Title: Find My Way Out of Your Hunting Ground
Author: stellaluna_
Rating: NC-17 for explicit sex and language
Pairing: Mac/Danny
Summary: And you said and you did and you said you would find me. Post-ep for "Cold Reveal".
Disclaimer: None of these are mine. Characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS, and Alliance Atlantis.
Notes: For the kink cliche porn challenge, hosted by svmadelyn. Additionally, for fanfic100 (Prompt 086: Choices).

***

Mac counts his steps. Twenty-eight strides from the elevator bank to his office door. He concentrates on this. Tries to keep breathing in and out. He exists one step at a time, lives from one breath to the next. It allows him to not think beyond the next moment. There's only now. Only his heart beating in his chest and the sound of his footfalls against the marble floor. One thing. One at a time.

When he gets to his office, Danny is pacing agitatedly up and down the corridor. He turns and catches sight of him. "Mac," he says. "Thank God you're here."

"Can I help you with something, Danny?" He walks inside and holds the door open until Danny follows him in.

"I heard. I mean, I just heard. I was on a call up in Morningside Heights."

"So now you know." Mac goes to his desk and looks down at it. He came in here to get something, but now he can't remember what. He's not sure it was anything important.

"How are you holding up?" Danny asks.

His hands on the desk. On the papers. "I'm fine."

"You're fine." The word comes out with more sarcasm than Mac would have believed possible, and when Mac looks up, Danny shakes his head.

"Did you not understand the word?" he asks. "I'm fine. I'll be out of the office while the hearing is going on. For now, you go to Stella for your assignments."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Danny says. He walks over to one of the chairs in front of the desk and stands behind it, clutching the back.

"There's nothing else I can tell you." He needs to leave. He's probably not even supposed to be here right now, but no one tried to stop him when he came into the building. His hands. Wood desk. Still breathing.

"I don't care about my assignments." Danny's voice cracks with exasperation, and Mac looks up at him again. "Fine, Stella runs the duty roster, whatever. I'm sure she'll be a whiz at it. That's not...that's not what I'm here for." His gaze drifts to Mac's waist, to his belt. Under any other circumstances this would be suggestive, or even outright flirtatious. Tonight it's not.

The belt is where his badge should be, where it always is when he's on duty, and now it's not. The duty sergeant took it from him, along with his gun. He felt the weight of its absence all the way back uptown, and still feels it now. The whole walk down to the street from Sinclair's office, and then the cab ride, and the elevator up to the 35th floor, and the entire way he hadn't been able to stop his fingers from straying to his belt, hadn't been able to stop himself from jumping in fear every time he touched the leather and found the badge missing. Over and over, a split second of thinking How could I have lost it, I had it, and then remembering again. It's gone, but like the pain of a phantom limb or a missing tooth, he keeps worrying at it. Keeps seeing and feeling what's not there, every time his fingers close on empty space.

He should be beyond these things by now.

Breathe. One breath. Hold it.

He stares at Danny, and finally Danny is the one to drop his gaze.

"I don't want to talk about it, Danny," he says.

"Fine. Whatever." Danny's fingers are digging into the back of the chair.

"Was there anything else?"

"Want to go get hammered and not talk about it?" Danny says.

That was the last thing Mac had been expecting, and Danny looks just as surprised by his own words.

Mac considers his options. "Why not?" he says after a pause.

"Great." Danny doesn't sound too sure of that, but he lets go of the chair.

"Not Sullivan's." Mac buttons his jacket.

"Fuck, no. You kidding?" Danny smiles a little then, and Mac manages to return it.

-

-

-

It's not a cop bar; it's about as far from a cop bar as they can get in Manhattan, and Mac's grateful for that. He and Danny take turns going up to the bar for fresh rounds of drinks -- beer at first, and at some point they switch to whiskey -- and Danny holds true to his offer: he doesn't make Mac talk about it, or about much of anything else. They just drink and listen to the jukebox, and watch other patrons come and go. And that's good enough; Mac is still doing nothing more than existing from one moment to the next.

