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On the Wings of Sorrow	By : meimei Category: 1 through F > CSI: New York Views: 4036 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI: New York, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-On the Wings of Sorrow
- 1
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story isn't quite right. After not writing anything aside from editorials and a couple of book introductions for over two years, I'm finding it really difficult to recapture my voice. Still, after a good deal of fiddling (which likely made it worse), I decided to go ahead and add this as is, despite that it's a bit stiff and jerky (no pun intended:). I may or may not revise it one day, but for now I just wanted to be done so I can move on to something else and continue to exercise my writing muscles.

Not a good deal of point to this story but it does (hopefully) contain enough setup for possible future trysts. I created a little history for Flack because I'm not able--sadly--to watch the show regularly and Flack is my very favorite character. I did mention the Clay Dobson case briefly as a device to throw these two men together. Sorry for any inconsistencies.

And finally, all reviews are welcome and constructive criticism will be reciprocated.

On the Wings of Sorrow

Don Flack took off his jacket and draped it across a kitchen chair. His home--large, stark, forgettable in just about every way--seemed to shimmer away from him on all sides. Unsteady, he gripped the chair until his vision cleared, his mind replaying the telephone call he'd received on the way home.

It was his ex-father-in-law: A car accident, Don. Happened this morning on her way in to work. She never felt a thing. She's gone and I thought you'd want to know even though you don't deserve it.

And then came a terrible, terrible thing. Big, strong, mean, always-in-control Hunter Matthews had allowed his voice to crack and break open like a dry-rotted hope chest which could no longer contain the pressure of its contents. Just before he'd ended the call without another word, the grief over his daughter's death had escaped and spilled into Don's ear where it burned like magma. That alone had struck him much harder than the actual words spoken; that alone had made the unimaginable real.

Dead. Angela dead.
Outside, the sun was just setting, stroking the cerulean sky with abstract stripes of lavender, pink, and gold. A not unpleasant chill settled into the September air and brought with it fragrant and moist smells of red oak and jewelweed, accompanied by a lone warbler's sad song.

But Don barely noticed the bounty of natural beauty beyond the window; what he wanted (needed) was a drink of something alcoholic and maybe a sauna before bed. He had just reached into the refrigerator for a bottle of his own home brew when the telephone rang.

"Flack," he said crisply, all business once more.

"Hey, Flack, Messer here. Mac just left for the night and I'm here all by my lonesome." Danny's voice on the other end was casual but expectant.

"So?" Don replied, at the moment bewildered by Danny's call.

A small pause followed during which the wind picked up and set the treetops a-sway in the backyard. Perhaps a storm was coming.

"We were supposed to get together tonight and talk about the Dobson case alone," Danny said, a healthy dose of impatience edging his words. As an afterthought he added, "Your idea, not mine."

Confused, Don took a moment to think and then remembered catching up with Danny in the lab and asking him to give him a ring as soon as Mac called it a night. But right now, Clay Dobson's dubious death was the last thing on his mind and he searched his brain for a quick way to bow out.

"Look, Danny, I apologize but I gotta tell you, I'm really done in. Got some rough news tonight and I'm beat. Maybe we can do this tomorrow or some other t--" Without warning a hot wave of helpless tears stung his eyes and Don realized he could not go on. Horrified, he choked out a quick "goodbye" and put the receiver back in its cradle.

Before he could get down a single swallow of beer the phone rang again but he ignored it this time and stared out the window. Over the next half hour Don's telephone rang eight more times--five times his landline, three times his cell--before Danny gave up and left him in peace.

He stayed by the kitchen window for a long time, open beer in hand but untouched, and watched those beguiling colors in the heavens swirl and mingle until at last they converged to become a single stroke of midnight blue across the canvas that was sky.

Still in a daze, Don moved from room to room and tried to push his thoughts aside. It was hard, impossible really, when everywhere he looked the evidence of his aloneness seemed to glow in the darkness as if suddenly lit on fire.

