Title: Wherever You Go
Author: Kimmychu
Fandom: CSI: NY
Rating: AO
Pairing: Danny/Flack
Content Warning: Most likely a fluff overload and lots of happy, mushy sentiments.
Spoilers: So far, nothing major but there will be some for certain episodes in later parts.
Summary: When two detectives meet for the first time, their lives become inevitably linked and what results is a deep friendship born out of trust and kinship. What happens when their friendship transforms into more, and where do they go from there?
Disclaimer: Shh! Be quiet in the closet! Nobody's supposed to know I have you two detectives in there!
Author's Notes: After posting my story, The First Time, I received quite a few messages and emails requesting for a happy, fluffy Danny/Flack story with minimal angst and a happy ending. Well, to all of you who sent those messages and such, here is that story. A true blue romantic Danny/Flack tale from start to end, and hopefully you'll have some laughs along the way and a contented heart and a smile at the end. This is the first of about three or four installments. Enjoy, and thank you in advance for your reviews!

P.S. If you've watched episode 4x04, then you'll know that Flack's family background here doesn't completely follow canon. It's because I wrote this part before I watched it for myself and since the background info I've set for Flack is integral to the story, I decided not to change it. If you haven't watched that episode yet, then this is irrelevant.

***

It's taking Danny everything he has to not burst out laughing.

"Holy shit!" he hears a deep, baritone voice say somewhere behind him, and he rubs one hand over his lips to hide his amused smirk. Whoever the guy is, Danny doesn't blame him for such a fervent reaction.

He's already seen quite a number of crazy homicide scenes in the past four months of working with the legendary Mac Taylor and his team of CSIs, but this one definitely takes the cake. It isn't every day that he sees a dead, naked guy spread-legged on the kitchen floor of a pizza parlor and whose head completely wrapped in pizza dough.

He's also pretty sure it isn't a dough roller that's making the dough on the dead man's groin … tent up like that.

"Geez, some people. Ya don't treat pizza like that!"

This time, Danny doesn't bother concealing his grin. He turns his head to the right and sees a tall man in a black leather jacket, red tie, white dress shirt and black trousers standing next to him. It's the same guy who had exclaimed at the sight of Mr. Pizza-Dough-Kink.

And damn, is the guy good-looking or what.

"Technically, it isn't pizza yet. It's just the dough," Danny says while studying the other man's face and hair.

Okay, good-looking is a bit of an understatement. Extraordinarily handsome is more like it. Dark, wavy hair. Thick, masculine eyebrows. A sharp, refined nose. Dark pink lips that are neither too thin or too thick, just right. Pale, smooth skin.

And intense, big blue eyes. Very intense.

"Dough or not, ya don't treat pizza like that. It ain't right, ya know what I'm sayin'?" Mr. Extraordinarily Handsome replies with a smile, and now, it's taking Danny everything he has to not gape at the taller guy.

Holy shit is right.

He's never seen a smile as beautiful as that before.

"Hey, you must be Messer," Mr. Extraordinarily Handsome says after a moment, staring hard into his eyes.

At least, that's what Danny thinks the guy is doing. He's never met anybody who has such a forceful gaze before. Does the man have a clue how hypnotic it is?

"Yeah, Danny Messer, CSI. I'm with the crime lab."

"Danny Messer, huh?" Mr. Extraordinarily Handsome smiles at him again, and extends his right hand. "Good to meet ya. Guess we're gonna be workin' together on Mr. I-Had-a-Pizza-Dough-Kink's case here."

Danny blinks. He glances down at the large hand offered to him. Then, his eyes are drawn to the vicinity of the other man's waist, and he notices the familiar golden badge dangling off the guy's belt for the first time.

Hey, the guy's a cop too.

Oh.

Danny blinks a second time.

Ohh, so this is the homicide detective Stella was talking about.

"You must be Flack," Danny says.

"Yeah."

Flack's smile seems to widen even more, and while he stands there marveling at it, Danny is thinking that Flack's name suits the guy, and yet, doesn't. It's a strong name, a manly name, though its meaning doesn't quite match the person, not with a flack being some slick publicist whose job is to twist any criticism to the advantage of whoever hires them.

Hell, Flack looks like somebody for whom publicists would kill to manage and promote.

They would probably nickname the man Mr. Extraordinarily Handsome like he did too.

He stretches out his own right hand to grasp Flack's in a handshake.

Danny is unable to describe the sensation of touching Flack for the very first time. He sees Flack's eyes widening upon contact and he has the feeling his eyes are just as wide as well, and he hears somebody's breath hitch but he isn't sure whether it's him or Flack. The sounds of other cops talking with the pizza parlor owner and employees outside the kitchen fade away. The sunlight streaming in through a window behind Flack is forming a vivid halo of light around the taller detective. A breeze is blowing in through the partially open kitchen back door that's been blocked by yellow police tape, and it brushes Danny's spiky hair and face.

If Danny imagines hard enough, it feels as if somebody's touching his cheek.

But Flack's hand is still around his. It's warm and dry, firm, somewhat calloused. A solid hand with a sturdy grip. A hand that belongs to a trustworthy man.

It's a long time before Flack murmurs, "Yeah … Don Flack. Homicide."

It's an even longer time before Flack finally lets his hand go.

All of a sudden, Danny's feeling light-headed. He unconsciously takes a step back, and something inside his chest skips a beat when Flack takes a step forward at the same time. Another skip, when Danny sees Flack's brows lower for a moment in mild disorientation, like the man has no idea what he just did.

Danny sucks in a quick breath at the fleeting thought that Flack might be as fascinated about him as he is about the homicide detective, and he doesn't quite understand why this warms him so.

He tries to speak and manages to mumble, "Flack, as in …"

"Lemme guess. You've heard 'bout my old man, the NYPD legend."

Flack's blue eyes are abruptly shuttered. They've become cold and emotionless, and Danny regrets having alluded to the other detective's father at all. Damnit, he should have stuck to Stella's tip of not mentioning anything about dear old dad to Flack. Now Danny knows for sure Flack, Sr. is a serious no-go discussion topic with Flack.

Has he already fucked things up before he even has the chance to be Flack's friend?

Danny maintains eye contact with the taller man.

"It's all in the eye of the beholder, isn't it?" Danny says, and he's pleased to see Flack give him a surprised then assessing look. "A man can be a legend to some people … but not to everybody. A man's true worth is measured by his heart, not by his glory."

Flack stares at him in silence for a minute. It feels long enough that Danny begins to presume what he just said was way too corny, although it's what he truly believes.

Then, gradually, the ice within Flack's eyes is replaced by immense warmth. Flack's lips shift into a smile even more broad than the previous ones, and the handsome man's entire face lits up brighter than the sunshine lighting him from behind.

It's an amazing sight, one that Danny will remember for many, many years to come, along with Flack's low murmur of, "I like that ... I like that a lot."

"Well, yeah." Danny doesn't know what else to say, not without tumbling straight into a rambling fest where he might end up saying things that'll merely increase his embarrassment. He can feel the heat radiating off his face.

It doesn't help that Flack hasn't taken his eyes off him from the instant they were chatting.

Flack's lips part in the beginnings of a new conversation.

And out of the blue, there's a weird plopping sound.

Danny and Flack swivel their heads and glance down in unison at Mr. Pizza-Dough-Kink on the floor, just in time to watch the pizza dough tent covering the dead body's groin collapse, fall forwards and land with a splat between the spread legs.

A tense silence fills the kitchen for a while.

"Guess his dough couldn't rise high enough, huh?"

In retrospect, it wasn't that funny but right there and then, Flack's quip combined with the ridiculousness of the dead body's condition and what just occurred cracks Danny up so bad that he's giggling his head off. His eyes are squinted shut behind his black-framed spectacles and tears of mirth spring up behind his eyelids. Flack's giggling with him too, which makes it all the more difficult to stop.

Rescue arrives in the form of a blond-haired police officer in NYPD uniform who shows his face at the entrance of the kitchen. It's obviously somebody Flack is familiar with because the cop takes one look at them and smirks at Flack.

Flack's expression alters into a neutral one in record time. Danny is impressed by the homicide detective's apparent control of his outward countenance.

"What is it, Patterson?"

"Nothing," the uniformed cop called Patterson says with a twinkle in his eye. "Just wondering what you two lovebirds were doing."

Renewed warmth is immediately suffusing Danny's face.

"Haha, very funny," Flack replies. "Ya think everybody has the hots for me, don'tcha?"

"Nah, that's just your wishful thinking."

Flack snickers at Patterson's good-natured retort, and Danny wonders just how many types of laughter Flack has and how long it's going to take for him to hear them all.

"So you two gonna be okay on your own? Emilio just called, said he's gonna need me and Ormond to help him out at the murder scene on 5th avenue. Found more bodies or something."

Flack is looking at him again, and there's something in those big blue eyes that sends a shiver up his spine. The good kind.

"We're okay, Patterson. You guys go ahead. Let ya know if I need assistance."

"A'right. See ya later, Flack."

Patterson nods at them and walks away from the kitchen entrance and out of sight.

Once more, Danny is alone with the lanky homicide detective.

The tense silence is back, though it's a different kind now, the kind that's felt when two people are on their own and there's no one else to bother them and every opportunity is there for them to do things that should only be done in private.

It's an exciting feeling. A tingling that starts in Danny's soles and goes all the way up to his brain. It makes his toes curl inside his boots. It makes his stomach tighten underneath his jacket, dress shirt and tank top.

Danny hasn't felt like this in a very long time. If ever.

Flack is still staring at him, like he's all that exists in the universe.

His toes curl in just a little more.

And then, after another tense moment of gazing into each other's eyes, Flack nonchalantly inquires, "So. Did ya take pictures of the Leaning Tower of Pizza before it fell over?"

It's exactly what Danny needed to loosen up, and from the soft smile that unfolds across Flack's features, him laughing all over again is the reaction Flack must have hoped for.

The examination of the crime scene in the pizza parlor's kitchen passes in a dream-like haze. Danny can hear Flack interviewing the pizza parlor owner and his employees in the background, and it's strange that Flack's voice is the only one that rings clear and understandable to him. It's like his brain decided to filter out every single noise except Flack's resonant voice.

It turns out to be rather positive thing afterwards in the evening, after he's collected all the necessary evidence, visited the resident ME Sheldon Hawkes for autopsy results, and spent his shift at the labs verifying what really happened to poor Mr. Pizza-Dough-Kink.

Flack's voice is all he hears in the midst of the crowd packing the pizza place they're dining at for a late night supper. It's another pizza parlor, and Danny is damn glad about that because there's no way in hell he's going to eat there after knowing what the dead dude fancied doing with the pizza dough. Ugh, talk about terrible hygiene and extreme food contamination!

"Well, least he died doin' what he loved, right?" Flack says with an amused smirk while he cuts another giant slice of pizza from the pan on the table between them.

Danny sniggers even as he's shaking his head. "It's still a pretty awful way to go, unintentional suicide or not. I mean, suffocatin' yerself with pizza dough while jerkin' off with more pizza dough? That's gotta be a new fetish!"

"Oh, you'd be surprised, Danny. There are some weird, weird people out there." Flack chews on a mouthful of pepperoni-and-cheese pizza, then adds, "And I'm just talkin' Manhattan here."

Danny cackles for possibly the twentieth time that night. He hasn't laughed so much in one night before. Or met someone like Flack who can make him laugh so much in the first place.

"Yeah?" Danny raises an eyebrow and makes a mischievous face. "You tryin' to tell me somethin', Flack?"

He waits for Flack to finish another bite of pizza.

"Actually, I am," Flack answers, his expression turned somber.

The homicide detective suddenly sits up, placing his half-eaten slice of pizza on the ceramic plate before him. Danny also straightens up. Flack's rapid mood change is making alarm bells ring in his head.

What the, is Flack about to tell him something very personal or -

"I have a kink for glasses."

Flack's face is utterly blank.

But his eyes are gleaming with evident playfulness.

Danny keeps his own face just as deadpanned.

"Drink glasses?"

One end of Flack's lips twitch.

"Spectacles."

Danny dips his head in a dramatic, sagely nod, stroking his goateed chin with the manner of a wise, old man, and he says in a bad Japanese accent, "Ah, how interesting, little grasshopper."

Flack's striking visage crinkles in what looks like an amalgam of a grin and a horrified grimace.

"If that was s'pposed to be that karate teacher from The Karate Kid or something, please don't quit yer day job."

Danny merely wrinkles his nose in mock condescension, but inside, he's grinning like a loon. It's been a long while since he's able to geek out and not have the other person outright laugh at him, much less know what silly impersonation he's doing and which film it comes from.

"Anyway, it's not just glasses. I have a thing for people wearin' them."

Danny sends Flack a sharp glance. Huh. Maybe this time the guy isn't joking.

"Don't matter if it's a man or woman," Flack continues, taking a big bite out of another slice of pizza. "I just think it makes people look more sophisticated."

"That is interestin'," Danny says faintly, but it seems Flack heard it anyhow.

Flack doesn't say anything and just smiles.

It takes a minute for Danny to realize Flack is staring at him again.

And the peculiar thing is, he doesn't mind it at all.

It's actually very … flattering.

It feels like a smack to his chest when Flack blinks and looks away. It's not a bad feeling, more like a palpable sensation of a profound link unexpectedly disconnecting and leaving him high and dry and yearning for more.

The question is, yearning for what?

Danny's brain is telling him it has no idea what the heck it might be.

His heart, on the other hand, is singing another tune.

Right now, he's reluctant to listen to it. He's come across this song many times in the past, and he knows it's a song that'll change him forever in ways beyond his comprehension and that's why he's been avoiding it all his life.

He doesn't want to fall again. He doesn't want to hurt again.

But somehow … things aren't the same this time.

Flack isn't like the rest.

Somehow, Danny just knows it.

"Ya think the employees of this pizza parlor do the nasty with pizza dough too?" Flack asks.

The question snaps Danny out of his reverie.

Flack's glancing around, eyeing every waiters and waitresses who go by their table. There's an impish smile arching up Flack's lips, and Danny is cataloging it in his memory rolodex before he's even aware of it. He looks down at the last two slices of pizza on the pan, then says with narrowed eyes and a tiny smirk, "Ohh, I see what you're tryin' to do. You just wanna have the rest of the pizza all to yourself, don'tcha?"

Flack puts on an expression of mock affront.

"What? How dare you insinuate that I am a gluttonous pig!"

A second later, the homicide detective shrugs, curls one end of his lips and says in a matter-of-fact tone, "But yeah, I want the rest of the pizza." Without waiting for a response from Danny, Flack grabs what remains of the pepperoni-and-cheese pizza and plunks it onto his own plate.

Danny's laugh is loud enough that a few other patrons nearby turn their heads in his direction, curious to know what's going on.

It's unbelievable, Danny thinks, he's only met Flack less than twenty-four hours ago and yet … it's as if he's known the guy all his life.

He snorts in amusement when he detects Flack's lighthearted smile and Flack gives him a piece of pizza from his plate.

"Ya want some more? We can order another one if ya like," Flack says after they've finished their meal and drinks.

Danny shakes his head once. "Nah. I kinda feel like havin' some tea, to be honest."

"Tea?"

Flack's eyebrows have shot up his forehead.

"Yeah, tea. Ya got a problem with that?" Danny rejoins, smirking.

"Nope." Flack angles his head. "Just pegged ya to be more of a coffee guy, that's all."

"Never drink coffee. Too much caffeine's no good for me."

"Wha, you become Mr. Hyperactive or somethin'?"

Danny chuckles. "Yeah, somethin' like that."

"Tea," Flack repeats. "Hmm."

And again, the homicide detective is blatantly staring at his face. The unwavering gaze makes Danny itch to retreat to the restroom and look into a mirror and see whether he has a tree growing out of his forehead.

It sure sounds like a much more believable reason than Flack finding him … attractive.

"Yeah, I don't mind goin' to a more quiet place," Flack says after a minute or two. "You know any good tea places nearby?"

They end up at a tea bar off Union Square West on 14th Street, a small, cozy place with comfy couches and a relaxing, serene ambiance. They're lucky tonight and succeed in snagging the only available free space left, a private spot in a corner by a window.

Danny laughs together with Flack at the dark blue sofa with white polka dots they're sitting on, and then, they're chatting non-stop and getting to know one another while drinking jasmine tea from humongous white cups. Flack removes his leather jacket at some point during their conversation.

Danny learns that Flack is a single child, son of the renowned Detective Donald Flack, Sr. who single-handedly brought down an entire drug cartel in the city just a couple of years after Flack was born. Definitely loves his mom and her apple pie baking expertise, but doesn't say much about his dad apart from him being considered a legend in the NYPD. Grew up in Queens, finished high school, didn't go to college and enlisted at the age of eighteen for active service in the military instead, for two years.