It's very late when Danny comes back to the table and sets a fresh tumbler of whiskey down in front of Mac, then swings himself back into his chair and says, "Listen."

"What?" Mac feels his shoulders tense; there's too much purpose in Danny's tone, and he has a bad feeling that whatever he's about to say isn't the lead-in to any kind of casual conversation.

"Flack told me about this," Danny says. He holds his glass between both hands without drinking from it. "About all of it, I mean, but in particular...look, I know you didn't want to talk about it, but you should know they're probably gonna call me to testify at the hearing."

"I'm sure they are," Mac says. "They'll be calling Stella, as well."

Danny nods. "Yeah, I figured as much. I just didn't want you to get blindsided. I also wanted to let you know that you don't need to worry."

"I don't?"

"No," Danny says. "C'mon, you and I and everyone else in the lab, we all know you didn't push Dobson off the roof. I'm gonna tell them that."

"And you think that means I don't need to worry," Mac says.

"Sure." Danny shifts the glass of whiskey to one hand so that he can gesture with the other. "Not a damn thing to worry about, especially since we're all gonna be saying the same thing." There's a very slight slur in his words, which doesn't surprise Mac given how much they've already had to drink; it also explains why Danny has suddenly decided to bring up the hearing in spite of their agreement to not talk about it.

"Danny, I don't think all of you telling them I didn't push Dobson means that I have nothing to worry about," he says.

"Sure it does." Danny takes a sip of his drink, finally, then points at Mac with the glass. "You wait and see. We'll tell them what they want to hear and you'll be back in the lab in no time."

"If you tell them what they want to hear, the lab is the last place I'm ever going to be," Mac says. He'd had a feeling that Danny didn't entirely understand just what he's going up against in this situation -- and not just Danny, if he's being fair; none of them really seem to get it, not when it comes right down to it -- but he hadn't imagined that Danny was this innocent of what Sinclair and Gerrard are really putting him through. Not after everything Danny's been through himself.

Danny looks puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Sinclair and Gerrard don't want to clear me," Mac says. He's trying to be patient; that's what he tells himself. "That's not the game here."

"Game, what game?" Danny asks. "How do you mean?"

"They're making a scapegoat out of me. That's the only reason they're going ahead with an internal hearing after the D.A.'s office cleared me. It's not about what I did or didn't do; it's about them looking good to the media."

"So you don't think..." Danny stops talking and looks down at his drink for a moment, then goes on. "I mean, look, don't get me wrong here, Mac. Like I said, we all know you didn't do what you're being accused of. But don't you think that there's, I don't know, something to be said for letting the public see that we take these things seriously?"

"You mean for the integrity of the department?" Mac has to laugh, even though there's nothing funny. Even though none of this is Danny's fault.

"Well...yeah." Danny looks at him. "Not to get all speechmaking about it or anything, but yeah. Isn't that the way it goes?"

"Funny, that's what Sinclair and Gerrard keep telling me," Mac says. "Too bad all they're interested in is saving their own asses."

"So they told you they were doing this for department integrity." Danny has both of his hands wrapped around his glass now, knuckles gone white.

"They told me a lot of things, Danny."

"And you don't believe them."

"Would you?" Mac says. "You of all people should know what these clowns are like. It's an excuse, a nice little soundbite so they don't look like the backstabbing assholes they really are." It feels good to say these things, for all he hadn't wanted to talk about it. Good to say them to someone who'll understand -- and Danny must get it now; Mac is sure of that.

"Yeah, I guess I have had experience with that." Danny tilts his head back, swallowing the remainder of his whiskey. "Ready for another round?"

"I'll go," Mac says. "You got the last one." He starts to stand, but Danny is already up, waving him back into his seat.

