urge to pick up a brush and paint what his eyes were drinking in. Or if he had a camera like his CSI pals carried around so often, he'd capture this moment and keep it in his wallet always.
Flack's brain was so fuddled without his daily dose of caffeine, it was over ten minutes of just slouching in the doorway staring with glossy blue eyes before he noticed Danny's hair. It had grown at least another two inches longer. He wrapped one hand around his mouth when the manic vision of Danny as Rapunzel screaming for a Knight in Shining Armour suddenly popped into mind. Fuck, that shouldn't be as amusing as he believed it was. Danny's face showed no beard shadow or any growth of facial hair at all. Flack never realized how much of a difference Danny's goatee and facial stubble made to his face until it was gone. Flack kinda liked it. And was it his imagination or were Danny's eyelashes longer too?
Danny had taken off the CSI coat sometime in the night, and without it, Flack had the ideal view of the drastic physical transformation to his friend's body. Upon second thought, drastic was a rather strong word to use. Flack thought the word pants-tenting was more appropriate. He figured his judgement of those recent … add-ons would change with the dawn. He was dead wrong. If his best friend wasn't a man, Flack would probably propose to him. The right band of the black tank top had slipped downwards over Danny's shoulders, partly hiding the tribal-like, round tattoo on the upper arm. The bottom of the tank top was twisted around the shorter man's body awkwardly, baring the undersides of the DD-sized breasts.
Huh, they were totally real. And Danny wasn't wearing a bra. He mulled over how they were gonna walk into a lingerie store to buy some bras. All he could think of was Danny trying one on and posing in front of a mirror, asking petulantly, "Don, do these make my boobs look big?" He sniggered. He felt another spasm of maniacal laughter coming on and literally slapped himself in the face this time. Damnit, Flack, he thought to himself, what the fuck's wrong with ya?
Flack sneaked across to the bed, sitting at Danny's feet. He itched terribly to pull them into his lap and tickle the hell outta them. Geez. This was what happened when Don Flack, Jr. didn't get his coffee fix. He brushed his hands through his cropped hair in agitation. He felt so disoriented, like how Tom Hanks was in that movie where he got stranded on an island and made a friggin' volleyball his only friend. He loathed feeling like this, powerless to make a difference in a situation that was out of his control.
Danny moaned, then shifted onto his right side, away from the sunlight. Whoa, major cleavage going on there. Flack formed his decision and brought his hand down onto Danny's ankle to wake him up.
A loud series of knocks at Danny's apartment door immobilized him.
Flack immediately shifted into detective mode, all senses razor-sharp and heightened. He was highly doubtful Danny was anticipating visitors, not in the shape he was in. He creeped towards the main door on the flat sides of his feet, something he learnt from his dad in advancing stealthily and silently on perps. Instinct forewarned him whoever was on the other side were not freakishly friendly salespeople. He wished he had his gun. He peeked through the peephole in the door.
Two men in pricey, custom-made suits and coats hung around on the opposite side of the door, one rocking back and forth on his heels and the other stepping forward to knock on the door once more. If Flack didn't know better, they looked like the Feds. His face contorted into his patented scowl. He and his dad might disagree on many issues, but they had this outlook in common: New York's finest and Feds just didn't mix well.
What the hell did the FBI want with Danny anyway?
Flack waited until the FBI agent was leaning forward and a second away from touching the door, then yanked the door wide open. He smirked inwardly at the guy's clumsy attempt to straighten himself before he planted his face on the yucky hallway tiles. Oh yeah, that set Flack right back on course to being his usual, asshole self.
"Whaddayawant?" Flack inflated his chest and gave them his fiercest glare, blocking the doorway with his bulk.
The one who tripped glared in return, whipping out his wallet to display his FBI identification and badge. "I'm Agent Summers, and this is Agent Alvarez -" - he pointed at the other guy who was studying Flack - "We'd like to talk with Detective Danny Messer."
"Why?"
"We just need to ask him some questions in regards to the explosion that occurred at his workplace." Agent Summers continued to glare at him, enticing Flack to take a step forward into the agent's personal space.
"Detective Messer's already answered all the necessary questions 'bout it." Flack's tone was low and nonchalant, but something in his blue eyes compelled Agent Summers to unconsciously tilt back a bit. "If you want his whole statement, go look for his boss, Detective Mac Taylor."
"We'd like to talk to him."
Flack's eyes narrowed. Something smelled awfully fishy here.
"He's sleeping." This dumbass was getting on Flack's nerves. "And as I said, Detective Mac Taylor's the guy you should be lookin' for."
"And who might you be?" Ah, the quiet one knew how to talk after all.
"Detective Don Flack. Homicide." Flack's lips curved in a parody of a smile. "You wanna get in, you get a warrant."
Agent Summers with his overly-gelled, slicked hair apparently had a really short fuse. He jabbed roughly at Flack's sternum. "Get out of the way, detective, or -"
" … Don? What's going on?"
Damn, Danny was awake.