The final piece of information astonishes Danny.

"Wait, you were in the army?"

Flack, lounging on the couch with his hands resting on his belly and his long legs straightened out, snickers at Danny's facial expression.

"Yeah. Either I went to college and got the required credits, or I joined the army for two years. I picked the latter."

"Wow. I didn't expect that."

Flack laughs a second time. "What, I don't have the look of a soldier?"

"No, it's not that," Danny says, shifting higher up on the couch into a more comfortable position. "Just didn't expect it, that's all. You, uh …I kinda pegged ya to be a college guy."

He sends Flack a smile that's both tentative and amused.

"Ya know, like a frat boy -"

"Ah, geeeeez." Flack instantaneously has one hand slapped over his eyes, and it's Danny's turn to be snickering. "Just don't call me bro, okay?"

"Okay." Danny pauses, then mumbles under his breath, "Bro."

After Flack mock glowers at him and threatens to dump what's left of his tea on Danny's head and they've calmed down again, Danny talks about himself at Flack's behest. He isn't fond of relating personal information to people, even to those with whom he's familiar, so there's a great part of himself that's dazed at how much he's revealing to this man sitting next to him.

He speaks of his childhood in Brooklyn, living in a cramped apartment with an alcoholic father and an iron-willed mother who had to support the whole family by working two jobs. He touches on his high school years, and how he fell in love with baseball and dreamed of becoming a major league player some day. He rushes through the day his wrist was shattered along with his ambition, as well as his various conflicts with his dad. It's talking about his brother, Louie, that upsets him the most, and he says very little about his older sibling whom he hasn't seen in almost a decade.

Flack seems to be aware of his inner turmoil, and gives him some time and space to recollect his thoughts. Danny is grateful for that.

"What's it like havin' a brother?" Flack asks some time later.

It's a query that causes Danny to frown in hushed contemplation.

What is it like to have a brother? A brother like his, who loved him once and then shoved him away because power and pride and gangster pals were more important than a younger brother's plea of mercy for an utter stranger?

What is like to have a brother like Louie?

"A pain in the ass," Danny eventually replies, unable to say anything else without it being a twist of the truth.

Flack is quiet and appears to be ruminating over his answer.

A few minutes pass in weighty silence.

Then, Danny asks, "What's it like havin' no siblings?"

Flack is staring at a painting hanging on the wall in front of their couch and coffee table. It's a full-color giclée print of Picasso's Weeping Woman, an abstract painting of jagged black lines and pointed surfaces and the raw human emotion of mourning captured in paint.

And while Flack is staring at that painting, Danny is staring at him.

There's a small, sad smile on Flack's face. It's one Danny doesn't wish to see often from the fine-looking homicide detective.

Flack's blue eyes seem to glisten beneath the tea bar's ceiling lights.

"Lonely."

The word socks Danny like a ten-ton truck.

It echoes in his head long after they've finished their tea and departed from the establishment, and now they're in Flack's car, parked outside his apartment building. Danny keeps hearing Flack say that word in that cheerless, boy-like voice in his mind, and he thinks to himself how wrong it is for a person like Flack to ever be lonely or alone.

"This is your place, right?"

Danny blinks, then turns his head to look at Flack who's in the driver's seat and has his hands on the steering wheel. The melancholy isn't there in those big eyes anymore but Danny knows it's lurking somewhere behind them, veiled from the scrutiny of the world. He, too, is a master in the art of keeping his emotional distress under multiple coats of wraps.

"Yeah … yeah, this is it." Danny clears his throat. "Thanks for the ride. I appreciate it."

"No problem."

Flack is smiling. It's the gentle, happy one for which Danny is fast growing a predilection.

"I had a really good time," Danny says without thinking. He's already giving himself mental kicks to the ass as the last word flies out his mouth.

His face heats up, and he hopes to God Flack doesn't notice how flushed he must be.

Oh, wonderful, he just totally made himself sound like an enamored dork on a first date with his major crush!

The thought causes his eyes to widen in momentary enlightenment.

Is it a first date?

Danny is handed an answer of sorts in Flack's murmured, "Yeah, I had a really good time too."

He sends the homicide detective a piercing glance.

Whoa. Flack isn't joking.

The guy means it.

Danny feels his face warm tenfold. Okay, he ought to get out of the car before he does something that'll really scare Flack off.

"Guess I'll see ya at work," he says, more than a bit apprehensive about making eye contact with Flack. Those intense eyes are a force to be reckoned with.

"Yeah. Hey, how 'bout lunch?"

Danny's nervousness vanishes in a puff of smoke at the very unforeseen suggestion.

"Lunch? You mean, tomorrow?"

Flack huffs out a brief chortle. "Technically, it'd be later today, but yeah … unless ya got other plans, of course."

For one millisecond, Danny considers declining. His brain's yelling at him that this is a bad idea, that he should say no, he's busy, he'll probably have lots of work to do and he can't have lunch with Flack because Flack's one hell of a guy and once Flack knows what he's really like and where he's really been and who he's rubbed shoulders with -

"Sure, lunch it is. See ya later then."

"That's great. I'll see ya later. Have a good night, Danny."

"You too, Don."

His heart's won this round. His overly paranoid brain shuts up in cowed defeat.

For once in his life, there aren't any voices in his head berating him. There's no suspicion, no fear for so readily trusting a guy he just met or letting said guy into his life so soon, so much. He hasn't been at such peace with himself for a very, very long time, and he's humming a slow song under his breath as he sits on the side of his bed in nothing except his boxers, ready for a restful night.

He takes off his spectacles. Wipes the plastic lenses clean with a soft, dry cloth.

And then, it whacks him right on the head, what Flack had said to him at the pizza parlor earlier that evening.

"I have a kink for glasses … I have a thing for people wearin' them."

He gazes at the glasses in his grasp, suddenly finding it not so easy to breathe.

Had Flack just been kidding around?

Or had the guy been serious when he said that?

And if that's so, had Flack been staring at him the whole day because of his glasses, or was it because Flack actually likes -

Danny pinches the skin above his left eyebrow and utters aloud, "Naaaah."

C'mon, he chides himself, what are the chances of somebody like Flack not having a girlfriend or ten?

Just because the guy said he'd been lonely not having any siblings doesn't mean he's still lonely now.

Right?

Feeling somewhat troubled by this new train of thought, Danny places his spectacles on the bedside table, shuts off the bedside lamp and settles under the bedcovers. Twenty minutes flow by in deep cogitation for him as he lies on his back, staring at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes.

Alright. Okay. He'll meet with Flack later today for lunch, and he'll get to know more about this tall, dark-haired homicide detective who's become his … friend.

Danny rolls onto his side and pulls the covers up over his shoulder, tucking the hem around his neck.

Detective Don Flack, Jr.

His friend.

Yes, Danny thinks as he falls into an undisturbed slumber, he likes the sound of that very much.

( Oooo …... oooO )

The orange-and-white basketball sails through the air.

"Yeaaaaah, it's gonna get in, it's gonna get in -"

It bounces hard off the backboard frame of the basketball tower and plunges through the red ring and white netting with a fwip!

It's another score for Flack, who's more than happy to shout his excitement at owning twenty-seven scores compared to Danny's measly sixteen.

"Woohooooooo! The Flackmeister scores agaaaaaaain!"

Danny watches Flack hopping around the court in circles like a mad kangaroo and doing a rather ridiculous victory dance at the same time, and he can't help laughing and shaking his head despite being the evident loser here. It's tough to be mad at Flack when the guy's like this, full of life, optimism and vigor that can rival that of a wired two-year-old's.

It pleases him to see Flack happy, so it's a win-win situation anyway.

"Flackmeister? Are ya kiddin' me?"

Flack simply makes a silly face at him, and he laughs again, amazed at the extensive range of facial expressions his close friend is capable of presenting.

"This game ain't over yet, Don. Don't count yer chickens 'fore they hatch and all that!"

"Yeah, we'll see 'bout that, Danno!"

He's known Flack for over a year now. It seems like it was just yesterday when he met the homicide detective for the first time, in the kitchen of a pizza parlor where one of its employees died as a result of his … pizza dough fetish. It's a very memorable case. Flack brings it up every time they have pizza together, and the taller man never fails to crack him up by reminding him about the collapse of the Leaning Tower of Pizza. Thanks to Flack, Danny will always associate the real Leaning Tower of Pisa with the dead guy who had taken Viagra, accidentally asphyxiated himself with pizza dough while jerking off and then let himself be discovered by cops who got to see what happened when the Viagra wore off.

It's been over a year now since that day, and here they are, playing hoops at the Carmine Recreation Center in Greenwich Village like they always have every Saturday unless they're called in to work. Flack is part of a program called the Greenwich Village Basketball League to teach the neighbourhood children a thing or two about the game, which is why they play here after the kids have gone home for the day and they have the court to themselves for a while.

Flack has mentioned a few times that he's thinking about lending a hand at the YMCA as well, particularly to nurture children in need, and Danny will be a liar if he says hearing that hadn't warmed his heart. It's just like Flack to possess the compassion to help the less fortunate even though he has a hectic, full-time job that's stressful enough as it is.

It never ceases to astound Danny they're still friends, such close friends, considering how dissimilar their backgrounds are. Not everyone in the world can lay claim to being one of Don Flack, Jr.'s best friends; Danny thinks it's an exceptional privilege to be able to consider Flack the same. Against all the odds, this blue blood son of an NYPD legend with the face that can launch a thousand ships, with such a noble, self-sacrificing spirit … wants to spend time with him. Him, a street rat with unstable family ties and an even more unstable temperament.

And it's not just once in a while. It's all the time.

Flack calls him everyday. It's a constant pleasure whenever Flack does, be it for a case they're investigating or just to find out how he's doing. Flack also visits him at CSI headquarters as frequently as possible. Everyone there is so accustomed to Flack's presence by now that no one does a double take or even blinks whenever Flack strolls the labs following him around as he conducts his various experiments.

Off duty, he and Flack will usually hang out at Sullivan's, a popular pub a few blocks away from the CSI building. It's owned by a fifty-something-year-old, pepper-haired guy named Frankie who's taken a liking to them both and always treats them to a free glass of beer if he's around. They'll have some Guinness and whiskey, play pool, talk like they always do about everything from the latest case to world news to the new cute lab tech to their personal beliefs. Danny cherishes these moments very much.

Danny also has no reservations about discussing private matters with Flack. He can chat with the taller man about anything. Flack is the one friend he has right now who knows things about him and his family that nobody else does. Flack is the only friend so far whom he's brought to his family home for dinner, and it says volumes to him that his mother, the most hardheaded, skeptical woman he's ever known, went head over heels for the handsome detective the instant the guy set foot inside the house.

Flack is about the only guy in his life whom he trusts to not mock him or belittle his opinions, regardless of how far-fetched they may be.

In fact, Flack is about the only person in his life whom he unconditionally trusts. Always.

And he isn't frightened in the least that Flack has such power over him.

It's an enigma that continues to mystify and reassure him at the same time.

"Hey, Danny, are we gonna play or are ya gonna daydream a little while more?"

Danny blinks hard, and he's back in the present, in the middle of the indoor court in his white tank top and black track pants and green sneakers and he wonders how long he's been standing there like a dumbass.

Flack's running in circles around him and dribbling the basketball at a rapid pace with both hands. Danny turns his head to follow the other man with his gaze, silently appreciating Flack's agility and grace as well as how good the guy appeared in a black tank top and dark grey trousers. Flack's physique is … just right. Not too buff, not too skinny, with the ideal amount of muscle mass and pale, smooth skin.

They've already been at this one-on-one game for an hour, and Flack is barely breaking a sweat.

"C'mon, Danny, I've got eleven points on ya."

Thump! The ball strikes the polished floor and rebounds into Flack's hands.

"Wha, ya gonna give up already?"

Thump! The ball strikes the floor a second time.

Flack's grinning from ear to ear.

The flash of pearly teeth upon that dazzling face is what restores Danny's resolve. He smiles inwardly, and licks his lower lip.

Ohh, Flack's not going to know what hit him.

"C'mon, Danny! Are ya gonna just stand there all day, huh?"

Flack snickers, then jogs a little nearer to him, still bouncing the basketball.

Danny remains stationary. He stares at Flack, straight-faced and calm.

That's it, Don, just a little closer …

Flack takes a few more steps forward. There's a bewildered frown on the man's visage now, and Danny has to bite his lip to stop himself from smiling.

That's right, Donnie, juuuuust a little more …

"Dan? Are you okay -"

Danny goes on the offensive at lightning speed.

A swing of his arm, and he's snatching the basketball out of Flack's clutches and he dashes down the court as he dribbles the basketball in front of him, his gleeful cackle reverberating all around them.

"Heeeeeeeeey!" Flack hollers in disbelief.

He hears Flack stomping after him, the guy's heavy steps going bambambam behind him and Danny hastens his own, his eyes honed on the red ring high in the air.

The air is rushing past his ears.

The basketball is bounding off the floor in tandem with his swift stride.

"I'm gonna getcha!"

Uh oh, Flack sounds really close behind him -

He sees the ring above him. He's already imagining himself leaping and making that slam dunk as his right foot comes down for one last step before he jumps for real -

"Ah hah, the ball's MINE!"

He senses Flack rushing in from his right side, senses one of Flack's arms sliding over his own in a speedy effort to steal the ball away from him.

Then, one of Flack's feet is inadvertently trampling his right foot, just when he's about to execute his shoot.

It throws him off balance. His spectacles fly off his face and land with a loud clatter nearby. He hurtles forward from momentum, and there's a sharp stab in his right ankle and then another more broad and blunt throbbing that centers in his upper left back as soon as he crashes headlong onto the floor.

For an eon and a second, Danny's world is a miasma of pain.

There are white stars exploding behind his shut eyelids. There's a muscle on the lower part of his left shoulder blade that's seizing up in an acute spasm. It's way worse than the ache in his right ankle; the pain is travelling from between his shoulder blade and spine and goes down his left arm all the way to his fingers and back again. He winces, then lets out a hiss after he struggles to budge from where he's lying on his left side on the floor.

Ah, shit, it hurts to move. He hopes he hasn't broken anything.

"Danny! Are you okay?"

Danny hears the other man go down hard on his knees next to him. Feels Flack's large hands on him, groping along his arms, legs and flanks, checking him for injuries and he almost laughs at the notion Flack might be doing this just for the sake of having the opportunity to touch him.

Why would Flack want to do that anyway?

It's not like the guy will ever like him that way.

Right?

"Danny, you okay? C'mon, buddy, talk to me."

Without warning, Flack's fingers are digging into the knotting muscle on his left shoulder blade.

His eyes snap open. He goes utterly rigid in Flack's grip.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, OW."

Oh, fuck, it feels like his shoulder's going to shatter if he even moves -

"Whoa," Flack mumbles. "That is one nasty cramp."

Danny finally gives in to his urge to chuckle. Well, he tries to, anyway.

"Gee, Don," he grinds out through gritted teeth and a wide grimace. "Ya think?"

Aching as he is, he is still able to hear the worry tingeing Flack's faint snicker.

Now, Flack is doing something to his spasming upper back with his hands, and damn, it feels good. Whatever the heck kind of massage it is, it's easing the soreness there and loosening the cramping muscle bit by bit. That, and Danny's brain is going into overdrive at the sensations of Flack's big hands touching him this way and kneading the tense muscles of his shoulders and back like so.

The alleviation must have shown on his visage.

"You feelin' better?" Flack asks gently.

Danny lifts his head off the polished court floor to gaze at the homicide detective with heavy-lidded eyes. Flack is kneeling near his waist. One of Flack's hands is resting on his upper back, while the other is on his right forearm, moving from elbow to wrist in a rhythmic motion.

It takes Danny's brain ten whole seconds to realize Flack is stroking his arm to soothe him. It seems like the guy has no idea whatsoever that he's doing it either.

"Yeah," Danny mumbles after some time, staring up at the pale blur in black and grey that is his friend. "Yeah, the cramp's goin' away. Thanks."

"That's good … that's good," Flack murmurs. The relief in the man's voice is clear as day. "Are you hurtin' anywhere else?"

"My right ankle. Think it might be sprained."

Flack leans down and wraps sinewy arms around his midriff in something akin to a hug. Without being told, Danny places his right arm across Flack's broad shoulders, and allows Flack to elevate him to a sitting position.

His nose is just inches away from Flack's cheek and dark, thick hair. This upclose, every blemish, line and wrinkle on Flack's mien is visible to him and despite that, Danny is more captivated by the other man's features than ever. Instead of decreasing the man's attractiveness, all those so-called flaws simply add maturity and humanity to an already handsome face.

