Word Count: 3,134
Rating: Hard R
Summary: Flack and Danny go the same high school. There are some odd rumors swirling about Danny.
Notes: This was written for causeways's prompt: highschool au, character rumored to be gay trapped with another chracter. Oh yes, CSI:NY high school fic. She didn't specify the fandom, and this just siezed my mind.
There have always been rumors about Danny Messer, but he’s cool and the best shortstop they’ve seen since 1960—Roddy Jenkins. Danny’s already got a scholarship to USC, the only athlete recruit in their entire high school. So Flack doesn’t think too much about what they say. It’s only stuff like: he’s never had a girlfriend, and when he did hook up with that girl at Corey’s party, some weird shit happened. Flack’s had some weird shit happen to him with girls at parties, so it’s not his place to judge. Anyway, they’re never in the locker room at the same time, because basketball’s a winter sport, so he doesn’t have to worry about feeling ogled. Jack, the team’s power forward, said he’d caught Danny doing just that in Freshman PE. Flack looks at him and kind of doubts it.
He thinks maybe if Danny were skinny and strange, didn’t have those weird blue green eyes the girls love, it would be different. They’d fuck him up twice a day, give him swirlies, write fag on his locker the way they did with that sophomore who looked like Ducky from his sister’s video of Pretty In Pink. But girls like Danny, and not in the, “do my shoes match my dress, Danny?” kind of way, so he gets away with whatever it is he’s got going on with him. That’s fine with Flack. He doesn’t want trouble.
Sometimes at lunch, when the conversation’s run dry, Flack looks at Danny and tries to figure these things out. One day, Danny turns right under his gaze, and smiles, white teeth flashing. Flack nearly smiles back before reminding himself that’s weird and turns away.
There’s this girl Sarah, in his math class, who wears blouses that are always just edging back to show the lace of her bra, he thinks about her all the time. The way she smells, what her firm thighs would feel like wrapped around his hips, how much he’d kill to get a chance to fuck her. He finds himself wondering if Danny has these thoughts about boys. If he sits in class, fighting a hard-on more than his calc problem set as he eyes some boy across the room. What do queers find attractive in guys? Flack has no idea.
He’s got lift with the rest of the team on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Some of the other guys bitch, but Flack enjoys the ache and burn in his intercostals, trapeziums, and biceps. Feels like he’s using his body right.
Danny shows up, sweating and flushed like he’s been for a run when Flack’s halfway through his set of bench presses, says hi to a few of the guys and goes straight to the roman chair. It’s some seriously hardcore shit, none of the other guys have the ab strength to do it without flopping to floor and hurting themselves.
Flack gets up and moves to another bench where he can’t watch Danny move and strain against the pressure of his own weight. He can barely concentrate at all just knowing Danny’s over there.
It’s getting late by the time Flack is done, most of the team is gone. Flack just felt frustrated with himself, so he stayed longer. Something about Danny, the possibly maybe gay boy, totally kicking the shit out of all of them lit a fire under his ass.
“The door is gonna lock behind you when you leave, so don’t worry about anything,” Phil, the trainer, said before he left for the day.
When he finally hits the showers, Danny is sitting on one of the wooden benches, tying up his shoes. He looks up and gives Flack a nod. Flack nods back and beelines straight for his bag. When he gets under the shower, hot water sluicing down over his body, he wonders if Danny is watching. The thought should be awkward, a little unsettling, but it makes the blood rise up in his skin and his cheeks warm. His limbs feel a little weak from something that isn’t muscle fatigue.
“FUCK!” Danny shouts, startling him, followed by a loud bang. He rushes out of the shower, hastily pulls boxers on and stuffs his feet into his shoes, before running in the direction of the noise. Danny is standing in front of the closed door out to the parking lot, shoulders bowed.
He looks up when he hears Flack. “We’re locked in.”
Flack looks at him with dawning horror and pushes futilely on the press bar. “Oh, Jesus, the payphone is outside the gym.”
