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.
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Author's Notes: This turned out longer than I expected … so, next chapter, we'll have even more Flack and Hawkes and Mac!
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Chapter 15
"I deserve a raise. Just for this."
Hawkes squirmed in his seat, attempting to find a relaxing position and finding his efforts in vain thanks to his … irregular outfit.
"Relax, Hawkes, it's just a club we're hittin'. Be happy it ain't one of those seriously weird ones." Flack was in the backseat, his length extended along the pale leather, head behind Mac in the driver seat.
"I … wouldn't say that."
Flack sat upright at Mac's dubious comment, pushing his head between the seats to look at Mac. "Heey, whaddaya mean by that? I thought you said we were scouting out some private club in uptown Manhattan. Like, a regular dance club, right?"
The trio were in Mac's black SUV as it voyaged through a dark, narrow alley, headed for what Mac'd been informed was an abandoned ten-storey apartment building at the end of the passage. Hawkes sat next to Mac, attired in clothes his mother would have screamed her head off at, if she ever saw him in them. Flack, who was behind them both, was in a clubbing outfit Hawkes' mother would also have screamed about. And maybe passed out right after that.
While Mac had his usual work clothes on, Hawkes was wearing tight, white trousers with gold studs and simple star deco down the sides, pure white dress shoes and a sleeveless, white turtleneck that felt two sizes too small for his liking. A gold pendant hung from a thick, black cord around his neck. He had more bling on his wrists and fingers than he'd ever worn in his life; if he started rapping, he'd thoroughly fit the bill of a gangsta rapper. The orange-shaded, trendy spectacles that curved around his eyes completed the look.
Flack looked like a dark angel in his black and white gear. Like Hawkes, he had on tight trousers, except his were black, and had shiny, silver chains hanging from the leather belt on one side. One thin chain hung from Flack's neck, bearing a simple circular ornament. Bulky spiked and buckled boots adorned the tall detective's long feet. His top was much more provocative than Hawkes'. The tribal-patterned, long sleeves reached all the way past the wrists, but beginning diagonally from the shoulders towards the body and down, the shirt was nothing but a near-transparent black mesh. It left very little to the imagination. Indeed, Flack's suits hid an exceptionally fine body.
What riveted Hawkes, however, was the dramatic eyeliner and mascara work on Flack's large, blue eyes. Plus the bright blue lip gloss on the man's lips that glittered brightly under the soft light radiating from the car interior ceiling. There were more sides to the homicide detective than he ever expected. Hawkes reflected with amusement on Stella's almost fangirl-like reaction at Flack's spanking new look. He supposed the women wouldn't complain about seeing all those hidden sides one bit.
"There's a good reason why Stella and Lindsay aren't part of tonight's investigations."
Flack glowered unabashedly at his boss, who seemed to be trying his hardest at not smiling and doing it quite badly. " … It's a gay club, isn't it?"
Hawkes pivoted to look at Mac too.
"Alright, according to what I've been told, it's an elite underground club catering to those who … walk a different path from the regular people."
Flack fell back and slumped in the middle of the backseat. "Yeahyeah, I get it, it's a gay club."
"Something like that. Don't be surprised to see BDSM activities in there either." Mac added under his breath, "I hope you two aren't the prudish type."
Flack snorted.
"You … you're not expecting Flack and I to go in as … lovers, do you?"
Flack sputtered indignantly at Hawkes' question.
Mac smirked, turning the steering wheel as the car cleared the alley and entered a fenced compound, nearly full with other vehicles. There weren't any ordinary, cheap cars either. Just like Jon said, the appearance of the building that housed the club was very deceptive. Had Mac not been told the truth, he would have assumed it was about ready to be demolished right down to its foundations. The only indication something was shady about it were the massive, metal front doors of the building. They were brand new.
"I'll have ya know there're people out there who'd kill for a date like me," Flack said huffily.