Flack smells very nice. His scent reminds Danny of sheer spring water and sunny skies and baked apple pie.

And those blue eyes, those fiery eyes, are staring into his.

All at once, Flack's arms around his body are like brands on his skin; he feels their tremendous warmth, their very presence, even through his tank top. He hears his own breaths and Flack's becoming in sync. Flack's soft exhalations are brushing his slightly parted lips like an unspoken whisper. The tips of their noses are this close to touching, and he's uncertain if the thundering heartbeat roaring in his ears belongs to him or to Flack.

Danny swallows visibly, then licks his lower lip and has to restrain himself from winding his fingers in Flack's black tank top when Flack reflexively mimics him.

In any other circumstances, he would know what the next step is but this is different, so very different. This isn't some random woman who happens to have captured his fancy, some random person with whom he can break things off without being anxious about the fallout.

This is Flack, his friend.

His best friend.

The man he's had feelings for since they met.

"Danny -"

Perhaps it's fate that the moment Flack chooses to speak, the muscle in Danny's upper back makes its own decision of contracting a second time. Danny is fortunate and glad it quickly elapses, because one, he is no fan of suffering and two, he is fast learning that it disconcerts Flack to see him in any sort of pain.

"Okay?"

Flack's hand on his left bicep grounds him.

"I'm good. S'was just another spasm, that's all," he answers, and he shows Flack a small smile to support his assertion.

Flack stares a while more at him, blinks, then asks, "Can ya get up?"

Danny gives Flack's farther shoulder a squeeze and the taller detective gets the point.

"A'right, up and at 'em," Flack murmurs close to his ear, and it sounds so close that Danny swears Flack's lips graze his earlobe.

He hisses after he sets his right foot down on the floor. Ah, the pull on his ankle isn't as bad as he assumed. He's able to walk. Just very slowly without putting too much pressure on it.

"Your ankle?"

Danny's tempted to tell Flack it's fine and that he can stand on his own. However, he replies, "Don't think I hurt it too bad. Not sure if I can walk on it though. Ya mind helpin' me to the locker room?"

Flack's arm around his midriff tightens without hesitation, and as they shuffle towards the locker room at the other end of the basketball court, Danny silently basks in the warmth and strength of the other man's form. It's remarkable and very humbling to have a friend like Flack, to have a guy of such independence, determination and stability listen to him and accommodate whatever request he makes.

As bold as it is, he has the insistent hunch that Flack doesn't behave like this with anyone else.

Just him.

He doesn't know why he knows this. He just does.

Just like he knows that something significant had taken place mere minutes before, on the court floor where they sat facing each other, staring at one another and he'd caught a glimpse of something momentous and heart-stopping and startling in Flack's big eyes. Something that he's been avoiding his whole life.

Until now.

The bench in the center of the locker room is unyielding and flat, but Danny doesn't think about the discomfort as he rubs his left shoulder in an absent-minded manner. Flack is sitting beside him, rummaging through a blue-and-grey rucksack, and Danny is suddenly longing very much to sweep his fingertips across Flack's lowered eyebrows and brush away the frown on the other man's visage.

Instead, his fingers clench around his left shoulder.

No. Temptation bad, very bad.

"Your shoulder still crampin', Danny?"

Danny blinks. Flack's rucksack is on the floor now, and the homicide detective is facing him, holding a tiny octagonal glass jar of ointment in one hand.

"A little ... It's a'right, really," Danny replies, his gaze zoomed in on the object in Flack's grasp.

Flack notices this and lets Danny see the jar, saying, "It's Tiger balm. Great for relievin' achin' muscles. I use it whenever my neck or shoulders ache."

Danny glances up from the tube of Tiger Balm and gazes at Flack.

"It's, uhm, it'll make your shoulder feel better. If, ya know," Flack mumbles, looking away for a second then back again at his face, appearing almost … shy.

Tilting forward, Danny squints to distinguish the other man's pleasant features.

Then, his eyes widen in understanding.

Wait a minute.

Is Flack asking him what he thinks the guy is?

"You wanna rub some Tiger Balm on my back?"

The rosiness that imbues Flack's cheeks is so red that it's conspicuous to Danny even without his spectacles. Danny has never seen Flack blush before, and it's an endearing and cute sight. Flack looks just like a boy who's been caught red-handed in a naughty act.

"I - you, I mean, if you wanna, I don't mind, 'cause I know cramps don't go 'way so quick so it must still be hurtin' some and you - well, it'll be easier if I rubbed it on for ya and, yeah."

Wow, Flack blushing and rambling in a single day.

And for the first time since Flack picked him up from his apartment building in the morning, the man isn't staring at him.

Danny's going to mark all this on his calendar for sure.

"It, uh, the Tiger Balm stinks a bit -"

Danny is definitely going to mark what he's about to do next on his calendar too.

"But you get used to the smell so … I can … uhm …"

His tank top's rolled up in his hands, and listening to Flack trail off into a stunned silence is all he needs to know just how much his naked torso is affecting his friend.

"Can't rub the balm on with my tank top in the way, right?" Danny murmurs.

"Huh?" A dozen seconds later, Flack adds like an afterthought, "Yeah."

Danny studies Flack from the corner of his eyes.

Ohh, Flack is staring at him again, alright. Just not at his face this time.

If Flack's stare ever becomes a tangible force, Danny would be feeling countless caresses upon his body right now. Flack is ogling him from head down to the waistband of his track pants, those wide eyes raking over every aspect of his torso, ostensibly memorizing every inch of his bare skin.

It's a rousing sensation.

Even more so because it's Flack who's eyeballing him this way.

And the guy doesn't even realize it.

Smiling inwardly, Danny shifts on the bench so that his back is facing the other man, and waits.

An abruptly tense minute ticks by.

Danny isn't aware of his fingers digging into his thighs till he senses Flack's very first and tentative touch on his exposed upper back. Flack's large hands are incredibly warm; the Tiger balm feels the same, probably due to Flack's body heat. As Flack smears it all over his left shoulder blade, his skin begins to feel hot and tingly. It's an interesting sensation, to say the least.

"It feels good," he tells Flack.

Then the pungent scent reaches his nose.

"Okay, you weren't kiddin' 'bout the smell," Danny says with a smirk.

Behind him, Flack chuckles. "Yeah, it's kinda like cough sweets and mothballs rolled into one."

Flack is massaging his shoulder and back with both hands once more, using whatever technique he did on the basketball court earlier on, and Danny has to chew on his lower lip to not moan aloud.

Flack isn't good at it.

Flack's mind-blowing at it.

"Don - oh man … where'd ya learn to do that?"

Uh oh, did he say that in such a husky voice or is it just his imagination?

"Let's just say, I'm a natural."

Danny knows Flack's grinning his head off, that smug bastard.

"Yeah? So can ya tell me - mmhh - can ya tell me why ya aren't a professional masseur or somethin'?"

Flack simply lets out a good-natured laugh.

"I'm not jokin', you do a dozen customers a day, you'll be bringin' in the big bucks in no time," Danny continues, chortling along with the other detective.

Danny's eyes flutter shut at one acutely hard press of a thumb against the muscle in his upper back that had cramped. Ooh, okay, he felt that one.

"Nah," Flack says in a blasé tone. "I only cater to very exclusive clientele."

Flack's skillful hands have moved up his torso to knead his shoulders and the back of his neck.

"Oh yeah? How many?"

Flack's hands go still and flat on the sides of his neck.

"One."

Danny's eyes open wide at the whispered answer. To him, it had been as loud as a clap of thunder.

Before Flack has the time to remove his hands, Danny spins around to face Flack, desperate to see Flack's countenance. He has to know, he has to know whether Flack's just messing around with him or not.

Don't play with me, Don, please -

Fair-skinned as Flack is, the blush spread across the handsome man's face appears to have darkened tenfold. To the guy's credit, Flack doesn't break their eye contact, as physically close as Danny is to him, the tips of their noses grazing, their breaths mingling.

Flack's right hand is on Danny's chest. Directly over his heart.

Can he feel it, Danny wonders, can he hear it?

Some message or another must have been conveyed because all of a sudden, Flack snatches his hand away, holding it against his own belly like he'd just done something he shouldn't have. It causes Danny to jolt in surprise. When Flack turns his head away, Danny gasps out loud.

Oh crap. Is he mistaken after all?

Had he been merely making things up all this while and fooling himself into believing Flack shares the same feeli-

"I'm sorry, I - I went overboard there, I didn't mean to …"

Danny's brows lower in a baffled frown. What the, why is Flack apologizing -

Oh.

Ohh, due to his sudden reaction, Flack must think he's offended.

"Hey." Danny places his hand on top of Flack's closest hand that's resting on the man's thigh. "It's okay."

Once he's positive Flack isn't going to move his hand away, Danny deliberately winds their fingers together.

He waits for Flack to look him in the eye again.

"Dan?"

Flack's blue eyes are filled with such doubt, though behind it all, Danny also sees a spark of hope that's growing with every passing second.

"Yeah."

He hopes that is enough of an answer for Flack to comprehend.

Danny can determine the exact instant enlightenment bonks Flack on his skull; he witnesses it in the great widening of Flack's eyes, the man's mouth going slack in a mixture of disbelief and joy and finally, that same mouth transforming into an abashed albeit euphoric smile.

"Oh," Flack simply says.

It's more than enough for Danny, who has never, ever anticipated in a million lifetimes that someone as extraordinary as Flack will come to be one of his best friends.

Much less, someone who loves him.

Danny senses Flack's eyes on him while he redresses himself, and he takes his sweet time tugging the white tank top over and around his head and then down his torso. The Tiger balm on his back is somewhat sticky and a little bit oily but that's okay, he can wash his tank top when he gets home anyhow. He flexes his left shoulder and discovers with astonishment that the ache in his upper back is utterly gone.

"Damn, that stuff's a miracle," Danny says, glancing at Flack who has his rucksack slung around one shoulder.

All Flack does is give him a tender, enigmatic smile that lingers in his thoughts as they leave the locker room with their backpacks and he retrieves his thankfully undamaged glasses from the court floor where they'd fallen. He includes that smile in his now enormous rolodex of Flack memories, together with all his friend's other smiles and laughs and frowns and puppy-eyed looks and silly faces. That's just one of the many things he loves about Flack, how the guy is capable of communicating with so many expressions and yet still maintain such privacy about himself.

Danny wants to know more about Flack. So much more.

And if he's right and he saw, beyond doubt, what he did in Flack's eyes today … Flack feels the same way about him too.

It's too good to be true.

"Do ya want the rest of the Tiger balm?"

They're standing in front of his apartment door now, and Flack is behaving coy again, looking here and there and scuffing one foot on the floor. With his glasses on, Danny is able to better appreciate Flack's flushed face in full clarity. The taller man really does look like a boy when he blushes.

"For your ankle, I mean," Flack adds.

"Nah, it's okay," Danny replies. "I could walk all the way up here from the car, so it's good."

Flack is quiet for a minute, and then asks in a tiny voice, "So, uh. Wanna play hoops again next week?"

Danny sends the other man a sharp glance. That's weird. Flack's never had to inquire that before. He scrutinizes Flack's body language: the atypical lack of eye contact, the feet scuffing, the redness in the cheeks and it informs him that Flack's … nervous.

Like a teenager who's asking out his high school crush for the first time and is anxious about being declined.

It's very difficult for Danny to not smile right there. He's remembering his adolescent years, when he was a skinny kid with thick-framed spectacles and a dorky haircut and he was asking out a girl for whom he'd been head over heels for a few months. It'd turned out to be a short-lived crush, but he recalls how awkward and worried he'd been, fretting over what to say and how to act and what he'd do if she rejected him.

It seems oddly apt that he would re-encounter the experience with the tables turned in his adult incarnation.

And the major difference between his past self and his current self?

Danny hadn't been in love then.

Flack's eyes are gleaming beneath the corridor's ceiling lights, shining with an unspoken entreaty that Danny is powerless to deny.

"You bet I do."

Danny's lower face splits into a broad smile.

Flack's reaction is immediate.

"Okay. Cool. Great." The homicide detective's smile is probably twice as wide as his. "I'll see ya at the labs on Monday then."

"Okay. Have a good night, Don."

"You too, Danny."

There's a lively bounce to Flack's steps as the guy strides to the elevator, and it's Danny's turn to go a little red in the face when Flack gives him an enthusiastic farewell wave while the elevator doors shut.

That dork.

That lovable, gorgeous dork.

Danny laughs faintly to himself, then lets himself into his apartment, feeling light enough to walk on air.

In the morning, after a very decent night's slumber, Danny finds his cheeks are hurting and that's peculiar to him since it was his upper back and right ankle he'd injured yesterday, not his face. It is only while he's in his bathroom washing up that he realizes why this is so.

It is, after all, quite demanding on his facial muscles to be set in a blissful smile for many hours on end.

***

The Late Show with David Letterman's playing on the television.

"'You know what? I guess this is no secret that I do this every summer, and I don't know why. Well, I do know why, because it's fun, because it keeps me in touch with the people. Every summer I take a part-time job. You know what I do, right, Paul?'"

"'I do, yes.'"

Flack gives his tummy an idle scratch.

"'And it began this weekend, and if you don't know what I'm talking about, I work part-time at a Taco Bell out in New Jersey. It's true. What I do is I work right in there in the kitchen, and I have the head-set on, and I take the drive-through orders, you know, when people drive through in their car, and they talk into, like, an external speaker, and then I'm in the restaurant itself, the building there at Casa Del Taco, and I take their orders, and then I begin the process of making the food and getting it to them. So I am the representative of Taco Bell. I am the first voice the people hear when they drive through to order through the external speaker. You know what I'm talking about?'"

Ah, it's an old rerun from 1996, that episode where Letterman did a stint in a Taco Bell and riled up every customer who visited that branch that day. It's rather funny, particularly the bit where Letterman questioned one customer about his weight and told the person he needed to know it when dealing with larger-than-life orders. Heh.

"Hey, Danny, you seen this episode yet?" Flack asks.

"Hmm, maybe," Danny murmurs.

Danny is sprawled on the couch a forearm's breadth away from him, a half-eaten salami sandwich in his right hand on top of his belly. There are two bites taken out of it. Flack doesn't blame Danny for taking his time to eat this one; the CSI's already gulped down two along with a bottle of beer.

Where does all that food go?

It is a mystery that has puzzled Flack for the longest time.

Since the first day he met Danny, actually, almost two years ago.

He's still unable to believe he's already known Danny for that long … and isn't dead from sexual frustration yet. Even having Mrs. Palm and her five daughters on a regular basis hasn't done a thing to decrease it.

Damnit.

Danny appears to be engrossed by whatever's occurring on the television screen, and Flack seizes yet another opportunity to stare at Danny upclose. He tries his best to do it as subtly as possible every time, honest. He sure doesn't want to freak Danny out and goad his close friend into thinking he's obsessed or something.

It's difficult though, very difficult.

Danny is really nice to look at.

And the attractive bastard isn't helping Flack's situation one bit by wearing nothing except his regular white tank top and his low, faded jeans, reclining on his sofa like heowns the damn thing and spreading his legs like that and having tugged up said tank top to uncover part of that smooth, flat abdomen -

Fuck!

Flack has to rip his gaze away from that provocative area of skin. He raises his eyes to stare at Danny's profile instead.

Okay,okay, this is good.

Looking at Danny's face, good. Looking at Danny's groin, bad.

Looking at Danny's groin and pondering which folds of the jeans there are delineating the man's private parts, one hundred times bad.

"Hey, this is the one where Letterman messed 'round with the customers, right?"

Danny is gesticulating with his hands and Flack endeavors his hardest to follow the salami sandwich in Danny's right hand with his eyes.

Against all the odds in the frigging universe, the hem of Danny's tank top has moved up higher than before. Now, Danny's entire belly is bare and right there for him to see and his hand's a mere half a dozen inches away and he can almost … touch it -

"Don?"

Danny's gazing at him, a slight frown on that alluring mien and Flack peers downwards just in time to see - oh CRAP, his left hand an inch away from Danny's -

"YEAH!"

His reply is so unexpectedly loud and high-pitched that he startles the both of them; Danny rears back, those blue eyes half-closed behind silver spectacles, those expressive eyebrows somewhere at the hairline, while he jerks where he sits and tries to slow his abruptly hammering heart.

Ohshitohshitohshit, Danny didn't see his hand getting so near, did he?

"Yeah, yeah, this is the one. Yeah." Flack coughs to clear a scratchy throat, then crosses his arms over his chest in near panicked haste. "Right. Yeah. Okay."