Flack craned his head to the side, staying where he was. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Danny a few feet away, swathed in a thick, dark blue robe and dreamily rubbing at his eyes. His hair was mussed, and strands of it dangled over his high forehead. The robe was so thick Flack could hardly tell anything was out of the ordinary with his friend's physique. Flack couldn't help but think Danny looked like a little boy who'd woken up to have some cookies and milk.
"It's okay, Danny. No big deal. These bozos were just leavin' anyway."
Flack yelled, "Hey!" when Agent Summers shouldered his way past into the apartment. Ohh, Flack was going to throttle the guy so bad …
"Detective Messer. Sorry to disturb you at this time." Agent Alvarez was turning out to be the polite one too, but Flack was stuck in a nasty mood now.
"Like fuck ya are," the lanky detective muttered under his breath. He shoved on Agent Summers' shoulder, going up to Danny and instinctively placing a hand on the other detective's arm. "Danny, I got a bad feelin' 'bout these guys. Their IDs look authentic, but somethin' ain't right," he said in a muted voice. "Ya don't have to tell them anythin'."
Danny was uncannily composed. "'S okay. Lemme talk to them."
Flack was back at that weird place where he felt like a lost child searching for his missing teddy. He was always the rock, the one who kept Danny on his feet when the waves got too powerful and threatened to sweep him away. Not the other way around.
Agent Summers was now formally The Disturbing Ass of a Fed Who Was Obsessed With Staring at Danny. The FBI agent literally eyeballed his friend from head to toe twice over, like he was looking for some clue or sign that Flack wasn't aware of. Or maybe he was. Shit, what if these Feds knew about Danny's transformation and was here to haul him away to some underground laboratory to be tested as their DD-boobed guinea pig? The mere thought of Danny trapped in some padded room while mad scientists cut him up caused him to see nothing but red.
Agent Alvarez elbowed his fellow agent in the ribs. Agent Summers coughed and fiddled with his ghastly polka-dot tie.
"As I had mentioned to Detective Flack," The agent uttered Flack's name like it belonged to a demon, "I'd like to ask you some questions about the explosion that happened last week."
Danny crossed his arms in front of him. "I already made an official statement on the incident to my superior, Detective Mac Taylor. He has my testimony which includes all the details."
Yeah, that's my boy, Flack thought.
There was a discomfited silence. Agent Alvarez came to the rescue of his colleague again, with a glib, "Very well, we'll obtain it from him. However, there's just one thing I'd like to know." Agent Alvarez's face was a professional mask. "How have you been since the incident?"
One end of Danny's lips arched upwards. "I've been better. You wanna know what it's really like to experience an explosion at point blank range, I'm sure you smart FBI people can figure that out on your own."
Agent Summers visibly bristled, but Agent Alvarez smiled sincerely. "We've been erroneous time and again, but you must admit the NYPD has made mistakes of its own as well."
"Touché."
Wow. Flack had never seen Danny this unruffled ever.
"Well, thank you for your time. My apologies if we were … interrupting you both." Agent Alvarez sent both Danny and Flack a meaningful look before striding out of the apartment. Agent Summers sneered at Flack, and mumbled a derogatory comment.
"Couple a' fags. Figures."
If Flack was seeing red earlier, his vision was now the colour of dark blood. He was already choking the greasy bastard to death in his mind, but a firm hand on his wrist was stopping him.
"He ain't worth the trouble, Don. Let it go." Danny's blue eyes were mesmerizing in the sunlight.
Flack slammed the apartment door aggressively, breathing heavy with suppressed anger. Okay, he needed to sit down before he did something he was gonna regret for a long time. He collapsed onto one of the black-and-steel stools at the kitchen counter, pinching the bridge of his patrician nose. He. Needed. Coffee.
The sounds of Danny brewing tea resonated in the quiet wake of the FBI agents' surprise visit. Flack was pleasantly surprised at the mug of steaming hot coffee that materialized in front of his face. He glanced up to see Danny smiling.
"I keep the coffee behind the tea boxes. Know you hate tea."
Flack suddenly felt ashamed of his behavior for the past hour or so. "Thanks, buddy."
Danny sat on another stool next to him, sipping fragrant tea out of a gigantic white cup. "That was interestin'. Ya think the Feds have somethin' to do with what happened to me?"
Flack snarled. "I'll bet a million bucks on it." Looking at Danny in profile, the tall detective was freaked by how Danny was not freaking out. Danny was the drama queen, for crying out loud. He was the only guy Flack knew who could make a cold plate of lasagne sound like the greatest crime in the history of the world via his whining alone. His head told him it was only a matter of time before the meltdown happened.
Both of them turned their heads in the direction of the couch when Flack's mobile phone rang, then towards each other. They gazed wordlessly at each other for a moment, then Flack paced over to pick it up.
"It's Mac."
Danny perked up in his seat. Flack pressed a button and placed the phone to his ear.
"Flack … Yeah, I'm here with him … Okay." Flack's expression was a contradictory mix of apprehension and relief. "He's comin' over. Now."