When she'd left, she'd really left, taking all of her personal items and leaving barely a trace of herself. Days later, a moving truck had arrived to take the rest and Don had stood mute and angry as seven years of his life marched out the front door: the sofa upon which they'd made tender love as well as fucked righteously hard, the upright piano, the antique Tibetan cabinet, even the bed. Not that he'd had a leg to stand on even if he wanted to protest; she'd brought it all with her when they married.

She had forgotten one thing, though: a lapis lazuli and silver Ghau pendant. Though he couldn't say why, he kept it in plain sight on the dresser he'd purchased some months later. Maybe it was just something he could see everyday that would remind him of Angela, or maybe he hoped it would help erase the anger he still held for her. She'd asked about it once and he lied straight-faced, telling her he had not seen it but that he would call if it turned up. Now, he stood and touched it with reverence, remembering the mock-fight they'd had about it--he, insisting it was a fake, she, equally insistent that it was an authentic artifact.

A sudden rush of regret and loneliness filled his heart to the breaking point and even though he was alone, he was once again horrified at his tears. After a time, he put down the full beer, undressed, and headed for the sauna.

Furtive noises like a rat in the dark woke Don. Someone was in the house. His first thought was that Angela was home, which of course triggered the phone call, which triggered the grief, which he pushed away instantly while getting to his feet. He shook his head, picked up his gun, and approached the door in his underpants.

A faint shuffling now: the kitchen, Don thought, gun at the ready. But before he reached the hall he heard a loud bang followed by a slew of colorful curses. At once he recognized the signature "New York City Italian" accent of Danny Messer. He cursed, too, as he lowered his weapon and swept into the room, flipping the light switch on his way.

"What the fuck are you doing in here?" He yelled, blinking in the harshness of sudden fluorescent light.

Danny was groaning as well as cursing, bent double and rubbing his shin. Rain water ran from his coat and beside him lay an overturned kitchen chair. When he looked up at Don, his bright eyes revealed barely restrained impatience and Don suffered a twinge of tension that stiffened his back and caused his fists to tighten. It was almost apprehension; a feeling he'd experienced more than a few times in Danny's presence of late which he attributed to too many long work nights together.

"I came to check on you and I had a hell of a time getting here. There's a storm out there." Danny muttered, then under his breath, "don't be a jerk."

Despite himself, Don laughed. Something about Danny holding on to his leg like it was broken and muttering in that injured but tough voice put a tiny fracture in his hard veneer and he laughed out loud. Danny stared, incredulous.

Don reached out a hand and helped Danny take a seat. "Storm, huh?" he asked, "What time is it?"

Danny shrugged out of his coat. "I don't know, gotta be close to nine now." He was still rubbing his shin.

"That's it? Nine o'clock? Figured it was later than that." He pushed aside the curtain to have a peek for himself. Nature gave nothing away in her moonless dark, but Don could somehow feel the movement of trees whipped to a frenzy by the wind. As if to confirm, a bolt of lightning flashed, illuminating sheets of rainfall and a whirlwind of oak branches. He could hear it now that his head was clear: needles of rain and loud thunderclaps. Don released the curtain to see to his unexpected guest.

"Wanna beer?" he asked, already fetching one from the refrigerator.

Danny nodded. He noted the absence of label on the bottle Don gave him and eyed it with apprehension.

"I brew it myself in the basement. Don't worry, it's good."

Shrugging, Danny took a deep swallow and a satisfied look came over his face. "It is good," he said.

"All right, you're here interrupting my sleep so what do you want?" Don said, then added with a frown, "How do you know where I live?"

"When I couldn't reach you by phone I looked up your address in the database." Danny said, finally abandoning his shin bone and leaning back in the chair. "You live in the middle of nowhere; you know that, right?"

"Why'd you do that?" Don asked.

"Well, don't take this the wrong way but you sounded pretty wrecked on the phone. I was worried. 'Specially when you didn't answer my calls," he said, pointedly.

"Thank God you've come, Danny. I might have had to go bed tonight without getting tucked in." He drew a glass of water from the tap and took a long drink before leveling his gaze at Danny and adding, "That reeks of bullshit."