He stares hard at the television screen. He doesn't dare to look at Danny right now because he knows Danny's staring at him instead and his face is probably freaking red like a tomato and his hands are still tingling and trembling and oh man, he sounded like one of the chipmunks from that eighties cartoon -

Flack clenches his hands into tight fists and makes an effort to disregard Danny looking at him.

See what you did, you stupid things, Flack thinks. Bad hands, evil hands, bad, BAD hands!

He takes a deep breath, then releases a heavy sigh.

Ah, who the hell is he kidding?

He craves to touch Danny so much. Every day. Every night. Every time he sees Danny, no matter who's there with them. Every time he doesn't see Danny.

He craves to touch Danny, always.

That massive, wrinkly organ in his skull's been telling him lately that he's a damn idiot. He hasn't permitted himself to even brush his fingers against Danny's arm since that evening in the locker room of the Carmine Recreation Center over six months ago.

It's so easy, his brain says. Just reach out and touch him, his brain says. Just do it, you fool, his brain says.

Yeah. Like he's going to destroy his friendship with Danny over something as trivial as him going fucking insane because he misses Danny's warm, smooth skin under his hands. Stupid brain, what does it know?

Danny's worth more than that. Way more than that.

And anyway, Danny's never made any move on him since that day either. Maybe what Danny meant by, "Yeah," was that he just hadn't been affronted by Flack massaging him like that for so long and flirting with him -

Wait a sec. Flirting?

Was that what it was?

Was that what Danny thought it was?

And if that's the case and Danny's still his friend today and spends so much time with him even now …

No way.

It's too good to be true.

But, after that massage, didn't Danny … hold his hand -

Flack squeezes his eyes shut.

Bah, stop duping yourself, Flackie boy, a cynical, old voice in his head mutters. Danny was just being nice. It's not like he's ever gonna like you that way.

And then, there's another voice, that gentle, firm and very familiar one that speaks and causes his eyes to open wide:

Oh yeah? What makes you so sure of that? YOU never had feelings like these for a guy before, but here you are, madly in love with a man, your best friend!

Flack swallows past an obstruction in his throat, suddenly feeling goosebumps all over his arms and body.

Oh God, his brain's said it again. That gigantic 'L' word.

The word that's become synonymous with the person sitting next to him on the sofa right now.

He looks at Danny from the corner of his eye without turning his head. Danny's watching the television once more. He observes Danny take a small bite out of his salami sandwich, chewing it slowly like he's savoring the taste and texture.

Phew. Guess Danny didn't see his evil hand creeping up on him like some … evil hand.

Flack sucks in another deep breath. Exhales, blinks.

Oh boy, he's staring at Danny again.

He knows he should return to watching the television, that he shouldn't turn his head to have a better view of Danny lounging there on the cushions, that he should just watch the fucking television but he can't.

Danny's lips are glistening beneath the bright glare from the television screen. Danny's pink tongue sticking out to lick at that full lower lip is glistening too, shiny and soft and it reminds Flack of the time Danny was licking his lips that night they were eating pizza together and they only met for the first time hours ago.

Danny had looked so damn good, with that spiked-up hair, those sexy spectacles, wearing that dark brown jacket of his and that white dress shirt and those tight trousers that really flattered the man's … posterior. Well, maybe that's just him. For some reason, his attention is always drawn to how Danny's pants or jeans seem to mold to the guy's buttocks. It's impossible nobody else notices that. They're probably just as skilled at hiding it as he is, that's all, just like he's a virtuoso at remembering every visual and auditory trait of his best friend.

Ohh, he remembers everything about the first day they met. He remembers how many times Danny laughed at his silly one-liners at the crime scene in that pizza parlor and then at that other pizza place where they had Danny's favorite, pepperoni-and-cheese pizza. He remembers each and every one of Danny's chuckles and cackles, mentally noting down which joke amused Danny more, made Danny's magnificent eyes and face crinkle in mirth the way they do when the man's happy. He likes it when Danny's happy. He's happy when Danny's happy.

He remembers the sincere warmth in Danny's heavy-lidded eyes. That small, adorable smile on those lips. The way Danny glanced at him bashfully from time to time. The way Danny gazed at him like the guy couldn't believe they were actually there eating pizza and chatting and laughing as if they'd known each other forever. He couldn't believe it either. A guy like Danny Messer popping up in his life and sticking around long after that?

Somebody up there must have one giant soft spot for him.

"Man, I'm full," Danny mumbles.

The faint words break Flack's train of thought, lure him back to the here and now. Danny's scratching at his uncovered tummy, a finger's length below his navel and Flack's eyes instantaneously zoom in on the scanty treasure trail there and those dark cu-

Oh damn. Is Danny wearing any underwear?

The notion of Danny not wearing any does something very, very bad to a specific portion of his lower anatomy.

It's a seriously lucky thing he has loose track pants on.

Flack's senses of sight, smell and touch amplify once Danny sits up and leans forward to drop the remainder of his salami sandwich onto a plate on the coffee table in front of them. He feels the coarse, cool surface of his black leather couch against his bare arms, the chill of the wooden tiles beneath his feet. He smells the mild aroma of the tiny piece of his steak left on his plate next to Danny's on the table.

He can also smell Danny even though the guy just showered a half hour ago. Danny smells so good to him all the time. It's outrageous, he knows, but if he was blindfolded and led into a hall with hundreds of people in it, he'd be able to find Danny just by the man's scent. Really, it's true. That's how identifiable Danny's scent is to him. He used to think something was wrong with his nose, until Stella told him one day about some scientific experiment that proved when one person deemed another person's natural scent to be very appealing, it meant they were a fine match. Genetically speaking, of course.

So what does it mean that he finds Danny's smell so damn pleasant?

Is his genes telling him Danny's a great match for him or what?

It's not like he can have babies with the guy. Unless they adopted. Or some scientist came up with a way to splice the DNA of two men together. Or something.

Flack rubs at his eyes, sucking his lips in to stop himself from chuckling aloud. Oh yeah, he can totally see Danny cuddling a wailing baby, dressed in an apron and making a mess of the kitchen while cooking dinner. Danny the Househusband.Hah.

"Wha, you sleepy already, Don?"

Flack lets his hand fall to his lap. The CSI is sitting upright, perched on the edge of the couch with his hands resting on his thighs, directing a fond gaze at him.

"Nah. Too early. It's only ten-thirty," Flack answers. He smiles at Danny.

Danny returns one that displays those cute baby fangs, then goes back to watching the television, still sitting on the edge of the sofa. Flack isn't lamenting about having to stare at Danny's back now. For one thing, Danny doesn't have eyes in the back of his head and another thing, Danny's back is equally delectable as his front, never mind that the finest portion is covered up by blue jeans.

Danny's tank top has slipped down in the front and the back has ridden up instead. There's a teeny mole on the right side of Danny's lower back, an inch or two from the spine. Flack's never spotted it before, and it fascinates him, making him wonder if Danny has small moles like that anywhere else. He knows Danny doesn't have any on the back of the neck because he literally spent the day staring at it.

That's what he gets when Danny's on a roll during an investigation. He has to chase Danny everywhere.

Today, Danny was running at maximum power, striding here and there, crouching by that pool of blood in that former beauty pageant's apartment and talking in that seductive way whenever he's arriving at some important conclusion. Shining that little flashlight of his in the bathroom, gathering evidence like the brainy detective that he is, darting up and down the stairs like a hamster, expecting his homicide detective partner to follow him without a second thought.

Needless to say, Flack was and is more than happy to do so, every time.

The funniest moment of the day was when that trash bag almost clonked Danny on the head after the guy stuck his head inside the garbage chute. Good thing he has such superb control of his facial expressions, because he was pretty sure Danny would have plunged headlong into a lousy mood if he continued to smirk like he did then. Or worse. His promise to station police officers on every floor of the building must have appeased Danny as well.

Oh, Don Flack, Jr. ain't a dumbass who tempts the wrath of an annoyed Danny Messer, no sir. He's seen what Danny is capable of when the man's pissed off.

Then again, Danny's magnetism just goes up the wazoo when he's mad.

Flack sighs and smiles inwardly. Why does he always fall for the hot, dangerous ones?

The sound of raucous laughter from the television and Danny flopping backwards to loll on the couch again interrupts his stirring contemplations of the gorgeous CSI in the shower; it's his favorite Danny erotic fantasy. Flack's becoming more and more certain tonight that fantasies can't compare to reality, however. There's nothing much that can beat Danny stretching himself beside him on his couch, that white tank top all rumpled and displaying that flat abdomen, those low jeans gone lower than ever and showing Danny's hips and Danny staring and scowling and … pouting … at him.

Flack's thick eyebrows furrow in perplexity.

Hey,waita minute, something isn't adding up here -

"I can't believe this."

Flack blinks hard once. Twice. What the, what's Danny talking about?

Danny's petulant pout intensifies. "And ya call yourself a detective."

Flack angles his head to one side, his facial features arranged in a comical expression of sheer confusion.

" …huuh?"

The caveman grunt is the only response he has, and he thinks it's not a bad answer considering he stilldoesn't have a freaking clue at all what Danny's on about.

What the heck does him being a detective have to do with Danny spread out on his sofa like a - like a scrumptious dish?

They stare at each other in silence for a minute, Danny motionless while Flack is feeling more restless by the second, resisting the impulse to fidget under the other man's unwavering, fierce gaze. Ah, damnit, Danny's upset with him and he doesn't even know why and he's starting to get upset too because he knows it's hisfault though he doesn't know why -

"That'sit. I can't stand it anymore," Danny rasps in what Flack thinks is one hell of a rousing tone. "If you're not gonna do it, Don, I am."

Danny's pushing himself up with his hands to a more vertical pose so they're looking eye to eye. There's a determined set to the CSI's lips and lowered brows, like the guy's just made up his mind to do something risky even if it means costing him something incredibly valuable.

Flack's fingers curl into the soft fabric of his track pants.

Oh fuck, ohh fuck, he can sense something building up within him, something blistering hot and substantial that stems from his lower belly and coils upwards into his chest, causing his breaths to go shallow and laboured. Danny's sending him this long, meaningful look that feels like a corporeal caress upon his face, and it's challenging, oh sochallenging to stay immobile, to keep his hands to himself as Danny languidly removes his spectacles.

There's a piercing clink that echoes in the living room. Danny's silver spectacles are on the glass surface of the coffee table now, between their plates.

Flack's breath snags.

OhGodohGod, there's no way this is happening, no way -

The space between them is gone. Danny's shifted so much closer, their arms and their sides and thighs rubbing, Danny's face turned towards his, those blue eyes sultry and lustrous with a radiance that sends shivers coursing through the length of his lanky body. Danny's musk is more heady than ever; it overwhelms Flack like a crushing wave, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, making a certain part of his body between his legs harden in immense excitement.

It's too good to be true, it's way too good to be true -

"First move's mine," Danny whispers huskily. "Now it's your call."

The full implication of those words doesn't sink in till Flack sees Danny swallow hard, and that one diminutive action becomes the confirmation he's needed so badly for so long.

It's stupefying. Wondrous. An absolute miracle.

Danny desires him too!

"Dan," Flack draws in a deep, shuddering breath, feeling hot and cold and giddy at the same time. "We do this … and I'm never, ever turnin' back. Ya hear me?"

He sees Danny's eyes widen, hears Danny's breaths quicken.

Danny's hand is gripping his right thigh.

"Don, shaddup and kiss me already."

Flack gasps out loud, and then, shutting his eyes, he slants his head and finally does what he's been dreaming of doing ever since he met this eye-catching CSI who's become his best friend, and more.

Danny's lips are as soft and warm as Flack imagined them to be. A little dry, although he's anticipated that. It's not always moist and wet and swollen like all them corny romance novels tell it, and Flack isn't too interested in mulling over why he's recalling such details when he's never read any of those books before. He has something much, much better to preoccupy his thoughts and his body right now.

Danny's climbed onto his lap, straddling his thighs with those limber legs folded on the couch and those muscular arms wrapped around his shoulders, those dexterous fingers winding in his dark hair. Danny's mouth is open wide against his, and Danny's moaning into his mouth and fuck, if he'd known the other man's mere groans and whimpers fire him up like this, he'd have pounced on Danny ages ago.

"Danny …" - Flack's hips buck and he moans into Danny's lips - "Danny."

He slides his hands under Danny's disheveled tank top and the waistband of Danny's jeans, driven by the primeval urge to touch, to feel Danny everywhere, be it the graceful curvature of the writhing man's spine or that rotund bottom or that place in between, that cleft that's apparently one hell of a sensitive area.

"Oh,oohh … oh fuck!"

In any other circumstances, Flack might have reckoned Danny's voice gone so hoarse and high as somewhat humorous, but this very moment, watching Danny arch his head back, watching Danny's eyes flicker close and that mouth fall open in such abandonment as he presses his fingers hard against Danny's perineum, it's the fucking hottest thing he's ever heard in his life.

And Danny really isn't wearing any underwear.

"Ya like that? Ya like that, Danny, hmm?"

They're lying on the sofa now, Flack on top of Danny and he yanks Danny's tank top up to the underarms, baring that exquisite torso to his sight. It's as ravishing as he remembers it; the light dusting of chest hair upon those flat pectorals, the even swells of those abdominal muscles, and those dark nipples that he fondles, stroking harder when Danny shudders and lets out another low moan.

Without saying anything, Flack grabs Danny's wrists and straightens the CSI's arms above his head, permitting him to pull Danny's tank top over the shoulders and head. Danny's acquiescent, until he realizes that his face is covered and his arms are trapped in the confines of his tank top. Flack snickers while Danny struggles to free himself.

Ohh,babe, who'd have figured watching muscles undulate with every twist and turn is so stimulating?

"Mmhh, Don, gedditoff, I wanna see!"

Danny's voice is muffled by the white cloth over his face.

Flack stares at Danny's tummy a little while more, then takes pity on his friend - no, not just friend, lover - and tugs the tank top off Danny's head and arms.

Danny's eyes are half-lidded, his face flushed.

"I wanna see," Danny murmurs again, licking at his lips, reaching up to caress Flack's face, neck and chest.

Flack smiles in acknowledgement of the tacit entreaty in Danny's blue eyes.

His black tank top flies over the coffee table in front of the couch to land on the floor in a mound. It's his turn to shut his eyes and groan as Danny's hands roam across his chest and down his flanks, slipping behind to cup and squeeze his buttocks and haul him down so they're joined from head to thighs, mouth to mouth, skin to skin, groins grinding together in unison with only cloth separating that part of them.

Danny's moaning again - or maybe he never stopped - moaning and baring his neck and Flack's lips are beckoned to the soft skin there, to leave butterfly kisses and gentle nibbles from below that well-defined lower jaw down to that dip between the collar bones, then lower still to that heaving chest, swiping his tongue across the closest nipple and again after feeling the violent tremor that shakes Danny's already squirming body.

"Oh God, oh my God …"

Flack grins into the other man's chest, nuzzling his face in the surprisingly soft hair there. Oh yes, he's distinguishing Danny's hot spots one by one and he's got allnight to find and take advantage of every one of them.

It's going to be so fucking good.

"Yeah, babe, you're mine now, all mine," Flack rasps, and he clambers up onto his hands and knees, using his legs to push Danny's apart, to spread them as wide as possible. He glances downwards between their legs, smiling at the undeniable tenting of Danny's jeans as well as that of his track pants.

Fuck, he hasn't been this aroused and this hard in a long time.

Flack's breaths are heavy and deep, just this short of panting. He stares downwards at Danny gasping for breath too, that attractive visage glowing with sexual excitement, eyelids fluttering, that mouth open in an 'O' shape, revealing pearly teeth and those little fangs he's daydreamed about for so many months. He feels Danny's hands exploring his shoulders and chest and torso once more, roving with a frenzied energy that causes him to tremble.

The glimmer in Danny's large blue eyes is next to impossible to misinterpret.

And the final push Flack needs to tumble over the edge comes in the form of a gravelly whisper from Danny's lips, "I wanna see you, Don."

A lift of hips, a graceful, upward thrust that inflames Flack's hunger a hundred times.

"I want you, Don."

Danny's tongue slips out to lick his own lower lip.

"Wantus."

Something inside Flack snaps like a twig. His vision whitens and as if from far away, he sees his hands scrabbling at Danny's jeans, unzipping them and wrenching them as low as they can go, uncovering - finally!- that one portion of Danny's desirable body he's been denied until this moment. He can't take his eyes off Danny's stiff cock. He stares at the way it curves upwards and onto Danny's belly, at the prominent vein on its underside, at its rosy head oozing pre-come.