“And Phil set the other door to lock behind us.” Danny looks up at the ceiling. “My parents aren’t even going to notice I’m missing, I said I wouldn’t be home ‘til late. We’re so fucked.” When he turns back, his eyes catch on Flack chest, still beaded with water. Flack flushes bright red.
“Sorry, thought you might have fallen or something,” he offers in explanation. Danny nods at him, lips pulling up into a smile. Flack takes a deep breath. “I’m—going to go get dressed.”
There’s pretty much nothing to do after he’s dressed. He heard Danny slamming ineffectually at the door the entire time he was putting his shorts and t-shirt on, but it stopped by the time he got his socks on.
Danny comes back and throws his bag down, blowing out a huge breath. Flack doesn’t have a lot to say to him. The other boy stretches out on the same wooden bench as earlier and stares at the ceiling like he’s counting sheep, and Flack’s not really sure if it’s appropriate to interject in that moment.
He's got a problem set in his backpack that he can do to pass the time. Forty-five minutes later he gets stuck on number six, and he doesn’t have any other homework that he can do here. He’s pretty sure Danny is in the same level math as him, but he doesn’t want to ask.
“Why do they call you Flack?” Danny asks, noticing that he’s put his homework aside.
Flack shrugs. “It’s my last name, and all my brothers played on the basketball team before me, so I think coach doesn’t even bother to tell us apart. It stuck.”
Danny nods, ready to go back to their awkward silence. “Is it true?” bursts out of Flack’s mouth before he can stop it.
Danny leans up on his elbow on the bench. “Is what true?”
“That you’re—you know.” He gestures like it will explain anything at all, but Danny doesn’t make him work for it. He shrugs and won’t look at him. Flack wishes he hadn’t said anything.
When sitting and bouncing his knee up and down gets too boring, he finds a basketball perched in front of the equipment closet. He amuses himself by running drills down the aisles of lockers, threading the ball through his legs, and doing fake-outs. He uses an empty trashcan as a basket. When the ball bounces oddly off the hinge of a door, it rolls to Danny’s feet. Flack waits for him to pass it back, but Danny scoops the ball up and stares at it for a second.
Flack is just going to ask if he can have it when Danny dribbles under one leg and makes a run for the trash can, only quick reflexes of Flack’s part allow him to block the lob Danny puts up. He passes the ball back to Danny. “Shoot until you make it.”
Danny fakes left and then drives right, but Flack is a shooting guard, and easily swipes the ball back and takes it up to the top of the fake key he set up with his backpack like they were playing half court. Danny plays good defense, he’s not really tall enough to be effective against Flack. Flack nearly has a heart attack when Danny locks against him body to body, his crotch right against Flack’s ass, and it gives Danny just the right leverage over him. Flack watches Danny score, wondering why his heart is beating so fast.
Danny slams a chest pass at him and says, “Shoot until you make it.”
Just for that, Flack tips the ball into the trash can from where he’s standing. Danny smirks and fishes the ball out. Nothing seems to faze him. Flack crosses his arms. “First to 21, but you have to win by two.”
Danny nods and passes it to Flack so he can check the ball in. Danny is fun to play with and he’s more challenging than Flack expected given that Danny plays baseball and their not insignificant height difference. They end up on the ground grappling over the ball. It pops up out of their grasp, and Flack finds himself pressing Danny into the floor with his entire body. He should get up, scramble away and put the ball in play, but it almost feels like if he just rolls away like that, it’ll be acknowledging the situation rather than ameliorating it.
Danny stares up at him, cheeks red from exertion. Flack’s getting ready to push himself up off the floor when Danny says, “I am gay.” And then his palm is in the small of Flack’s back, pushing him down at the same time he’s leaning up to catch his mouth.
It’s nothing like kissing his ex-girlfriend, it’s nothing like he imagines it to be with Sarah—which is dirty dirty dirty. It’s strangely sweet. Danny tastes like Dr. Pepper and his lips are soft and tentative, like he’s caught a one in a lifetime chance with the head cheerleader and is making damn sure she doesn’t go anywhere.