"I got it," he says. "I need the walk." He steps away before Mac can ask him what he means by that, pushing his way through the crowd to the bar.

Mac watches him. All these years and it's come down to this, he thinks. With Danny here, even with the two of them discussing the situation, it becomes easier to keep the worst of his thoughts at bay. Now he can feel all the fears starting to crowd back in, and he can't stand it.

No, he tells himself. He's not afraid. He's here. Breathing. Hands on the table. One moment and then another. He breathes. Another.

"Here," Danny says, and sets a fresh glass down in front of him.

"Thanks," Mac says. Danny sits down without acknowledging this, or meeting his eyes.

"How's the Barber case going?" Mac asks after a few minutes, during which all Danny does is stare around the bar or down into his drink.

"Fine. It's fine," Danny says.

"No problems?"

"No. I'll fill Stella in tomorrow. I'm sure she'll tell you all about it."

"I would -- "

"Can I ask one other question?" Danny says abruptly. He sets his glass down and looks up for the first time since he got back to the table.

Mac nods at him.

"All that shit you were saying before...does that apply to everyone who talks about department integrity, or just guys like Sinclair and Gerrard?"

"What do you mean?" Mac asks.

"Well." Danny shrugs. "Seems to me they're not the only people around here who go on and on about integrity. Seems to me I've heard that before. Like from you."

"Have you been talking to Sinclair without telling me?" Mac asks. He hadn't considered that, that Danny might pass up letting him in on a piece of information like that, but he can't imagine how else he might know about what Sinclair had said.

"What?" Danny blinks at him, and the surprise in his voice and his face isn't smooth enough to be anything but genuine. "No. Where the hell did that come from?"

"Sinclair said that it was the same stand I'd taken when I arrested Detective Truby. That I'd done it for the integrity of the department."

"See, I wasn't privy to that conversation. But was he inaccurate in saying that?"

"Did I arrest Truby for the sake of the department?" Mac asks. "Sure. But don't think for a second that's ever been Sinclair's concern."

"But did you not say the same thing?" Danny says, an insistent tone creeping into his voice now.

"Of course I did," Mac says. "But that wasn't the same thing. I made my decision about Truby in a very different context."

"Context. Right."

"Truby was dirty, Danny. You know that as well as I do."

"I'm not arguing that point. It's just..." Danny stops and looks away again, shaking his head. Mac can see the tension in his shoulders.

"Just what?" he asks. "Go ahead and say it."

"Just that you talk about integrity all the time. All the fucking time. You know how I know? Because it's the same thing you lectured me about when I had that subway platform incident two years ago. You remember that? You also said it -- " Danny falters for a moment. "You also said it to Aiden when you fired her."

"That's right. I did. And I meant it, Danny." Mac doesn't want to remember either of these things, but there they are. He does recall them, both of them, all too well.

"So I'm saying, how do you know Sinclair and Gerrard don't mean it?" Danny asks. "They don't know you. They got no idea what kind of police you are, because they don't work with you every day. I got no doubt that there's politicking mixed up in this." He gestures, hand slicing through the air. "No doubt at all. There's gotta be. And Gerrard's not my favorite person. But did you ever think that at the same time he's trying to make sure he remains in favor, he might be trying to do what he thinks is the right thing?"

Mac feels his temper rising, and he tries to step on it, tries to tamp it down. This is unfair, and he can't believe that Danny doesn't realize that, too, but this may just be a clumsy attempt at trying to help. He has to stay calm. "The right thing?" he says. "No. It's not the right thing when it comes at the expense of my career."

"Your career." Danny leans back, laughing. Mac doesn't like the look of the smirk on his face at all. "Boy, you are a piece of work, you know that?"

Mac slams his glass down. "What the fuck is your problem, Messer?"

"What about my career? What about Aiden's? Don't you tell me that you ever worried about either of us when you took me off the promotion grid or when you fired her."

"That's not fair, Danny." He closes his fingers around the edge of the table to stop his hand from shaking.