Truth be told, he's never seen another man's erection so up close and personal before, and the fact that it's Danny's -

Flack cries out as intense pleasure zigzags through him like a lightning bolt. Oh fuck, his track pants are down around his thighs and Danny has a hand wrapped around his cock and that hand is pumping up and down andfuuuck, Danny's other hand is fondling his balls and it's blowing his mind.

He lets out a lengthy moan.

God, it's Danny. It's Danny who's here with him, right now, doing this to him, experiencing this with him and reveling in every second of it.

Danny.

"Ya like that, Don? Ya like that?"

The gorgeous bastard's grinning up at him, those blue eyes so damn big with desire and satisfaction.

Flack answers by sweeping away Danny's hands, pushing their groins together and enclosing his own large hand around their erections, squeezing just hard enough that the pressure is gratifying, sliding his hand from root to head just fast enough that Danny is writhing on the cushions again, tossing his head from side to side, moaning and groaning louder than he is. Another four more strokes, and Flack's other arm that has been propping him up all this time starts to quiver. The rhythm of his hand becomes as erratic as his harsh breathing.

Oh shit, he can't hold himself up much longer, he's so fucking close already and he's gotta make Danny come first, he wants to see Dannycome after waiting so longfor this to come true, two whole damn YEARS -

"OhGodohGodohGod,ohGod!"

Danny suddenly goes quiet, stiffening, his back arched upwards, eyes screwing shut, his hands clenched around Flack's hand around their aligned cocks. Danny's mouth opens in a silent shout and then, Danny is convulsing and Flack watches in wordless awe as semen spurts from Danny's throbbing erection onto his rippling tummy, its whiteness so stark upon Danny's skin.

Danny in orgasm is truly one of the most breathtaking, extraordinary visions he will ever commit to memory.

The instant Danny goes limp and relaxes beneath him, Flack pumps his hand one, two, three more times and boom, he's coming like a freight train, seized with extreme pleasure, blinded by the bright starbursts behind his eyelids. He hears a guy who sounds a lot like him hollering. His other arm buckles. He collapses on top of Danny and tries to apologize for being such a burden and isn't certain whether he utters the words out right or not. He senses Danny caressing the back of his head and neck, Danny kissing him on the temple and cheek over and over.

After what seems like an eon, he returns to full awareness. It turns out the eon was a mere minute or so for he's still lying on top of Danny on his couch in his living room and they're still buck naked from the thighs up and he can still feel the warm stickiness between their bellies.

Danny's not stroking his head anymore.

As soon as he's able, Flack shifts onto his elbows, easing himself off Danny's upper body to let the guy breathe. Danny inhales deeply, and Flack gazes downwards at him and gives him a tender smile of apology, feeling a heavenly warmth grow in his chest at the emotion in Danny's guileless eyes. There's no apprehension, no second thoughts, no worry in those baby blues at all.

Flack brushes the tip of his forefinger along Danny's lower lip, and his smile broadens.

I love you, his heart murmurs. Some day soon, I'll say the words to you. Soon.

Danny is the one who ends the hush.

"Wow."

Flack chuckles, his face crinkling in affection and amusement. Heh, he can't think of a better word to describe everything that happened mere moments ago.

"Took the word right outta my mouth," he replies softly.

He laughs together with Danny who drags his head down for more kisses, whispered sweet nothings and mutual sighs of contentment. He smiles as they move in tandem towards another climax, and he's still smiling as he watches Danny's eyes flicker shut into slumber, while they're snuggled close in his bed under the blankets much later.

He's had all night to discover Danny's sensitive places. Now, he'll have many, many more nights to learn everything there is to know about his best friend who's also his lover.

Yes, Flack thinks to himself as he touches his forehead with Danny's and closes his eyes, it's going to be so very good indeed.

( Oooo …... oooO )

It's dark where he is.

He hasn't bothered to turn on any of the lamps and right now, he's fine with sitting on the sofa in the shadows, staring at the three-quarter full bottle of Johnnie Walker and empty cup on the coffee table in front of him. There's light streaming in through the windows of the living area; it reflects off the transparent glass of the bottle and the steel frames of his spectacles as well as the metallic surfaces of his watch.

The golden whiskey is calling out to him, inviting him to take a sip, a gulp, a whole glassful and more to quell the chattering in his head. It's a tempting offer, a very tempting offer given that he's just gone through what is possibly the shittiest day of his life yet.

Danny releases a heavy sigh, then takes off his glasses for a moment to rub at sore eyes.

The day had started out so well. It was sunny and the skies were vivid blue and cloudless and he was looking forward so much to seeing Flack again after a week of separation due to working on unrelated cases. They were going to have an early breakfast together at this new diner Flack came across a few blocks from his precinct, and he had so much to tell Flack, such as the new DVD player he bought to record Flack's favorite NHL games and the time Aiden's trousers ripped after it caught on the corner of one of the laboratory tables. Boy, Flack would have laughed his head off listening to him describing Aiden's absolute horror at flashing her black lacy panties at Danny and that lab tech Chad.

The day had started out so damn well, but he knew it was headed for the crapper the instant his mobile phone rang while he was putting on his boots and he was hearing Mac ordering him to be at a crime scene pronto, no delay, no buts about it. Bye bye breakfast with Flack.

Danny puts his spectacles back on, then bows his head in resignation, leaning elbows on knees.

He shuts his eyes, and he's there in that apartment building once more, examining the murder scene with Mac, going through the usual procedures, collecting whatever evidence he encounters and storing them in his silver CSI case to bring back to the labs for processing. He hadn't expected any perps to be lurking around, and he sure as hell hadn't expected one to slam a closet door on him and clobber him to the floor.

Danny touches the white bandage on the left side of his forehead. The graze beneath it will heal before he knows it, and luckily without any scarring.

It only began to prickle when he was dashing down the stairs into the subway station, chasing the perp into a teeming crowd of people who had no clue they were about to get caught in a real life shootout. Then the adrenaline was rushing through his system and all he felt was the kickback of his pistol each time he fired it in the direction of the perp.

God, he'd been so sure he was shooting at the right guy, so damn sure.

How the fuck was he supposed to know there was a third guy in the picture?

A third guy who was a cop. Just like him.

"Shit!"

Danny flings himself backwards onto the couch, itching to hurl something breakable at the nearest wall. He'll never know whether Detective Minhaus truly did identify himself loud enough for him to hear or not, what with the guy's corpse being kept in the morgue.

He's played the incident again and again in his mind, attempting his best to figure out where he went wrong, where it all got shot to hell, literally, and all he can see and hear is Mac.

Mac, sitting behind his desk in a white dress shirt and a white-and-grey tie, his hazel eyes sharp with exasperation and disappointment.

You shot wild, Danny.

In a flash, he's punching the firm cushions of his couch with his right fist, walloping it hard and fast, expelling his pent up frustration in the swiftest way he knows. Part of his brain is telling him to keep going, to let it all out now that he's alone and no one is there to see him come undone at the seams. Another part is telling him he should be grateful it's his sofa and not a wall he's pummeling or he's going to be in even more deep shit with Mac for breaking his hand and putting himself out of commission. Mac already needs all the help he can get to complete the labs' numerous investigations at optimum time and speed.

Within seconds, Danny's outburst of rage is over. Panting softly, he slides down to rest on the abused cushions, lying on his side, returning his gaze to the tantalizing whiskey a mere arm's length away.

No, he didn't shoot wild, damnit. He didn't know there was another guy, he didn't know it was another cop, he didn't know the guy identified himself, he was just doing his job, following protocol -

In his mind, Mac's unforgiving eyes are glaring at him once more.

You're off the promotion grid.

The light glinting off the Jack Daniels bottle is abruptly too bright, and moisture springs to his eyes, blurring everything into indistinct blobs.

He'll never admit it, he'll never admit how much it hurt to hear those words coming from Mac, five words that brought him crashing down quicker and more painfully than a bullet to the gut could. He's worked so hard, so much, giving his all every time for every case because doing any less is offensive, and yes, he does take pride in earning Mac's good graces.

He's worked so hard to gain Mac's respect, and he blew everything because he didn't think.

Why is he so stupid?

What does Flack see in him?

Upon the immediate thought of his best friend and lover, Danny bends his legs up to his chest, curling into a fetal position. His sight distorts even more, stinging with wet warmth.

Oh God, he's such as asshole for how he treated Flack in the diner this afternoon. Flack didn't deserve it at all, especially since the guy hurried from his precinct in record time without so much as one complaint. Flack didn't even yell at him after he lost control of his temper and paranoia and mouthed off about Mac. Not even after he banged his hand on the table and retorted in Flack's face that Flack was just spouting bullshit to make him feel better.

Why is he so stupid?

Danny closes his eyes a second time.

He just wanted to see Flack after what happened.

He just wanted somebody to hear him out, to not condemn him or order him around like he's a fucking imbecile.

He just wanted to see Flack again.

All of a sudden, the darkness surrounding him is oppressive, overpowering, a crushing dead weight on him that constricts his chest and encumbers his muscles. For the first time, it hits him like a ton of bricks how quiet it is in his apartment, how devoid of presence it becomes when it's just him and Flack isn't here.

It must be the ultimate irony to learn the true meaning of loneliness in the same moment he's realizing how acutely he has fallen in love with a certain blue-eyed homicide detective.

A whisper of a name escapes his lips.

To his ears, it resonates in the nothingness around him. He has very little confidence that the person who bears that name will show up at his front door tonight. He doesn't deserve such kindness anyhow.

He isn't certain if he fell asleep. It might have been just an instant or an hour that he lay there with his hands tucked under his head and his legs drawn to his chest. He isn't certain either what prompted him to open his eyes and shift into total alertness.

And then, he hears the knocking on his apartment door.

He goes rigid, his eyes widening in surprise, his hands instinctively tightening into fists. He waits.

A few seconds later, the same staccato of knocks reverberates in the air.

Danny bolts upright so hastily that he's light-headed. He blinks in disbelief.

Can it be? Is he really here?

Did Flack actually hear him whisper his name?

Naturally, as he takes hesitant steps towards his apartment door, logic is informing Danny that's an absurdity unless Flack has superhuman hearing. Logic goes on to rationalize why it can't be Flack who's on the other side of the door, to explain why there's no man in the world who can be so generous and loving and supportive, to persuade Danny to not bother opening the door and just go back to brooding on the couch.

Danny presses his palms against the cool surface of the door.

Once upon a time, he might have listened to that voice in his head, obeyed it and thought no more of it. But that was before he met Flack. Before he found out that listening to that subtle, calm voice in his heart brings him more joy than he's ever imagined.

He gazes through the door's peephole.

It'sFlack.

Danny sucks in a perceptible breath.

It really is Flack, dressed in his classic black jacket, a black t-shirt and jeans. His wavy, thick hair is shiny and wet beneath the illumination of the hallway lights. He must have showered before he came over. There's an undeniable expression of concern on Flack's mien, concern furrowing those masculine eyebrows and downturning those dark pink lips in a manner that makes Danny's heart ache.

Danny looks away from the peephole. Shuts his eyes and sags against the door, his head turned to the side, his right temple pressing on the varnished wood.

Flack's here. Even after the awful way Danny behaved toward him at the diner, he's here.

Danny swallows visibly. His eyes are burning again.

What does Flack see in a jerk like him?

And what has he done to be worthy of someone like Flack in the first place?

Perhaps tonight is the night he'll be granted enlightenment for both questions.

Within a minute, Danny is compelling himself to straighten up, to square his shoulders and eliminate any indication of misery and regret from his face. He breathes in deep a couple more times. Flack's already had to deal with his crap this afternoon, the guy doesn't need to be burdened with more of his problems. He'll exhibit a composed face, show Flack he's okay, that it's not necessary for Flack to trouble himself and stay around to watch over him or something.

Yeah. That's what he'll do. That's what he has to do.

Danny unhooks the chain lock and twists the door's handle.

He opens his apartment door all the way. He senses Flack's intense gaze on him at once. There is only air now in the arm's length of distance between them, air charged with a mounting tension as Flack blatantly inspects him from head to toe and back up. Flack's stare lingers longest upon his face, and he has to clutch the door knob till his knuckles are white to look Flack in the eye and not shy away.

Flack's typically animated face is inscrutable. This unsettles Danny very much.

Is Flack mad at him? Is the guy here to give him a taste of his own umbrage?

Danny scrutinizes Flack like Flack did him. Flack's posture is at odds with that of an angry one. Large hands are tucked with thumbs out in the pockets of dark blue jeans. Long legs are slightly apart in a relaxed stance. Those broad shoulders are also slack, though no less imposing.

It is Flack's big blue eyes, the vehemence in them that pins Danny to the spot.

What if … what if Flack's here to tell him that he's changed his mind? That he's having doubts about their relationship?

That it's over?

The sheer notion forms an iceberg within Danny, freezing his insides with dread, hitching his breath.

God, no, please don't let that be, please don't let Flack abandon him like the rest -

Something aside from equanimity must have revealed itself on his features because Flack's brows are lowering in a frown of concern once more, different from the one he saw before he opened the door, one that's tinged with apprehension too. Flack steps forward to cross the space between them, and Danny steps backwards into his apartment to let the homicide detective enter at last. There's no stopping Flack from coming in, not with an expression like that.

The click of the door shutting is very audible in the inky silence.

They're standing much closer now, barely inches apart. Even in the dimness, Flack's eyes are piercing, saying so much without a spoken word. Danny yearns to touch him. Badly. But then the memory of the dismay on Flack's handsome visage during their short conversation in the diner leaps to the forefront of his mind, and he clings onto the creased cloth of his dress shirt instead. He doesn't want to know what it'll feel like to have Flack recoil from him, not now, not ever.

His fingertips dig into his palms when Flack moves away from him. He isn't aware of it until he sees that Flack is simply removing his jacket and not cringing from him like he assumed. They dig even deeper as he quietly watches Flack hanging it next to his own jacket in the coat cupboard beside the apartment front door.

Flack only stores his jacket in there when he's staying for the night.

Flack's not intending to leave, not tonight.

Unlike the apartment door, the cupboard door closes without so much as a squeak.

Danny raises his head, and he finds Flack staring at him again, deciphering him, assessing him.

His right hand moves on its own accord up and down his left forearm in a nervous motion that he can't quite subdue. He and Flack have been in an intimate relationship for a few months by now, and this is the first time he's incapable of determining what Flack's feeling or thinking.

When Flack chooses to change his face into a blank slate, he does it like a pro, alright.

Danny's lips part, but no sound emanates from between them. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't want to make the mistake of stating the wrong thing, some moronic thing or maybe the worst thing that'll ruin everything he's got going with Flack. He's learned his lesson about letting his big mouth run off the very hard way today. IAB chief Hillbourne, he can brush off. Flack, on the other hand, isn't some random guy whom he can forget exists the moment his shift ends and he's out of the labs like a bat out of hell.

Flack is there with him, around him, inside him. There for him, always. Flack knows him like no one else does, like no one else can ever know him.

He doesn't dare imagine what will happen to him if Flack is no longer there in his life.

He watches Flack reach out a hand towards the wall next to the apartment front door.

There's another clicking noise, and then there is brilliant, warm-hued illumination as the ceiling lights switch on.

In the brightness, Flack's pulchritude is evident a thousand fold. It takes Danny's breath away. With the leather jacket gone, Danny beholds every curve and sinew of Flack's long neck, shoulders and arms. Just gazing at them sends a rapid shiver up his spine. He's remembering what it feels like to nestle his face against that warm neck, what it feels to have those arms round him, grasping him tight as he quakes with pleasure. And it isn't a t-shirt Flack is wearing, it's a tank top, like the one he has on underneath his white dress shirt.

Danny hones his gaze on the lightweight chain necklace hanging around Flack's neck. He had purchased it for Flack a week after the night they solved the murder of that former beauty pageant queen's friend, the night he and Flack went from being mere friends to being more than just friends.

Flack's still wearing it.

"Danny."

Danny almost jumps at Flack murmuring his name. It's much more difficult now to look Flack in the eye, in this light where he can't hide.

This is it, a dismal voice Danny has long been acquainted with mutters inside his head, here we go again, he's gonna tell ya the same old tripe everybody else did, that things aren't working out, that it's not you, it's him, that it's -

Flack has spread his arms wide, with his palms facing up and those big blue eyes are so warm and tender.

When it finally dawns on Danny what Flack is doing, what Flack is offering him without any expectations, a hot wetness gathers behind Danny's eyes. His feet stride forward on impulse. He extends his own arms to envelop them around Flack's torso in a snug embrace, burrowing his cheek in the crook between Flack's neck and shoulder, closing his eyes as Flack pulls him near and squeezes the breath out of him.