Flack makes a noise in his throat and braces his palms against the floor so he can lever himself up and away, but then Danny brushes his thumb over the sweep of his jaw and tongues the smooth flesh just inside his lip. Suddenly his arms can’t support his weight and his stomach is flaring up with heat.
He’s not gay, he’s not, no matter what his brothers say, because he’s been in the locker room with a lot of naked boys and never wanted a single one of them. But he thinks he’s wanted Danny ever since the day he smiled at him across the quad, sunshine lighting his hair up so blond it gleamed. He buries one hand into Danny’s hair and Danny moans into his mouth, soft, like he’s doing everything right. Flack is heady with adrenaline and the redirection of his blood flow straight to his dick. Their tongues flick and slide apart, until Flack catches the tip of Danny’s between his lips and sucks. Danny makes that soft sound again, and now Flack feels his erection digging into his stomach.
Danny’s hand is running teasing maddening circles on his lower back, barely edging further down—just whispering over the skin at Flack’s waistband—like a good choirboy. Flack leans his weight on his elbow and drags their hips together hard, hoping Danny will touch him like he clearly wants to, because right now, with the promise of really good orgasms on the horizon, Flack is not planning a sexual identity crisis. He already knows he isn’t gay, Danny just smells amazing and tastes like candy and makes Flack feel better than Christmas morning.
He makes Flack feel like he’s run a marathon just by sliding the inside of his thigh over Flack’s hip in an obscene parody of his fantasy about Sarah. He’s thinking about fucking Danny now, Danny crying out, Danny leaving nail marks down his back, Danny coming just from Flack’s dick. He can’t breathe.
Danny dumps Flack off of him and finds his dick through his shorts, no preamble. “That what you want?” Flack’s muscles seize up and he grabs Danny’s shoulder before he can stop himself, fingers digging into the muscle. He pulls Flack free of the fabric, testing the length. Flack isn’t nervous under the scrutiny like he had been with Mandy, his last girlfriend; he already knows Danny was willing to risk getting his ass beat in order to kiss him.
Danny stares down at him, pretty eyes glassy, he runs his palm over Flack’s cockhead like he’s gotta prove how good he can make it. And Flack knows. He really does. Danny is the sort of person who doesn’t do anything if he can’t do it perfectly—he knew it the first time he ever saw that sharp-edged smile.
Danny finally starts stroking him when Flack can’t prevent his lips from opening and spilling out please. He seems to have lost all common sense around Danny. After his asshole older brothers, Flack knows not to show any sign of surrender, but it doesn’t seem like a contest when he’s begging Danny to continue touching him. Danny’s teeth graze over his throat, and Flack presses his cheek to the grimy floor, jugular completely bared.
He’s pressing his hips up to Danny’s hand, forcing his dick through the circle of Danny’s fingers. When he comes Danny’s gaze snags his and Flack cries out like a girl in a bad porno.
“Jesus,” Danny says, dropping a kiss to Flack’s parted lips. He rubs Flack’s come into the head of his dick, and Flack’s entire body jerks with the much-too-much of it.
Flack finds himself pondering if Danny will want him to jerk him off too. It’s the nice thing to do, but Flack’s not sure he can do that. Danny rolls off of him before he can decide, jerking his clothes off and walking right under the shower naked. Danny is tanned much darker than Flack, but it ends at the swell of his buttocks.
He keeps telling himself not to stare as he picks himself up off the floor, but the resolution doesn’t last long at all. Danny is really really hot under the shower, maybe as hot as Sarah. Flack’s got come all over his belly, and he figures if he joins Danny it’s not like anybody will ever know.