He glanced outside at the other cars. "Whoa." Flack's eyes were bugged out at one particular car. "Whoawhoawhoa. Is that a Bugatti Veyron? Holy crap, that car costs over a friggin' one million dollars. And it's not even here in the States yet." He stared slack-jawed at another car nearby. "And … that's - that's a Pagani Zonda Roadster. That baby's over six hundred and sixty thousand dollars."
Hawkes whistled in akin appreciation. "Boy, we're talking high class clientele here."
"Which is exactly why you two are going in." Mac grinned. "How did Stella put it? You're the pretty boy eye candy looking for your hot daddy."
"If I get to drive one a' those babies, I'll be a pretty boy." Flack was probably drooling all over his upholstery at this point.
Mac reached into the side compartment of the driver door and took out a thin, light folder. "Here are the two headshot photographs of the DB I kept from the Feds. You'll need to show them to the person called Gideon. There's no other way we can approach things since we don't even know the victim's name. All I'm told is that this Gideon has information about the DB which'll help us with Danny's situation."
"Where did you get the address of this place from?" Hawkes' brown eyes were filled with innocuous curiosity. "Or the information about this Gideon person? From the person whom you mentioned could help us?"
"Think of my informant as an ally we have who's working for the other side and for us. That's all you need to know."
"If this informant of yours was so helpful, why didn't the guy supply you with the name of the victim, at least?" Flack might be looking like a tempting offer on the outside, but he was still all cop on the inside. "Or more details on Gideon? We're goin' in blind here. Without back up, apart from you."
"Trust me. My source is one hundred percent trustworthy. If he says it's safe for us to see this person, it is." Mac sucked on his lower lip. "The fact he even met with me in person to disclose the information has already put him at great risk."
Flack evaluated this for a few moments, then said, "Okay. But anythin' feels off, I'm gettin' Hawkes and I outta there fast as lightning." Flack frowned. "I'm doin' this for Danny."
"We all are." Mac opened the folder and gave Flack a small piece of paper that was inside it. "The password for entry."
Flack took one look at it and snickered. "Heh. Niiice."
"Whatever it is, I'm leaving it to you to say it," Hawkes said, holding up his hands. "My jacket, please?"
Flack passed Hawkes a white jacket that had a custom-made, large pocket in the back, in the inner recesses. Mac slipped the folder into it.
"Only items security will allow are cel phones and wallets, so we'll have to hide the pictures in there. No guns either." Mac looked uneasy, even with the knowledge Jon handed him. "So be careful. I don't know how they'll react to having two police officers in their midst."
"We have our phones. Things go bad, either Flack or I will speed dial you to alert you." Hawkes sighed. "And if we don't even have the chance to do that … let's hope it won't come to that."
Mac clasped Hawkes' arm in support. "I'll be here. With the artillery." Hawkes smiled at that.
Flack opened one of the back side doors, getting out of the car. He looked ethereal in the moonlight.
"C'mon, Hawkes. Time to look for our sugar daddy."
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A rectangle of metal slid to one side to reveal a pair of leery, jade eyes.
"Password."
Flack swaggered up to the door, thrusting his face close up to the rectangular peephole. He smiled in a seductive manner that, to Hawkes' incredulity, made butterflies flutter in his stomach.
"Give it to me hard and good, biiiig daddy."
Hawkes could have sworn Flack absolutely enjoyed saying that.
The eyes scrutinized the tall detective for a few minutes. Then, the rectangle metal slide abruptly resealed the peephole, and with a loud clang, the metal doors opened inwards.
Hawkes stood in awe at the muscular African woman in a black, dazzling tuxedo who stood as sentry at the door. Nevermind that the bouncer of the club was a woman, her immense bulk and steely gaze were signs she was not the kind of woman who tiptoed on high heels or carried tiny dogs in her purse or broke like a branch at the slightest blow. On the contrary, Hawkes was most certain he was the one who'd snap in two should he end up in a brawl with her. She glared at them from under the rim of a stylish bowler hat, her round face ringed by two gigantic half-hoop, gold earrings. Her peroxide blonde braided hair flowed down the sides of her neck.
"Who is your master?" She had a low, rolling voice that prompted Hawkes to think of spouting, active volcanoes.