"I'm here … I'm not goin' anywhere," Flack whispers into his hair, and Danny rubs his cheek against Flack's neck in unvoiced gratitude.

How does he do it, Danny thinks to himself, how does he know exactly what to say and what to do, every time?

Is this what love is?

Danny contemplates on the consequential notion while he lies in repose between Flack's legs on the couch, his head tucked under Flack's chin, his upper back upon Flack's rising and falling chest, Flack's forearms resting on his belly in a loose hug. He fiddles with Flack's long fingers, studying the calluses, the matte burnish of the trimmed nails.

He knows Flack is staring at the bottle of Johnnie Walker on the coffee table in front of them.

"I've had it for years," Danny says. "Think I bought it 'fore we even met. Thought 'bout goin' to Sullivan's tonight, and then I realized I wanted to get drunk off my ass and I wanted to be alone so nobody would see me make a fool outta myself."

There is no reaction from Flack, apart from Flack intertwining their fingers.

Danny shifts onto his side so he can make eye contact with his friend. He sees no disapproval on Flack's mien or in Flack's eyes, only endearment and empathy.

It encourages him to resume his explanation with, "I was all ready to drink a couple a' glasses at least, ya know? Drown my sorrows and all that crap … but I didn't. I just couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to do it."

Flack angles his head in silent inquiry.

Danny glances downwards at Flack's chest, then mumbles, "I didn't want to disappoint you again."

Flack's fingers gently brush his cheek, and he lifts his head, gazing deeply into Flack's eyes like Flack is into his.

After a hushed minute, Danny says, "I'm sorry, Don. I shoulda listened to you and to Mac. I shoulda stayed home and kept my mouth shut instead of blabberin' to Hillbourne." He swallows hard, blinks then adds in a raspy murmur, "I lost the promotion."

Flack simply caresses the side of his face and draws his head down onto a sturdy shoulder, planting a definite kiss on his forehead, ruffling his hair in consolation. Flack is the one person who knows just how important the promotion to second grade detective was to him. It was his augury, his promising sign that he was walking the right path, that he was doing a good job and Mac was recognizing that.

And now it's gone, and all the damn apologies in the world isn't going to persuade Mac to put him back on the promotion grid.

"You'll be back on the grid, Danny," Flack replies. "Just a matter of time."

Danny sighs. Sometimes he wishes he has even a fraction of Flack's confidence.

He slithers down a bit, resting his head on the left side of Flack's chest, listening to the man's steady heartbeat that never fails to comfort him, vitalize him, renew his hope when it's depleted by the trials of the life he's chosen. One of Flack's large hands is massaging the back of his neck, and it sends him back to that instance in the locker room of the Carmine Recreation Center, that instance when both he and Flack discovered for the first time that their feelings were shared.

That they have loved one another, from the very beginning.

Danny's eyes widen in startling realization.

After all this time … he's yet to say the words to Flack. Those three significant words he's only ever uttered aloud to his cherished mother and his estranged brother so many years ago.

Why hasn't he said them to Flack?

Flack, who's sitting here this very minute, stroking his lower back, gazing at him with those entrancing eyes. Never pressurizing him, never caging him, but always there.

Always there, like the sun.

Without it, the world cannot live.

Without Flack, he doesn't live.

It is a momentous truth that stuns Danny to the core. More so because there is no fear in his heart, none whatsoever.

Is this what love feels like, this indescribable emotion that's driven away the voices of consternation and mistrust from within him?

It's no wonder then that he has avoided commitment his whole life. He's never known what love is at all … until his path merged with Flack's. Until he merged with Flack.

He touches Flack's cheek, in awe of the strength beneath his fingers, the undying resolve of the soul housed in the lean body beneath his on the sofa.

"I love you."

Danny's heart stops.

He blinks hard. The tip of his nose is touching Flack's, and so near as they are, all Danny sees are the vivid blue fathomages of Flack's eyes. His hands move up to cup Flack's handsome face. His brow wrinkles in a bewildered frown.

Wait, if he's not the one who said the words -

"I love you, Danny," Flack murmurs again, and the very second Flack's avowal takes root in his soul, Danny's features are crinkling into a smile of jubilant amazement. It's as if he's become as buoyant as air. There is a heat imbuing his entire being, an exhilarating heat that burns away any remnants of doubt in him and the brief albeit gratified laugh that bursts from his mouth is accompanied by Flack's rumbling, contented chuckle.

Now this, Danny thinks as he laughs faintly with Flack, this is what love feels like.

"I love you, I love you," Danny whispers into Flack's lips. He feels them trembling against his, and he presses their lips together in the first of many impassioned kisses that endure long after they've stumbled their way to the bedroom and they've stripped off their clothes and they're rolling on the bed sheets as if they haven't seen each other forever.

More kisses, more playful tumbling and ardent caresses, and then Danny is on his back, head on a pillow, his legs on Flack's shoulders, his knees on either side of Flack's head. Flack looms above him, smiling down at him, gazing at him, at his hands touching himself between his spread legs. His fingers are slick with lube, and he shivers as he slowly eases the third finger of his right hand in to the knuckle. He's done this numerous times in the last month or so. The difference now is that Flack is here observing every second of him fingering himself, listening to him moan when he inserts his right forefinger as well.

The apparent lust and adoration on Flack's mien triggers another fierce shudder through his body.

Flack notices it and asks, "Does it hurt?"

Danny shakes his head from side to side, wordless due to Flack stroking his inner thighs, fondling his pulsing erection and tracing the very sensitive skin around his fingers pushed inside him. He starts to pant when Flack delicately nudges the stretched entrance to his body using a fingertip.

Before Flack has the chance to open his mouth, Danny whispers in a throaty voice, "S'okay, Don. Do it."

Flack gives him a fervent glance, and then, Flack's right forefinger is sliding into his body, squeezing alongside his fingers, dilating him more than he's ever attempted to do and his eyes widen till the whites are visible at the slight burning sensation. At knowing that there is a part of someone else inside him, a part of Flack inside him for the first time.

Flack.

Danny stares up at the other man, quavering uncontrollably, letting out a whimper when Flack carefully rotates his finger within him. Oh fuck, he felt something, it was fleeting but it felt really good and he wants Flack to touch him there again -

He clasps Flack's right wrist with his left hand, and Flack looks at him with eyes so huge and filled with such reverence.

"Please, Don. Do it now," he whispers another time.

He encircles the fingers of his left hand around Flack's very hard and erect cock, moaning low at feeling and seeing Flack quiver above him. So much dynamism and power in his lover's body, and it's all his,only his, right here, right now.

He shivers hard again, tightening his inner muscles around his fingers and Flack's.

"Danny, I'm bigger than three fingers."

Danny strokes Flack's erection from base to the leaking head, smearing the pre-come with his thumb, biting his lower lip in slight nervousness. Flack isn't exaggerating. The guy is definitely bigger than average, both in girth and length and Danny speculates with a frisson of excitement on how much lube they're going to require just to fit all of Flack inside him.

It's going to get freaking wet.

Flack has pulled out his finger and the bottle of lubricant is already in his hand and now, he's putting on a condom and dumping lube all over his wrapped cock. At least half the bottle.

Danny finds this very amusing.

He snickers, then says affectionately, "Don, don't you think that's a little too much?"

Flack chuckles too, his face ruddy even in the semi-darkness of the bedroom. "Better safe than sorry, babe. I don't wanna hurt you, not the slightest bit."

Danny smiles and touches Flack's cheek. "Don't worry 'bout that. Just go slow, 'kay?"

Flack nods.

They gaze at each other, hovering on the edge of no return, both understanding that this is it, this is their first time and they'll only ever experience this first time once in their entire lifetimes. This first time Danny will receive Flack into his body, to have Flack deep inside him, filling the empty places within him. This first time Flack will see him in such an unguarded, submissive position, this first time Flack will know that he willingly presents himself as such out of love and trust he upholds only for Flack.

Flack's eyes are glistening.

The unreserved tenderness Danny sees in them causes him to choke up with emotion too.

He watches Flack's broad chest expand in one great inhalation. Feels those folded long legs supporting his lower back, those strong arms spreading his raised legs wider, propping them up at the elbows so Flack has the space to lean forward and kiss him on the lips.

Then, he senses the rounded tip of Flack's erection prodding him between his buttocks.

A measured thrust, and Flack is penetrating him with care, pushing in so languorously that Danny feels no pain whatsoever. The lack of it dazes him; having read and heard what he has, he'd wholly anticipated a moderate amount of discomfort at the very least, even with ample lubrication and stretching. Flack is huge and yet … he's flooded only with indescribable rapture that makes him pant for air and groan and stare up at Flack who's staring back into his eyes, caressing the side of his face, towering over him like shelter from a storm.

Oh God, he can feel Flack moving deeper into his body, deeper than his fingers had gone and Flack's opening him up and now he feels the burn -

"Wait."

Danny clutches at Flack's shoulders, involuntarily stiffening and tightening his inner muscles, presuming Flack won't be able to halt and continue thrusting.

But Flack does. Right away.

Danny hisses, then relaxes his body little by little, staring at Flack's visage to determine his lover's emotions. He is flabbergasted by Flack's patience and selflessness.

What strength of will, Danny thinks in admiration as he brushes his hands down Flack's noticeably tremulous arms, what self-restraint Flack must possess to abide by his request in such a moment as this. Flack could have pushed all the way in even though Danny asked him to stop, and Danny wouldn't have blamed him for it. If the situation was reversed, he isn't certain he'd have the steadfastness to go motionless just like this; he's already overwhelmed by every sensation coursing through him as it is.

What must Flack be feeling right now?

For what is probably the tenth time that night, Danny asks himself what he's ever done to deserve a man like the one looking down at him with such inestimable love.

"Are you alright?" Flack whispers.

Danny can hear the very slight tremor in Flack's voice. He's never heard Flack sound this way before, and it dawns on him just how much of a struggle it is for Flack to stay immobile, to not thrust all the way in and possibly injure him.

Danny blinks a few times to clear his vision.

"I'm good," he answers, and his voice is equally soft and husky. He slides one hand behind Flack, squeezing one side of Flack's firm buttocks, tugging Flack forward. "It's okay, Don. Move. Fill me up."

Flack gasps.

Danny draws in a shaky breath, then goes limp.

And in two more careful thrusts, Flack's thighs are touching his backside.

A sharp groan resounds in the dimly lit bedroom.

"Danny?"

Flack's stroking his face, murmuring his name a second time but he merely replies with a faint moan and shallow, quick breaths.

God,oh God, he never thought it would feel this good.

Danny's helpless against the irrepressible pleasure surging through him. It's blowing his mind six ways to Sunday, consuming him from the inside out like a tsunami swelling and spilling out in a vast circle that grows wider and wider. He feels so full, so unbelievably close to bursting and so fucking good and he moans and whimpers as he grinds against Flack, craving to drive Flack deeper inside him than he already is. He tosses his head on the pillow, arches off the bed, groping at Flack's head and shoulders and arms. Cries out when Flack begins to withdraw.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, he can't stand it, he's already there at the edge and just one more thrust is -

"Danny,shh, Danny, babe …"

They're touching foreheads now, their breaths mingling and Flack is absolutely immobile, buried deep within him again, and Flack being so immobile is the one thing arresting the orgasmic tide that threatens to engulf him -

"Don, I'm so close," he says hoarsely, in a voice that sounds one syllable away from another groan or perhaps a shout. He binds his arms tight around Flack's hunched shoulders and gazes into Flack's blue eyes with half-lidded ones. "So close, so -"

"Sshhh, it's okay, I'm not movin', I'm not movin' …"

Five seconds crawl by. Ten. Fifteen.

By the twentieth, Danny's body is easing up once more. The toe-curling urgency for release is receding, and Danny sucks in a breath, then another, and then his eyelids are fluttering as Flack kisses him softly.

"Tell me how ya feel," Flack whispers upon the left corner of his lips.

Danny tentatively constricts his inner muscles around Flack, feeling the shudder travel through Flack's sleek, lean body, the instinctive corkscrew of those powerful hips against his upturned bottom. He hisses in pleasure. Ohh, Flack's rubbing that sensitive spot inside him again. This time the sensation is gratifying twentyfold.

"So full," Danny murmurs when he finally can, swallowing visibly, then adding, "Like I can feel ya … all the way up … to my throat."

Flack's low chuckle keeps his orgasm at bay.

"I know I'm big, but I ain't that big."

Danny huffs out a chuckle too, and all of a sudden, he's torn between laughing some more and yelling his bliss when Flack pulls out halfway and thrusts back in, corkscrewing his hips like he did minutes ago. Something's changed in Flack's body movements, as if he's unraveling and he's beginning to lose control of himself.

Danny bites his lower lip hard.

Oh yeah, oh fuck yeah, Danny wants to see Flack lose it big time.

"I'm sorry, I gotta move," Flack's rambling in a guilty tone, "I gotta move, you feel so -"

Flack is out till only the tip is inside and in a flash, Flack's pistoning his hips back and forth, shoving in to the hilt then withdrawing then pushing back inside at a rapid, breathtaking pace. Danny's quivering from head to toe, groaning and gasping and oh fuck, fuck, Flack's striking that perfect place within him with unerring accuracy now, and he arcs his neck and lets out a piercing cry at a particularly deep thrust.

"Sohot … ya feel so good, Danny …"

Flack's hands are gripping his shins, maneuvering his legs higher and wider apart, his knees almost touching his own shoulders. Danny doesn't feel the strain in his curved lower back at all, or the stretch of his inner thighs. He's staring with humongous eyes at the view of Flack sliding in and out between his spread legs, a loud moan impelled from his gaping mouth every time Flack fills him till he can't catch his breath, can't move, can't think, can't stop, can'tstopcan'tstopcan'tstop -

"Yeah, that's it, babe," Flack rasps against his cheek between harsh pants. "Show me how ya feel … I wanna seeyou …"

The colossal wave is rising above him again, and he's right there at the precipice and ohGodohGod, he's going to plunge over the edge -

"Tell me how ya feel, Danny … tell me."

In one inert moment, the sounds of the world abate into a calm silence. Everything decelerates into taut stillness, everything except Flack whose face is just inches away from his, flushed and glowing and so damn alive. A single sweat drop rolls down past Flack's right eye, down a high cheekbone and down some more to a distinct jaw line. Danny's eyes follow it to the center of Flack's chin and it dangles there, one second away from relinquishing its pale, warm perch, just like he's one second away from coming so fucking hard.

Flack's eyes are so big and such a dazzling blue and those dark pink lips are parted and Danny's abruptly yearning to kiss Flack again.

The sweat drop plummets down to land directly on the Adam's apple of Danny's neck.

Time resumes its march forward, and Danny's voice is freed.

"I feel you."

Danny's orgasm is akin to a supernova inside his convulsing body. It explodes, zigzagging bolts of consummate pleasure through his system, launching him into overdrive, causing intense bursts of white behind his flickering eyelids. Flack is still thrusting in and out of him, deep albeit erratic movements now and each one somehow prolongs his pleasure almost beyond tolerance. Something wet splatters his heaving chest and belly.

Ages later, a remote part of his brain that remains functional is imploring him to open his eyes and look up, and he does so and sees Flack at the apex of his own physical euphoria. Mouth agape, large hands fisting in the bedcovers, the muscles of that well-built body thrown into dramatic relief beneath the moonlight.

So beautiful, a voice in Danny's heart murmurs while he strokes Flack's face and neck and then gathers his limber, very satiated lover into his arms, and I'm the only one who has the privilege of seeing him uninhibited, as he truly is. Mine, all mine.

More centuries pass in a profound, serene hush, broken only by their murmurs of sweet nothings to each other and contented sighs. When Flack attempts to get up on all fours, Danny tautens his arms around Flack's midriff and his legs around Flack's hips and turns himself into a human straitjacket, laughing with Flack who tickles his flanks in good-natured retaliation.

"I just wanna get a cloth to clean us up, 'kay?" Flack says after a minute, sending him an affectionate smile.

Danny nods in reply. He returns his lover's smile with his own tender one, and the instant Flack clambers off the bed, Danny already misses him like crazy and aches for Flack to come back. He shuts his eyes. His right hand skims down his relaxed body to the tingling dampness between his legs, and he nibbles on his lower lip, recollecting the extraordinary sensations of Flack within him, like two pieces of a puzzle that fit flawlessly together.

God, he'll never be the same, ever again.

How could he not change after experiencing Flack's love and passion at their fullest?

Love and passion for him.