"No, it wasn't."

"The decisions I made in those situations have nothing to do with this," Mac says. "They were -- "

"Oh, get off the cross. They got everything to do with this." Danny leans forward. "Keep on talking, Mac. One of these days you might even say something that's not complete and total bullshit."

"You want to talk?" He stares at Danny, and Danny meets his gaze without blinking. "Fine, let's talk about a few things. If you recall, you fired wild in that station. We never -- "

"Never found my other bullet, I know," Danny says. The bitterness in his voice shouldn't come as such a shock. "You think I haven't gone over that in my mind a million times? It's taken me two years to admit to myself that I don't really know what happened that day. So I get that even with you knowing what happened, it can still do a number on your head. Maybe you're not there yet."

Danny is offering him an out. A second chance. Mac recognizes this.

"Or maybe I am," he says.

"Maybe you are," Danny mutters. He stares up at the ceiling for a moment. "Point I was trying to get at is why'd you take me off the promotion grid? Hell, why did you put me on suspended duty during the investigation? For the integrity of the lab. You remember that?"

"Of course I do." He should feel much more drunk by now, he thinks. Everything is still too certain, filled with too much clarity. By now, the edges should be starting to blur.

"You told Aiden the same thing when you fired her ass, and she only thought about doing something wrong. She told me all about what you said, how her staying here would have called all of our work into question." Danny's mouth trembles every time he says she or her.

"It would have." He remembers Aiden -- not the look in her eyes the day he'd fired her, or the sadly burned corpse they'd found ten months later, but Aiden on a day in June, down at the waterfront with him and Stella, both of them teasing him about his new casual look.

So did you keep any of your ties? Aiden asked.

Some. For special occasions. I couldn't let go of all of them.

You got rid of that one with the silver polka dots, though, right? Stella said.

Aiden laughed, raising one hand to her eyes to shade them from the sun. Say yes, Mac, please.

He smiled. I refuse to answer that.

Stella reached over suddenly and grabbed the camera away from Aiden. Only a few more shots left on the roll, she said. You two get over there. I want a photographic record of this in case you revert back to the old look once summer is over.

Stella --

Aiden took his arm before he could protest further. Come on, Mac, make like it's Fashion Week, she said, and he gave in and leaned into her, smiling as Stella snapped the photo.

He had never seen the result, but Aiden must have taken it home, because they found it in her apartment almost a year later. He spent too much time looking at it, afterward, and wondering what had changed, trying to see if there was any shadow in her eyes even then, something he had missed.

"So do you get it now?" Danny asks, and Mac snaps back to the present. Aiden's been dead for a year, twelve months almost to the day, and there's nothing to be gained by picking at old scars.

"No," he says. "I don't see how any of this is relevant."

"You don't think our work could be called into question if the department didn't bother to look into your little rooftop adventure?" Danny asks. "All of our work?"

"I told you, it's different."

"How?"

"Because I didn't do anything wrong," Mac says.

Danny stares at him. "You motherfucker," he says at last. Very softly.

Mac sits up straight. "What did you call me?"

"Motherfucker." Danny slams his fist into the tabletop, making the glasses shiver. "Disloyal, double standard, backstabbing motherfucker. Is that enough adjectives for you?"

Mac grabs his jacket from the back of the chair. "I don't need to sit here and be insulted. Why don't you go give Gerrard a call? Sounds like you two have a lot to talk about."

Now he feels drunk, he thinks, as he walks through the bar at a fast clip. The floor feels unsteady beneath him, as if he's suddenly ventured into earthquake country, and his head is swimming, pulse beating hard in his ears. It's hard to breathe, and he pushes through the crowd without looking back. He shoulders the door open, stumbling a little as he emerges onto the street.