Flack's teeth flashed. "Gideon."
"Gideon? I was not told of any new acquisitions by the boss."
Flack didn't even blink. "Yeah, we're fresh meat. Comin' for … trainin', aren't we?"
Hawkes inhaled clearly as Flack's blue eyes focused on him. He never realized how deep they were. His mouth was dry.
"Hhhnn." The bouncer inspected them for yet another minute. Then her green eyes settled on him with even more intensity than Flack's. "Well, well." Her full, red lips split open to show two rows of ivory-white teeth. "What do we have here?"
The intimidating woman grasped his face in one large hand and compressed his cheeks between her fingers until his face and lips were smooshed like a fish's. "My name is Samiya Sinn," she said huskily. "You can be my Hershey chocolate kiss anytime."
Hawkes wanted to squeak like a church mouse.
She let go, pinched his nose almost playfully and said in a much more amiable tone, "The club's been wholly booked by one of the regulars for a party tonight. But for you …" Samiya winked at Hawkes. "I'll let you two in."
Flack grinned sideways, stroking his hands down his thighs. "Awright. Where do we find Gideon?"
"Ask the bartenders. The boss might be making the rounds with the guests." She stepped to one side to let them in. "You rookies keep out of the Black and Red rooms. They're for the experienced."
Hawkes was too nervous beneath the towering woman's fervent gaze to wonder what she meant by that.
"Stick 'round, Hershey Kiss. I'll be looking for you later." She blew him a kiss.
He gulped. Hawkes had a bad feeling he was going to be snapped in two that night anyway.
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Flack's primary impression of the club was that it was the sort of place he'd like to work at, if he wasn't a cop or the son of a renowned one he could never live up to. Instead of being irritating, its multi-colored neon lighting created a dreamlike, suspended atmosphere that made Flack want to lie right where he stood and start gushing abstract poetry. Throbbing dance music induced his body into swaying and writhing subconsciously to the unceasing beat.
The interior architecture was constructed in such a way it resembled one of those ancient roman stadiums where gladiator battles used to be held. Flack and Hawkes had strided through a short corridor to arrive at the base of the club, the main spherical zone where the bar dispensing drinks was located in the center. Above the bar, two DJs in neon costumes and makeup spun their musical sleights of hand on an elevated platform. Encircling the bar were plush pillows and mattresses all over the place; patrons lounged on them as they drank and interacted with each other. More mattresses and pillows littered the club's many levels, stacked upwards in the shape of a staircase. At the highest level, Flack could see black doors spaced out on one side, and red doors on the other.
He desired to enter them and see what it was that took only experienced people to … experience.
"Flack … we should head for the bar." Hawkes was standing really close to him, yelling into his ear. The CSI was checking out the milieu with inquisitive but anxious eyes, staring in particular at a group of clients on a black mattress close by. A man in an ankle-length, dark PVC ensemble lay on the middle of the bed, flanked by two other men who were collared around the neck and wore nothing but semi-transparent body suits. The collars were hooked with chains bound around the middle man's fists.
Flack joined Hawkes in gaping at the two men in body suits licking each other's faces and necks for some time, until someone bumped hard into him as they walked past. Flack impulsively turned to glare at the person, gasping at the bespectacled man in black leather who stuck his tongue out at him. Or rather, the other man's exposed, tattooed buttocks where the seat of the leather trousers were meant to be.
Shit, the guy looked just like Danny. Flack nearly slapped himself silly as that thought brought on even more kinky notions about the CSI. Geez, it was already bad enough his best friend was gifted with DD-cup breasts. Flack did not need the additional imagery of the guy in skintight, leather trousers with his butt out in the open.
Hawkes prodded him in the side and tugged on his arm towards the bar. It took them a mere two minutes to wrestle their way through the throng of people, but it felt like an eternity. Flack had never been so physically harassed and fondled in his life. His bottom had been squeezed at least six times, there were constant hands running all over his torso and legs, and he had to roughly bat away probing hands away from his groin a few times. Perhaps he was dressed too well for the occasion.