There's something moist and smooth rubbing at his belly and groin, and he opens his eyes and watches Flack wiping him with a wet cloth, taking extra care between his thighs. The other man's concentration and thoughtfulness brings another loving smile to his visage. He is, quite possibly, the luckiest bastard alive to be the recipient of Flack's adoration and respect, and he hopes he won't ever be stupid enough to fuck things up and lose Flack.

He stretches out his arms towards Flack once Flack's dropped the used cloth on the bedside table nearby. Without any verbal prompting, Flack immediately climbs back into bed, tugging the blanket up and over them, enclosing muscular, reassuring arms around him like he is around Flack's torso. He nuzzles his face into Flack's warm neck, sniffing a few times. Flack smells so good. It's insane, he knows, but put him in a room crowded with people and he'll still be able to point Flack out by the man's natural scent alone.

He wants to amuse Flack with this. His lips part. However, it's a lengthy yawn that emerges from his mouth. His eyes flutter close. Flack's running fingers through his hair, and it feels really good. Everything Flack does to and for him is always good.

Afterwards, he opens his eyes to slits and gazes through his bedroom windows.

Huh. It's already daybreak.

He blinks. No, he isn't seeing things. The sky is just starting to become luminous shades of reds and golds, and Danny thinks the New York sunrise is an utterly stunning spectacle.

It's nothing compared to seeing a very handsome and naked homicide detective lying on his side facing him, though.

Danny blinks again. Flack is caressing his cheek with the back of his fingers, and the man's face is crinkled in a very fond smile brighter than the sunshine flooding into the room through the windows.

Well, this is unusual, Danny thinks to himself. The sun is rising outside and yet, it really, really feels like the sun is rising within his chest instead.

Danny's lips curve up into a broad smile.

Wow. So this is what it feels like to be happy. Really happy.

"Good mornin'," Flack murmurs.

Danny chuckles quietly, wriggling closer to Flack under the beige-colored blanket. "It is."

Flack's pearly teeth display themselves in a pleased grin. Long fingers glide up the side of Danny's face to a high forehead and then Flack asks, "Does it still hurt?"

Danny blinks a third time. Hurt? What's Flack referring to -

Oh.

Danny's mien heats up. He squirms and unconsciously rubs his thighs together.

"No," he says with what he hopes isn't a self-conscious tone. "Maybe just a little bit in the beginnin', but …"

Danny trails off into a bemused silence. Huh? Why's Flack smirking like that?

"Actually," Flack says, grinning wider than ever, "I was askin' ya whether the cut on yer forehead still hurts."

Flack's fingers brush against something adhering to the left side of his forehead, and Danny wriggles a hand out from underneath the blanket to touch his forehead where Flack's fingers are.

Ohh, the bandaged graze he received due to yesterday's incident. He'd completely forgotten about it.

"Uhm, no," Danny replies. "No, it's not hurtin'. Didn't even remember 'bout it till ya asked."

Ah, damnit, his face must be beet red.

It's Flack's turn to chuckle. Then, Flack's expression becomes somber in concern.

"So it did hurt?"

Danny is swift to assuage his lover, and he shakes his head in a negative on the pillow, stroking the side of Flack's head and thick hair.

"Nah, I just had to get used to it, ya know? Never had somethin' that big go in th- …" - he shrugs one shoulder - "Ya know what I mean."

He really, really wishes he could control his blushing.

"So it was good for you too?" Flack says. The worry has disappeared from Flack's big blue eyes.

"It was very good." Danny gives the other man a sultry gaze from beneath his eyelids. "You were very good."

If anyone ever objects to him stating it's feasible for a man to literally grin from ear to ear, he'll tell them straight that he's seen it with his own eyes, and that Flack is probably the one man on earth who can do it with equal amounts of finesse and dorkiness. Flack's extensive smile is so contagious he's smiling once more himself, his shoulders quivering in mirth.

"You're such a dork," he says in immense affection. He glances down at Flack's arched lips. Seeing them transports him back to the moment he was staring at them as Flack moved in and out of him, the moment before he collided with nirvana and became one with the man lying so near and yet so far away from him.

Danny closes his eyes and slants his head forward, his lips puckered and ready for the first kiss of the morning.

And to his surprise, they land on what feels much more like the back of fingers than another pair of firm lips.

Flack is plastering one hand over his mouth.

Danny's brows wrinkle in a mild, mystified frown. He releases a questioning sound from between pursed lips.

"Dragon breath," Flack mumbles from behind his hand, and then Danny's sniggering, shaking his head in amusement. Dragon breath, heh. He won't even care if the guy had sewerbreath right now.

"Silly."

He moves Flack's hand away. Flack's lips are dry but he soon stops thinking about that after Flack's hands cup his face and Flack is kissing him back, mouths open and tongues touching. Where did Flack learn to kiss like this?

In a while, they separate with much unwillingness. They rest on their sides, facing each other as they were before, inches of distance between their complacent bodies.

Two seconds tick by.

Then, Danny reaches for one of Flack's hands and places it back over Flack's mouth.

They stare at each other for a couple more seconds, Flack peering over the length of his thumb with crinkled eyes and Danny maintaining a straight face.

Another two seconds pass.

Using his free hand, Flack grasps one of Danny's hands and places it over the CSI's mouth.

Without ado, they're giggling at each other behind their hands, shifting their heads forwards at the same time to touch their foreheads together and laugh some more. Danny's never laughed like this in bed before and he's sure he's never laughed like this with anyone in the past either and in some inexplicable way, it's just right that it's Flack with whom he's laughing like this. Flack, one of the most accomplished homicide detectives in the city. Flack, his most faithful, dependable, kindhearted best friend since the day they met. Flack, the man he's loved since the day they laid eyes on one another.

Flack, the man who loves him in return. Completely.

"We'll put a glass a' water by the bed next time," Flack says.

One of Danny's eyebrows lifts in accompaniment to his question that is, "That mean we gonna keep dancin' the horizontal tango, Don?"

Flack gives him a tender smile. "If you wish."

Danny snuggles with Flack, tucking the blanket around their necks. He kisses Flack on the cheek.

"I wish."

"Mmm."

Danny's eyes flicker shut. Flack's ruffling his hair in a manner similar to last night, and it really does soothe him, banishing his anxieties and his sadness, helping him to leave behind the horror of the wrongful death of an undercover cop and the pain of losing Mac's respect. As long as he has Flack, he'll be alright. As long as he has Flack, he'll always have the strength to deal with the world.

Danny drifts into a light nap. He senses more than hears Flack murmur against his cheek that he's going to use the bathroom first. Senses the kiss Flack plants on the center of his forehead, Flack getting out of bed, Flack rearranging the blanket around his shoulders and tapping the tip of his nose, Flack ambling away from the bed.

When he reawakens, Danny's alone in the bedroom. His initial thought is that Flack has left, that maybe the regret hit Flack in the bathroom where he had more personal space and Flack took the opportunity to make a run for it while he was asleep. For a quarter of a millisecond, Danny believes that.

Then the very familiar aroma of fried ham and eggs assails his nostrils.

Danny sits up on the bed, the blanket slipping from his shoulders. He inhales deeply. A smile tinted with amazement lights up his features.

No way. Flack's cooking breakfast?

He flings the blanket aside, plucks his glasses from the bedside table and puts them on. He bounces off the bed, walks to his closet, taking out his favorite robe with a sash around the middle and donning it. It's an exquisite dark blue and it's silky and comfy and just the way he likes it. He's looking down at his waist as he ties the cloth belt and therefore doesn't notice the white, foamy squiggles on his bathroom mirror until he raises his head.

It takes him approximately three seconds to figure out what Flack had done and with what.

He's damn glad he's on his own in the bathroom. He has no clue how to describe what he's feeling while he gazes at the gigantic heart Flack's drawn with shaving cream and the roundish words beside it spelling, "You're looking at the man who's stolen my heart!"

Flack will just freaking laugh at him if the guy saw him this very moment and realized he's this close to sniffling and doing a few other embarrassing things. Geez, what a sentimental idiot he is sometimes.

Refreshed and clean, Danny saunters into the kitchen a short time later. Flack is in a pair of boxers, standing at the stove, using the frying spatula to scoop out newly fried sausages from the frying pan onto two plates. Flack's back is turned towards him. Danny takes advantage of this and tiptoes up to Flack, waiting for Flack to put down the frying pan before catching the man unawares with a bear hug from behind.

"Whoa!" Flack exclaims. He turns his head to glance back at Danny from the corner of his eye.

"Good mornin'." Flack grins. "Again."

Breakfast is a pleasant, starry-eyed affair. Flack hardly keeps his eyes off Danny, and Danny basks in his lover's devoted attention, playing footsie with Flack under the table whenever the compulsion comes to him. No one stares at him the way Flack does. Even now, after everything they've experienced together and how intimate they've become, he doesn't comprehend what's so interesting about his face that would captivate Flack so much. But he's not going to complain. There's nothing that shoots him up to cloud nine quite like Flack, a gorgeous, magnificent man like Flack, staring at him as if he's all that exists in the universe.

And how lucky for him, Flack's tremendously easy on the eyes too.

The small, black radio by the kitchen sink is switched on. Flack's changed the channel to a station playing nostalgic oldies, and there's something very, very adorable about Flack singing along to a song and attempting to be a classy serenader from the 1950s.

"Oohh, honey, picture you upon my knee, with tea for two and two for tea … just me for you and you for me aloooooone ..."

Flack jumps off his chair and holds out his hands for Danny to grab them. Danny does so with a gleeful cackle, having anticipated what Flack intends to do.

"Nobody near us, to see us or hear us … no friends or relations on weekend vacations ..."

They're in the living area, and they're slow dancing, Flack leading and Danny all too happy to follow the taller man's effortless steps.

"We won't have it known, dear … that we own a telephoooone,deaaar "

Flack spins them around and Danny laughs into Flack's long, warm neck, feeling absurdly jubilant. Like he's floating in the air, far above the confines of gravity and physics.

"We will raise a faaaaaaamily … a cat for you, and a dog for meeee ..."

Danny chuckles a second time, pinching Flack's cheek. It's just like Flack to alter the lyrics to make him laugh. Only Flack would ever think of giving him a cat.

"Oh, can't you see … how happy we wiiiill beeeeeeee?"

They're slowing to a standstill now, holding hands and Flack's eyes are filled with such intense emotion that Danny is powerless to look away.

And suddenly, the answer to the riddle that has lingered in his mind since last night materializes, the answer to the question of what he's ever done to deserve Flack's love.

Love doesn't need a reason to be. It doesn't expect rewards in return for deeds, neither does it expect someone to change into somebody else in order for it to be. It doesn't exist in denial or lies, and it certainly doesn't allow selfishness or pride or fear to rule it.

Love simply is … and somebody up there must truly favor him because Flack loves him without needing a reason, without expecting something in return, without expecting him to change into someone else to suit a deceitful fantasy.

He really is the luckiest sonofabitch in the universe.

"Can't you see how happy we will be, Danny?" Flack murmurs, his eyes gleaming under the sunlight, and Danny smiles up at his other half, responding in the form of a kiss to one of Flack's palms.

He doesn't see it.

Heknows it.

( Oooo …... oooO )

There are reddish circles around Danny's closed eyes, visible even in the shadows of the bedroom.

It perturbs Flack to see them. They remind him of Danny's sorrow, and thinking of Danny's sorrow forces his mind into reliving today's events in full Technicolor. Flack leans back on the chair he's sitting on next to Danny's bed, running a hand down his face.

He was the first to find out what befell Danny's older brother. Dispatch's standard report of a random man badly beaten up and left for dead in an alley didn't alert him in any way. This is New York city. Senseless, violent acts are happening every minute and him being a homicide detective, he has a firsthand view of the grisly consequences every day. What got the hair on the back of his neck standing on end was picking up his ringing mobile phone a minute afterward and hearing Roskas, a colleague from his precinct, say, "Hey, Flack, isn't one of your CSI pals called Messer?"

Flack was already sprinting through the corridors of the labs to Mac's office while Roskas informed him the assault victim bore the name of Louie Messer and looked like a raw piece of bloody meat that met the bad end of a baseball bat.

The shock on Mac's slack face at the news echoed his own.

And Danny's voice so small and broken when he called Danny up had caused his hands to coil into furious fists itching to batter a certain Tanglewood Boy's ugly, snide face.

You're fucking going DOWN, Sassone.

Flack sighs heavily. He glances at Danny and lets his gaze traverse along the sleeping man's supine body. Danny has his white tank top and boxers on beneath the thick blanket swathing him. If Flack hadn't coaxed the exhausted man into getting out of his clothes, Danny would have collapsed into bed, jacket, shoes and all and just laid there like a log, dead to the world.

Still, Danny sleeping with his clothes on in bed is anything better than Danny standing outside the hospital, retreated deep into himself, bawling his eyes out and not giving a shit that people are seeing him so vulnerable and defenseless. Like a child gone astray. Like a little boy who's lost a big brother whom he always loved.

Tonight is the first time Flack ever witnessed Danny cry like that.

He'd been in his car, his hands clutching the steering wheel so hard they tingled from the pressure. He was parked near the hospital entrance, and he was just about to open the car door when he saw Danny walk through the sliding glass doors and out into the open, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, head bowed low. Even in the darkness of night, Flack could clearly see the grief-stricken composition of Danny's haggard features. Even in the car, with dozens of feet of space separating them, Flack could see the glistening of Danny's eyes.

Then he spotted Mac striding into view from the right, approaching Danny with unhurried steps. Mac's mouth opened in what was most likely an inquiry about Louie and in response, Danny shook his head from side to side. Not positive news. Danny appeared to say something to Mac. And then, Danny was dipping his head, his face crumpling, his shoulders quaking, and Mac was hauling the crying man into a consoling embrace, one hand behind Danny's neck and the other patting Danny on the shoulder.

It was fated, Flack thinks, that he had clung onto the steering wheel. Had his fingers been on the key in the ignition, he would have turned it and driven like a mad man all the way to the jail confining that bastard Sassone and fired his gun into the mobster's kneecaps. Just for starters.

His hands only loosened after Mac departed. Judging from Mac having had to listen to his mobile phone and then squeeze Danny's shoulder in an apologetic fashion, Flack surmised Mac had no choice but attend to some important matter. In all probability, something related to one of the CSI's many ongoing investigations. He watched Danny shuffling to sit on a bench to the right of the hospital's main entrance, shoulders drooping, hands back in his jacket's pockets as if they were cold and Danny was trying in vain to warm them.

Danny wiping at a tear-streaked mien was what spurred Flack to scramble out of his car at last and walk briskly to where Danny sat. He was prepared for Danny to snap at him, like the guy did in that diner during the Minhaus shooting debacle months ago. Danny had been very close to tears then as well. And what happened to Louie, that'smuch worse than what happened with Minhaus. Minhaus was some undercover cop neither he or Danny knew.

Louie is Danny's family. Danny's flesh and blood.

Danny's sole brother.

When Danny realized Flack was standing there in front of the bench, Danny raised his head to look at him. Flack tensed in readiness for a glare, at the very least, or some bitter comment ordering him to go away because Danny didn't want him to see him like this. Danny's rather unpredictable whenever he's undergoing emotional turmoil and massive stress, Flack knows.

He definitely didn't expect the wavering albeit grateful smile gracing Danny's lips upon eye contact.

Flack had yearned so bad to hug Danny right there and then. He didn't have the chance earlier in the day while the doctors were treating Louie, and Mac and Lindsay were there in the hospital waiting area with them. Despite that, he made certain Danny understood he was going to be there for his best friend, his lover. He couldn't say the words he truly wanted, but he still managed to tell Danny his heart's contents in his forthright pledge to Mac to watch over Danny.

We ain't goin' anywhere.

The trust in Danny's large eyes and Danny's nods of acknowledgement then were all that was necessary for him to know his message had gotten through. Just like all he needed to know that Danny, even after crying in Mac's presence, wanted him near was one meaningful glance and the grazing of their arms as they walked side by side into the hospital to see Louie one last time before heading home.

"Mmmph."

Flack jolts out of his reminiscence. His gaze flit to Danny's face and he sees that Danny's brows are furrowed in a troubled frown. A frown also twists Flack's visage. Damnit, even in slumber, Danny's distress won't let the man be.

"Sshhh." Flack strokes Danny's closest bristly cheek with his fingers. "I'm here."

Danny's forehead smoothens instantaneously.

Flack brushes his fingers against Danny's cheek for some time. The sleeping man's face had been so wan hours earlier, when they arrived at Danny's apartment building. Flack had to open the car's passenger door and help Danny unclip the seat belt and lift Danny by the arms out of the vehicle. Flack then had to half-carry half-guide Danny into the building, up the elevator and down the hallway to Danny's apartment door. Not once did he grumble about lugging Danny around. He'd been too anxious over Danny's hands trembling so much and the alarming weakness in Danny's body and legs to even think about himself.