He looks up and down the sidewalk, and for a few moments his disorientation is almost total; he remembers they didn't go to Sullivan's, but he can't remember in what neighborhood they ended up. He walks the half-dozen paces to the corner and squints up at the street sign. Second, corner of 53rd. He thinks. Which means that Lexington is that way. The subway. It must be very late, because there's almost no traffic on the Avenue. Before he can get any farther with this puzzle, or muster the strength to look at his watch, he hears the bar door bang open behind him. When he turns, Danny is there.

He stands still, looking at Mac, eyes shadowed and mouth almost black in the neon lights.

"You've said your piece, Danny," Mac says. "I'm going home."

"No, you're not." Danny moves closer. "You can stand here and be insulted, because I'm not done yet."

"What more could you possibly have to say?"

"Why is Gerrard supposed to give you a break, huh? On the basis of your reputation?" Danny asks, raising his voice. "Nobody gets that. He doesn't know you, not personally. And you -- "

"I what?" Mac asks.

"You know me," Danny says. "You know -- you knew Aiden. And you couldn't give either of us the benefit of the doubt for one fucking second. But when it came to you, when it's your career on the line, Gerrard is just supposed to sit around with his thumb up his ass and say, oh, well, I don't know shit about him, but he does a good job. Don't you worry none 'bout that guy who ended up dead with Detective Taylor as the only witness."

"You need to -- " Know when to stop talking, Mac is about to say. He can feel his heart racing, heat rising in his chest, and in another moment, he won't be responsible for his actions. Danny has already crossed that line.

"It's not different, Mac," Danny says, talking over him as if he hasn't said a word. "It's not different at all. Don't you fucking say it is."

"Don't you fucking try to tell me I'm not being railroaded. How dare you -- "

"No, how dare you?" Danny steps closer, and Mac takes a step back to compensate. "How dare you expect more loyalty than you show to anyone else?"

"What do you want me to say?" He's yelling now. Doesn't care. "Nothing I say will be good enough."

"Because there is nothing to say, and you know it."

"You tell yourself whatever you want. I'm going home." But his back is to the wall now, and Danny isn't moving aside to let him pass.

"No, you're not," Danny says. "You're staying right here. You want to know why Gerrard really isn't inclined to take your word for it?"

"No, but I'm sure you'll tell me."

Danny smiles then, and it's the kind of smile that Mac has learned to dread seeing on his face. "Because you're acting like a guilty man." Danny isn't yelling now. His voice is low and hoarse, insinuating, and when Mac moves a little, he leans forward and presses his hands to the wall on either side of his head, boxing him in. Mac feels his own hands clench into fists, but he keeps them at his sides.

"Maybe you feel guilty that Dobson got released in the first place," Danny says. "Maybe something else entirely. I couldn't tell you. But maybe that's also why you're shooting yourself in the foot over this at every opportunity, instead of doing one goddamn thing to save yourself."

"Because you know so much about me." Mac means for this to be sarcastic. It comes out sounding like a confession, instead.

Danny keeps smiling. "Yeah, I do," he says in that same soft voice. "Rough, isn't it?"

"You son of a bitch." He looks into Danny's eyes.

"Let's cut all the bullshit, what do you say?" Danny asks. He moves a little, so that his thigh is almost, not quite, pressed between both of Mac's. "You and I both know where this is headed."

Mac raises one hand and touches his fingers to the hollow of Danny's hip. He traces a circle there, and Danny's breath hitches. They're still staring at each other, and neither of them has moved.

"Fine," he says, and a sense of relief washes over him. A relief to let this happen, to know that some things don't change no matter how much the rest of the world slips on its axis, no matter how long it's been. A relief to give in, to see a stretch of minutes or hours where he can stop thinking, stop having to concentrate to just exist that one breath at a time that is all he's capable of managing.

He still has his hand on Danny's hip, and he doesn't care if anyone walks by. If anyone sees. Maybe that would be a relief, too. But Danny pulls back then without touching him. "Let's go," he says. "We're uptown. My place is closer."