He takes a moment to strip, carefully folding his clothes and setting them on the bench. He has to step over Danny’s shirt and shorts. Flack takes the shower head just next to Danny. Danny’s got the water up so high it’s turning his skin red, he doesn’t even seem to notice Flack next to him. Flack’s eyes fall to Danny’s swollen and bobbing dick before he can stop himself. Danny’s cut, like him, but his pubic hair is blond though dark with water. He catches Flack, lashes as dark as the hair running a trail down from his belly button. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna make you do anything.”
“Wha—how’d you—I didn’t—” he bites his lip and cuts himself off.
Danny’s face takes on a bitter twist. “You had the worst deer in the headlights look I’ve ever seen.”
“Can we still be friends?” Flack asks sardonically, eyes on Danny’s shiny pink lips, his dripping eyelashes. He doesn’t wait for an answer, just pushes his tongue into Danny’s open mouth and wraps his hand around Danny’s cock in one smooth move.
He figures if he doesn’t think about it, it’ll be fine. It’s just a dick. He can pretend he’s jerking himself off. But it’s impossible not to think about it, because Danny bites and licks at his mouth, draws his nails down Flack’s back, until the only thing he knows is maybe he’s going to come a second time, dick sliding over the groove of Danny’s hip. The shower water makes his grip easy and slick, masks any hesitancy he might still have left.
Danny goes off pretty quick, breathing hard and spitting out water. He mouths Flack’s name against his shoulder as he weathers the aftershocks. When they pull apart to clean up, Flack watches Danny’s come slide down his abs in fascination.
They don’t touch one another after that. Danny finishes showering first and goes out to rescue his clothes from the floor. Once again, Flack has to look away.
His towel is still wet when he goes to dry off, and his shorts stick to his skin, his still tingling dick. Flack swallows and pulls the neck of his shirt down over his head. Danny’s already dressed and settled back down on the bench when he asks, “So you’re heading off to USC in the fall?”
Danny nods. “Yeah, wanna try for the majors, I’ll cry if I make it and have to play for anybody else but the Yankees though.”
Flack laughs. “And now you know you’ll be playing for the sox.”
“Shut the fuck up.” But he’s smiling, so Flack ignores the words. “So where are you going?”
“Syracuse, and then the police academy like my old man.” Danny pauses and stares at him like he’s waiting to hear a story. Flack shrugs. “My brothers are off fucking around, but I dunno, it’s just what I’ve always wanted to do—I mean, I wanna affect positive change or whatever.” Danny smiles at him, so he has to change the subject. “You gonna be the gay Jackie Robinson?”
“Flack,” Stella calls out after he gets done talking details with Mac. He turns, startled. He hasn’t had enough coffee today and he’s been working for twenty straight hours already. At least Flack didn’t go into this job with any illusions.
“Yeah?” Stella’s leading a man over to him. Flack has to fight to keep his mouth from dropping open. Suddenly he’s not tired anymore at all.
“I want you to meet our newest CSI, Danny Messer.” Stella introduces. “Danny, this is Detective Don Flack.”
Danny’s mouth twitches and he holds his hand out to shake. “Hi.”
“Stella!” Mac calls from his office and she nods at them both before leaving.
Flack is eyeing him up and down, Danny looks so different in his fashionably casual clothes, spiky hair, and glasses, but his smile is just the same. “How?”
“I broke my wrist in a fight,” Danny says, and Flack figures he knows what happened. “So I wanted to affect positive change or whatever.”
Flack laughs. “You wanna head out for drinks when your shift is up? Shoot the shit?”
“Catch up on old times?” Danny says, but his tone of voice gives away just what he means. It brings him right back to the cold tile locker-room floor, Danny’s breath on his neck. Flack can feel a blush coming on. He knows Danny’s smirk is going to follow. “Yeah, that sounds good, you can tell me why you’re sporting the same damn haircut from high school.” And Danny reaches up right there in the crime lab and pushes a strand of hair back behind his ear.
Basketball Wisdom: Shoot Until You Make it, Keep Going Until You Miss.
I don't know. I feel there might be more in this verse. HOW CRAZY.