He led Danny straight to the bedroom. Sat the groggy man on the bed and told Danny to strip to his underwear so he could rest in comfort. After that, he went to the kitchen and speedily slapped together a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and poured hot water into a cup. Some food and a hot drink would bring color back to Danny's pallid complexion.

Danny didn't budge an inch the whole time he was in the kitchen. Flack wasted no time fretting over this and silently removed Danny's jacket, trousers, socks and shoes. Next, he handed Danny the sandwich he'd placed on the bedside table after entering the bedroom and monitored Danny eating the entire sandwich and drinking all the hot water. Danny gulping down everything was an encouraging sign.

Tucking Danny into bed was the unpredictably challenging part. As soon as Flack attempted to lay Danny down on the mattress, Danny would struggle back up, mumbling in a panicky tone about needing to be at the hospital to be there when Louie awakens. Flack's eyes were stinging by the time he succeeded in calming Danny into a doze.

He'd spoken with one of the doctors ministering to Louie.

He knows Louie's chances for recovery are next to zero.

Flack sighs another time. Then, he straightens up on his seat.

Danny's eyes are half-open, staring blearily at him.

Flack runs fingers through Danny's short hair and murmurs, "Did I wake you up? I'm sorry 'bout that."

Danny doesn't reply. The recumbent CSI simply continues to stare at him, that attractive visage an eerie blank slate. The lack of expression disconcerts him; one of the things he loves so much about Danny is the man's lively, emphatic face and how he can interpret the precise emotion Danny's feeling at any given moment. He begins to withdraw his hand.

"If ya wanna be alone, I don't mind goin' to the livin' roo-"

Flack's statement ends in a muted gasp. Danny's seized his wrist, pulling him onto the bed and he's careful as he crawls over Danny to the empty side of the bed.

"Okay, I'm stayin' ... I'm stayin', see?" he says to comfort Danny who's rolled onto his side to face Flack.

Flack toes off his socks and shoes over the edge of the mattress and unknots his tie. He's unfastening the uppermost button of his dress shirt when he senses another pair of hands at his chest. Danny's gotten up and is batting his hands away, tackling the unbuttoning job in his place.

The first five seconds, Flack permits Danny to do it, scrutinizing Danny in evident unease.

Then, alarm bells are buzzing away in his head.

Danny's stripping off his dress shirt in jerky motions. It's almost as if Danny's trying to rip it off his torso, as if the guy can't endure him wearing the damn article of clothing for a moment longer.

"Dan-"

Flack finally receives the first glower of frustration from Danny for the night. It's a sharp, evocative one that pins Flack to the spot. Danny's hands are fisting in the thin material of the tank top he usually wears underneath his dress shirt, and one, two hard yanks on it and it dawns on Flack what Danny wants from him.

He gently detaches Danny's hands from his creased tank top. He sends Danny a benevolent smile, then takes off the tank top himself, letting it fall onto the floor where his dress shirt and tie are. He also unbuckles his belt and slips off his pants and chucks them onto the floor. Now he's merely wearing white boxers.

He gazes at Danny and sees that Danny is also bare-chested, tank top rolled up in a ball on the bed. Danny has that look in his red-rimmed eyes once more, that look he had in front of the hospital just before he broke down and cried.

Flack waits.

And then, the cracks in Danny's vacant mask are baring themselves, baring Danny's true state of mind.

"It's my fault, it's my fault they beat him up so bad," he hears Danny utter in a shattered, dispirited voice, and Danny's diving into his snug embrace, squeezing his torso so tight, nestling a damp face into the crook between his neck and shoulder and sobbing the same excruciating sentence over and over. It rips at Flack's heart.

"No,no, that's not true," Flack avows with pronounced kindness, stroking the back of Danny's head and shuddering shoulders and back. "It's not your fault, you can't blame yourself, it's not your fault …"

Danny's cry of despair is a sound Flack never wishes to hear ever again.

Later, much later, Danny is curled in a fetal position on the bed. He is in a deep sleep from fatigue, encircled within the sanctuary of Flack's arms and legs. The skin around Danny's eyes are more puffy now although the misery that contorted his features earlier is considerably less. Danny's drained himself dry through the many tears he shed, and Flack empathizes well with the feeling. His own blue eyes are sore. There are still minuscule traces of moisture left upon his cheeks.

He shifts a bit to relieve the numbness in his right arm that's under Danny's head. The instant he does, Danny's clamping arms around his chest so hard that the breath whooshes out of him. He swiftly whispers words of solace, rolling onto his back, bringing Danny up with him. Danny remains asleep throughout.

Flack winds up staring at the ceiling of Danny's bedroom as he caresses the back of Danny's head and neck with one hand. Danny's clinging to him tighter than a boa constrictor but it doesn't bother him at all; the stark image of Mac hugging Danny while Danny cried is at the forefront of his thoughts.

Danny had accepted Mac's sympathy, allowing Mac to embrace him and let him weep on a solid shoulder.

The thing is, Danny's hands had stayed put in the pockets of his jacket. Danny never reciprocated the gesture, never wholly opened up to Mac. Regained his composure as soon as he was able to do so and slammed the lid on his anguish.

And yet, Danny's right here, arms taut around Flack's torso, head burrowed under Flack's chin. Worn out after confessing the most secreted and agonized emotions from the heart, emotions and notions anyone would have passed judgement on without a second thought.

Anyone, except him.

Flack is very humbled by this, by the realization that Danny has such deep-seated faith in him. That he is the one Danny runs to in time of hardship. That he is the one Danny trusts will never hurt him, the one Danny will always find reliable.

That he is the one Danny loves, no matter what happens.

The blanket has slid down to their waists, and Flack uses his unengaged hand to tug the blanket back up to their shoulders. It's nice that it's dark in the bedroom. His eyes are stinging again, and the last thing he needs is a blinding light to make his vision more fuzzy than it already is.

Unlike Danny, he can't sleep and so, he spends the rest of the night ruminating on what he and Danny are going to do tomorrow, where they're going to eat breakfast, what time Danny wants to be at the hospital to check on Louie, whether they'll meet up later in the day or evening … the list goes on. He knows Danny will want him there as much as possible.

And in the morning, he knows that things are going to be alright one way or another when Danny rouses and nuzzles his face in silent appreciation.

"It's okay, I'm not goin' anywhere," Flack murmurs into Danny's lips, meaning every word. "We ain't goin' anywhere."

( Oooo …... oooO )

It's drizzling. It's one of those occasional mild rains with diffused sunshine and cooling breezes, and the resonance of water droplets upon the windows of Flack's bedroom is soothing.

Well. It would be soothing to his ears if he isn't suffering from a fever, a sore throat and a runny nose this very minute.

"See, this is what ya get for runnin' around in the rain all day," Danny mutters while attempting to spoonfeed him some delectable cream of mushroom chicken soup.

"Bu' I haaaaad tooooo," Flack replies in a rough voice that's giving the Godfather a run for his money, "I hadta chase that perp or he was gonna geddaway!"

Danny simply makes a tsk tsk noise with his tongue and shakes his head.

It's Sunday afternoon, and today's Sunday was supposed to be a good one because he and Danny are off duty and it's so infrequent that they have the chance to spend a full day together and do stuff unconnected to work. But noooo, his body had to go and fall ill on him and now, he's sprawled on his bed under two blankets, a moist cloth on his burning forehead and Danny's sitting on the side of the bed with a giant bowl of broth in hand, teasing him into swallowing down every last drop.

Stupid body, Flack thinks with a pout, why couldn't it have fallen sick some other day?

On the other hand, if he hadn't become unwell, Danny won't be spoiling him like this. Hmmm. Perhaps he should enjoy this while he can.

"C'mon, one more mouthful."

Flack senses the warm edge of the spoon nudging at his lower lip.

"C'mon, just a few more and you're done."

Flack can't stop himself from smiling, as woozy and sluggish as he's feeling at the moment. Danny is so cute when the guy's acting like a mother hen. Of course, he's smarter than to mention that aloud.

Instead, he says, "Yes, Ma," then opens his mouth to accept another spoonful of soup. Mmm, Danny sure knows how to cook yummy soup.

"Ya owe me big. Like, two weeksvisitin' every exhibit in the Met big, ya hear me?"

Uh oh, Danny's waving the spoon around and giving him theyou're-in-big-trouble-misterlook. It might have worked if it came from his real mother. Coming from Danny, it just gave Flack a considerable urge to pinch Danny's chipmunk cheeks and tell his smart geek of a lover how delightful he is.

"I was gonna go out and do excitin' things today, ya know that?" Danny grumbles on. "Go to the beach or somethin', watch a movie, play some hoops but here I am, bein' yer nurse, ya big baby."

Flack has to bite his lower lip very hard to not snicker.

Danny's so funny. It's raining, which obviously means Danny's not in the mood to do anything outdoors and would rather stay in and have a cup of tea and watch the television or read a book. He knows Danny too well.

"What's so funny, hmm? There somethin' funny ya wanna share?"

Flack peers up at Danny over the hem of the blankets swaddling him. Ooooh, Danny looks annoyed.

Too bad he's detected the telltale twitch of Danny's lips.

"No, Ma."

A loaded silence follows his answer.

They stare at each other for a minute, their faces deadpan. Then, Danny's eyes narrow into deadly slits. His lips thin into a line.

"You call me Ma one more time, and I'm walkin' outta here."

More often than not, Flack is a first-class artiste of poker faces. This time, however, handicapped by poor health as he is, he has to expendevery scrap of determination to sustain one.

Will Danny strangle him if he comments that Danny appears just like a cuddly teddy bear having a hissy fit?

Flack pulls the blankets over his nose and mouth.

He delays the inevitable for another three seconds.

And then, gazing at Danny with very sprightly eyes, he rasps aloud, "Yes,Ma."

He yanks the blankets over his head. Hidden under the soft, cozy refuge of light blue cloth, his visage finally cracks into an expression of great amusement, his grin so wide his eyes scrunch shut. He tenses up from head to toe, all set for some sort of good-humored revenge Danny will inflict upon him.

Twenty full seconds tick by with no action whatsoever.

Fever-weak or not, Flack's brain soon decides that something's wrong and that Flack should really check out what Danny's doing. He lowers the blankets from his face inch by inch.

The first and last thing he sees is Danny above him, on the bed on all fours and baring those baby fangs in a roguish grin. He scarcely has the time to yelp out a strident, high-pitched, "Oh SHI-" before Danny's scuttling beneath the blankets, tickling him all over his torso, scratching at his sides and underarms and driving him crazy with laughter.

"Ya wanna say that again, Don? Huh, huh, do ya!"

Flack is laughing so hard all he can do is writhe and roll around on the mattress in a futile effort to escape Danny's tormenting fingers. Danny's laughing as well, and from the sound of it, Danny's having an absolute blast at his expense. He flips onto his belly in the hopes of halting Danny's tickle attack but he ends up exposing the back of his neck, the most ticklish spot of all.

"GOTCHA!"

Flack hunches his shoulders as much as he can, endeavoring his best to slap Danny's hands away. He can't see anything. His face is buried in one of the pillows and the pillow's muffling his uncontrollable cackles. He's been reduced to a mindless mass of thrashing limbs and it took just two adroit hands to do it. Oh damn, why did he tell Danny all his weak spots -

Out of the blue, he is beset by a coughing fit. It's a nasty one that causes tears to spring to his eyes and his chest to ache. From a distance, he feels Danny's hand smacking his upper back, hears Danny saying something that sounds garbled to his ears.

"Are you okay?" Danny asks him a while later.

Flack rubs his eyes, then squints up at the other man. There's an apologetic smile on Danny's mien.

Flack smiles in return and replies in a very croaky voice, "Yeah." Whoa, did he just sound like the Cookie Monster or what. He clears his throat. Huh, all that laughing didn't make his sore throat any worse. In fact, he feels better.

Whoever said laughter is the best medicine really does have a point.

"I'll get some water," Danny says softly, stroking his cheek and he nods, delighting in Danny tucking the blankets around his shoulders and patting the damp cloth back onto his forehead. It must have fallen off during their tickle bout.

And yes, he admits it, he loves it when Danny shows his protective, affectionate side.

He's the lucky guy who reaps the benefits, after all.

The drizzle persists for over an hour. Now, Danny's in bed with him too, and he's lying on his back while Danny's on his side, holding him in a loose hug. Their sock-covered feet are sticking out from beneath the blankets. Flack thinks bright red socks suit Danny quite well, for some reason unknown even to him.

He shuts his eyes and listens to the falling rain for some time. He doesn't feel so feverish anymore. The chills are gone, for one. His mind is also much more focused.

"I wish I could show the world what a great guy I've got," he says.

Danny's patting his shoulder, but the motion ceases as soon as the words glide off his tongue.

A moment's quiet, then Danny murmurs, "Ya know that can't happen."

Flack opens his eyes and turns his head to look at Danny. Danny's lips are curved up in a small smile. His blue eyes, in contrast, are brimming with resignation and melancholy.

"Why?"

Flack can tell his question has confounded Danny.

Danny gazes deep into eyes and says with a sense of wonder, "You reallywant to, don't you?"

It is abruptly very important to Flack to discuss this particular issue right now. Whether or not it's his fever talking, he has no clue about that.

"Wha, ya thought I was jokin'? Yeah, I do. And I don't see anythin' wrong with bein' proud of the man I love."

Danny caresses his face with the back of his fingers. Flack sees himself reflected in Danny's large eyes that remain despondent.

"Maybe in a perfect world, Don," Danny says. "But the real world? The real world will never let us be happy."

"So I should be ashamedfor lovin' you?" Flack swivels his head to stare hard at the ceiling. "No. I'd rather hated for bein' true to myself, than be loved for bein' a fake."

"No,no, that's not what I meant."

Flack lets Danny turn his head so they are eye to eye again. Danny's snuggled closer, cupping his lower jaw, stroking his cheek with a thumb.

"I just … I just don't wanna do anythin' to hurt you. Don't want you to do anythin' that'll hurt yourself, ya know?" Danny whispers, breath brushing his closed lips. "Ya think I'm ashamedof us? That I don't want the world to know how happy I am with you? No, no, that's not true at all."

Flack keeps quiet. He knows Danny has more to say.

"Ilove you. You have no idea how proud I am of you, and the last thing I ever wanna do is ruin your life."

Flack's eyes widen. Ruin his life?

"Don, I know you're gonna say I can't ever do that but the reality is, there're people out there who won't think twice 'bout bringin' you down just 'cause of me. I already have the blood of a cop on my hands and the Tanglewoo-"

Danny sucks in his lower lip. Talking about the Tanglewood Boys and Louie is sometimes still difficult for Danny, even though Louie's awakened from his coma and has begun his physical therapy.

"You have an impressive rep, Don. Don't deny it, it's true. You know you're good at what you do. It's not worth jeopardizin' it just for the sake of goin' public with me. I'm not worth that much."

Flack is taken aback by Danny's disclosure, by Danny's apparent and severe self-deprecation. Has Danny thought of himself this way all this time?

There's no way in hell he's going to permit it to go on a second longer.

"Danny," Flack says clearly. "Me bein' a homicide detective, it's myjob. Not my life."

Then, he stares deep into Danny's eyes.

"My life … that's you."

He can pinpoint the exact moment his assertion sinks into Danny's head. Danny's eyes become so big that Flack sees those sapphire blue irises in their entire circumference and the whites surrounding them. Danny's hand cupping his face slides down to squeeze his shoulder hard.

Flack knows Danny well, very well. He knows when Danny needs some space and he shuts his eyes once more, granting Danny the opportunity to leave the bed and go to another section of his apartment for some alone time.

Danny doesn't leave. Danny doesn't say anything either but it's okay, Flack's okay with that because Danny's singing to him instead, rubbing the back of his head, singing against his temple and holding him in a tender embrace.

"Have I told you lately, that I love you? Have I told you … there's no else above you?"

Danny doesn't have to say anything in reply to his declaration because Danny's already answering him in the best possible way.

"You fill my heart with gladness, take away all my sadness … Ease my troubles, that's what you do ..."

If Danny's voice is more husky than usual and if Danny's voice hitches once or twice, Flack doesn't mention it.

And if it's implausible that he recuperates to full health by nightfall, both he and Danny don't brood over that. They're too busy relaxing in bed after a satisfying dinner of Danny's homemade spaghetti and meatballs with mozzarella cheese, cuddled under the blankets as Danny reads out loud a classic literature novel about two men in a place a few miles south of Soledad.

Love, as the saying goes, heals everything.

***

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