Mac nods. The movement makes his head spin again, and he manages to not think much until they're standing outside the building and Danny is fumbling with his keys.

"So how does Peyton factor into all this?" Danny says in a conversational tone.

He'd managed not to think of her all this time. "She doesn't," he says.

Danny glances over his shoulder at him. Amusement flickers in his eyes. "Because of Dobson?" he asks.

"No," Mac says, remembering how she'd pulled away from his hand that day in the morgue, and the sight of the bruise forming around the edges of the bandage on her forehead. "Not because of that."

Danny doesn't ask any more questions.

Inside the apartment, Danny backs him into the wall again and slips a hand inside his pants, but doesn't kiss him. When Mac twists his head, trying to press their mouths together, Danny turns his face aside, then leans in close so that he can speak directly into Mac's ear.

"Feel what you do to me?" he asks. He pushes his groin forward, letting his erection rest against Mac's hip as he works his hand farther down the front of his pants. His fingers tease at the tip of Mac's cock. "And what I do to you. Don't try to deny it."

"I'm not." Mac reaches out, rubbing his hands along the small of Danny's back. "I feel it."

"Good." Danny presses closer and lets his lips brush along his cheek, then pulls back suddenly. "Come on," he says, and turns toward the bedroom.

Mac tries again when they get there, reaches out to pull him into an embrace, but Danny sidesteps him one more time. "You want to be passive about all this?" he asks. "Don't want to do a damn thing about anything? Then I got your number." That smile flickers across his face again. "Take off your clothes and lie down."

He could walk away now. He could. Walk out and let the door shut behind him, then go home and take a cold shower. Try to sleep.

Instead, he steps out of his shoes and kicks them aside, then starts to unbutton his shirt. Danny leans against the wall and watches. When he's done, he stretches out on the bed; if Danny wants to play games, he thinks, he can play too. The easier he goes along with this, the sooner they can both get what they want.

Danny straightens up slowly, then undresses. He looks down into Mac's face as he does, barely blinking, and when he's done, he stands by the edge of the bed for a moment, stroking himself idly.

"You intend this to be a spectator sport?" Mac says finally, when his impatience gets the best of him.

"No." Danny opens the nightstand drawer and takes out a bottle of lube, then sits down on the edge of the bed. "Not at all."

"So are you -- "

"No patience. That doesn't seem to fit very well with your M.O., does it?" Danny bends down and presses his mouth to Mac's shoulder, scraping his teeth against his collarbone. Mac sighs and twists up toward him, then groans when Danny suddenly bites his nipple. He clutches at Danny's shoulders, sinking his fingers into the flesh and trying to pull him down on top of him, but Danny pulls away again and sits up. He opens the bottle and squeezes some lube into his hands, then rubs it between his palms for a moment or two.

All right, so Danny is going to fuck him. Fine, he decides, and starts to spread his legs for it, trying to relax his muscles so Danny can get his fingers in. Danny ignores this and reaches for his cock again, wrapping his fingers around the shaft and stroking him slowly as he works the lube in.

"Danny -- "

"Quiet." Danny keeps going, coating every inch of his cock with the liquid, and when he's done, he reaches for the bottle a second time and starts all over. He slides his thumb across the head and then all the way down, along the ridge at the back and then down between Mac's legs, cupping his balls and getting them nice and slick, too.

"Jesus." It comes out mostly as a moan, and Mac starts to arch up toward him, to shove himself into the palm of Danny's hand. Danny pushes him back down. His face is very calm, although he's biting his lip a little. Mac lets himself sink back into the pillows, and digs his fingers into the mattress to hold himself still. He's wet from this now, dripping with lube; he can feel it running down the length of his erection, onto his thighs and deeper between his legs, and there must be no traction at all now, because Danny's fingers are slipping faster and faster along his skin, squeezing sometimes and stroking, rubbing the lube in nice and deep. He bites his lip now, too, and tastes blood.