Poor Hawkes was suffering the same quandary, the redness of his face apparent even in the diffused lighting of the club. "I think I just contracted at least twenty assorted types of sexually-transmitted diseases."
Flack snickered gruffly. "Think of it this way, Doc. Least ya know you're hot."
Hawkes merely made a cynical face.
The two detectives literally collapsed onto the glass counter of the bar, Flack's arm around Hawkes' broad shoulders. Flack beckoned the bartender with dreadlocks and ordered two martinis. They sat on the stools available, staggered into silence by more shocking and sometimes erotic sights around them. Flack's brows lowered in confusion when he noticed two women entwined on a pile of pillows, chatting in close proximity to each other. Guess the club's customers wasn't restricted to only men, after all.
Flack glanced to his right and was face to face with another female patron. He smiled, face crinkling with laugh wrinkles. Hey, just because he was working didn't mean he couldn't flirt with a hot chick while he was at it. And wow, this one was something out of the ordinary.
Compared to him, she was a tiny thing, around five feet tall at most. She had on a very low cut, black lacy top, with long bell sleeves that covered her small hands. Around her abdomen was a black leather corset laced up in the back. Another black, plain corset wrapped her neck and a single star pendant hung from the neck corset onto her chest. Three-inch long silver earrings with stars complimented the pendant. Flack's eyes grazed downwards. He had nothing on her tight, black trousers or steel-spiked boots. He hoped he never learnt what it felt like to be kicked by those on any part of his body.
His eye flitted back up. Her round, heart-shaped face was unhelpful in enlightening him on how old she was. For all he knew, she could have been only twelve. Her chest area and the agelessness in brown, almond-shaped eyes that looked back at him from behind black-framed glasses told him another story. But, damn, this was the first time he'd ever met a woman who had a Mohawk haircut like hers.
His smile grew into a full-fledged grin. "Hi."
Her thick lips, filmed with pink, glittery lip gloss similar to his, curled into a smirk. "Hi."
Thank you, Danny, for the introduction to cute, Asian women.
"So … you come to this joint often?" Oh, reeeal smooth, Flack.
Her smirk stayed. "Sometimes. It's nice to have a place where no one cares what or who you are."
Flack angled his head, chewing on his lower lip. "I'd say only a fuckin' idiot wouldn't like you, babe."
She lifted an eyebrow, smirk turning into a closed smile. "I think I shall take that as a compliment."
Flack laughed. Man, he wished he wasn't actually on an investigation. "Hey, you wouldn't happen to know a guy called Gideon, would ya? He's the boss of this place."
The bartender handed Flack his martinis, and Flack passed one to Hawkes, who'd been sitting quietly beside him all this time. Hawkes was having a blast being enraptured by some women in skimpy club clothes having a pillow fight. Heh, the guy sure was learning a thing or two tonight. Flack was so engrossed in his new acquaintance he missed the suspicious, sideways gaze the bartender directed at him, or the subtle movement of the bartender's hand under the counter as he pressed a button there.
The woman simply continued to smile at him.
"Huh, guess ya don't, hhn? That's okay." Flack shifted closer to her, carefully avoiding the hazardous spikes of her boots. "I'm Don. What's your name?"
"Flack …" He sensed Hawkes standing up.
The booming music drowned out the forceful footsteps that loomed on them.
"Flack -" Whatever Hawkes was going to say hacked off into a asphyxiated gurgle.
One second later, Flack was choking himself as he felt a crushing hand around his neck. He was hauled right off the stool, and his hands grappled instinctively at the vice-like grip in order to breathe.
"No, Samiya."
Flack drew in a powerful breath at the release of his throat. He scowled at the bouncer while rubbing his neck. Samiya grinned brazenly back, still clinging onto Hawkes who looked like he was being suffocated to death between her generous bosoms. Then he realized who it was who'd commanded her to let him go. He stared at the Mohawked lady with big eyes.
She beamed, displaying uneven teeth in a vast smile.
"I'm Gideon."