He's nowhere near coming -- Danny's touch is too light for that -- but he's dizzy with sensation, and he can't stop a shudder from running through his body when Danny lets go of him and sits back, then tosses the bottle aside. "There," he says.

"What -- " Mac begins to say, and Danny straddles him.

"Hold on," Danny says, and he raises up, then lowers himself onto Mac's cock. He holds himself steady, clutching at the headboard and letting Mac in just a little at first, just the head of his cock inside, and then Danny arches up and then down again, and sinks all the way onto him, lets Mac sink all the way into him.

"Oh." Mac reaches up, hands moving over Danny's thighs, then grabs him by the waist. Danny lifts himself again and then back down once more. There's so much heat and Danny is so tight around him, but they move easily together because of all the lube. Mac tries to push his hips up, but he doesn't have enough leverage to be able to thrust easily; he gives a helpless little jerk instead, bucking towards Danny.

Danny opens his eyes and looks down at him. There's sweat standing out on his face, but he smiles. Mac looks at that smile and understands: Danny can wait now. Danny can make both of them take all the time in the world, and Mac won't be able to do a damn thing about it. Not unless he's willing to break free, flip them over and shove Danny onto his knees and go at it from that angle, and he can't bring himself to do that because that would mean not being inside Danny right now.

He moans again and writhes, and Danny moves a little faster, pushing himself back and forth. His erection is stiff against his stomach, and Mac can see how the tip is glistening, little drops of pre-come sliding from him. He's never been so deep inside him, and he can feel the tension building inside of him, but he can't get enough friction, not enough movement. He can no longer tell one breath from the next, one moment from the next; it's all just a blur, all one tangle of heat and movement, flesh against flesh. Sensation builds and builds, and Danny's balls rub against his stomach and he claws at Danny's hips, digging his nails in. His moans are helpless now, throat scraped raw, and it's so tight and so good and so much heat, so wet, and Danny raises up enough so that he can give one hard thrust, up, hot, there there there, and he comes.

Danny stays still above him until he stops trembling, until tremors are no longer wracking his body, and then he moves so that Mac slides out of him. It's a shock, cold air against his fading erection, but Danny is still kneeling over him. "Here," he says, and Mac hears the smallest shake in his voice as he slides his fingers through Mac's and then guides his hand to his straining hard-on. He closes his eyes again and they stroke him together, and it doesn't take long before he twitches and comes. He doesn't make a sound when he does, just bites his lip harder, a little hiss of breath escaping through his teeth and his fingers clenching convulsively around Mac's, and that's all.

After a moment, he opens his eyes, and that smile is still on his face when he looks down. Mac meets his gaze and reaches out to stroke his stomach, the jut of his hipbone. Danny slips away from his touch and leans down, letting his hands rest on Mac's shoulders.

Danny's lips brush his ear, then he starts to pull away; Mac doesn't try to stop him. They look at each other again. Danny's cheeks are red, hair hanging in tangles across his forehead. Mac can't even imagine what he must look like, and doesn't want to try. The earlier heat has faded, and now he just feels cold and damp and uncomfortable.

Danny sighs and sits up, then turns back to him with sudden swiftness and kisses him hard on the mouth. Mac gasps and kisses him back, kisses him before Danny can change his mind. Danny's hands slip across his shoulders, around his back, and he holds him tight. They kiss, mouths pressed together, tongues entwined, their breath tangling. Their teeth click together and Danny kisses the corner of his mouth, the other corner, bites his lower lip. Mac kisses him back, again and again, until finally they both have to stop for breath. He can feel Danny's heart pounding against his, can feel his hands shaking as his fingers massage his shoulder blades.

"It's no different," Danny says in a low voice. "We're -- " He stops himself.

"I know that." Mac presses his palms flat to the center of Danny's back. "I know."

They lie there, touching, not talking. Mac counts the beats of his heart and Danny's.

One moment. One breath. Another.

Hold it.

***