To his credit, Danny remained unfazed by the accusation in those eyes. He returned the gaze coolly and said, "Believe what you like. I'm here with good intentions. You can tell me what's wrong or not--your choice--but in the meantime, why don't we have a drink and relax if that's okay with you."

Don was annoyed if not a little angry by Danny's intrusion, but he also remembered the intense feeling of sadness he'd suffered earlier. A loner by nature he railed in silence against the ever-growing notion rooting in his mind that maybe it would be nice to have some company for a change. Especially tonight.

He took one more glance out the window and saw the storm intensifying. His mind made up, he offered Danny a small smile. "Sorry. It really has been a shitty day. Why don't you take off your wet shoes and make yourself at home. I don't keep much here but if you're hungry I could probably scare something up."

Danny returned the smile, dusky blue eyes lighting his face. He reached behind and produced a large brown paper bag. "No need for that. I brought Thai."
An hour later, Don, now dressed in shorts and a t-shirt sat on the sofa beside Danny and wondered how long it had been since someone besides himself had been in the house. There were layers of undisturbed dust on the tables and television--in fact, he'd had to find a dust cloth and do a bit of housework before dinner--and the couch, though two years old, was practically brand new in terms of usage. Don thought he could count on one hand the number of times he'd actually sat on the thing. He gave a wry laugh that was completely without humor.

"What's funny, Flack?" Danny asked, jolted from his food-induced lethargy.

"Not a damn thing," he said. "I think you're the first person I've had in this house for two years."

Danny said nothing, just continued to look at Don with those dusk-colored eyes. His expression, one of guileless patience and kindness, made Don uncomfortable. He was not accustomed to people looking at him with so naked a face. Everyone had something to hide, after all. There were other things in that gaze, too: hope, expectation, perhaps even anticipation. Don stood and walked to the window.

"Storm's going no place fast. Guess you'll have to crash here tonight," he said, then felt compelled to add, "On the couch."

"Thanks, man. Sorry for the trouble." Danny said.

"Nah, it's no trouble. I should probably thank you, really, for taking my mind off my troubles." Embarrassment washed over him and he kept his eyes on the storm outside but was unable to stop himself from speaking. "On my way home I found out my ex-wife died this morning. Car accident."

"Wow. Sorry to hear that, Don. I never knew you were married." Danny said. His voice was soft and low.

"Well, I don't talk much about myself. Guess not too many people know about it."

He waited for a response from Danny and when none came, his discomfort increased and he found himself speaking nervously again, still facing the window. "I met her in the eighth grade. She was smart, sweet, pretty. Like my best friend, you know? Put up with me when no one else would or could. So, we got married nine years ago and moved here."

He turned at last, wondering if his eyes would reveal the depth of his sudden despair. Danny just looked at him, waiting.

"She left me two years ago, and really, I don't blame her. Seems I keep myself a little turned off, tuned out, disconnected. If it ain't work, I ain't interested, according to her. Guess she was right about that." Don said, bending to clear away the remains of takeout and beer bottles. "I'm just sorry I hurt her. Should have told her so, too."

Before he could take the mess to the kitchen, Danny's hand touched his arm and their eyes locked. "You must have really loved her," he whispered.

Don, weak and tired, let that soft stare wash over him and tried to still the trembling that had taken over his body. He smiled tightly and replied, "That's the thing, Danny. I would have stayed married to her forever and been grateful, but I never loved her. Not like I should have. Guess she couldn't take that kind of life in the long run." He broke the contact and stood. "It's bedtime for me, man. I'll get you a pillow and blanket."

Danny just nodded.

In the kitchen, Don threw the trash away and leaned against the counter for a minute, heart racing, hands shaking, confusion and embarrassment clouding his mind. He didn't understand what was going on, that strange tension inside, the fact that he felt so alive despite the sadness. The only other times he felt even close to this way was when he was working. And why had he spoken to Danny like that? Telling him what had happened to Angela, and about the divorce. This wasn't like him, not at all. He resolved to go to bed, sleep, dream, whatever, and try to forget this day had ever happened.

After a quick visit to the bathroom, Don's head was clear again and he felt more like himself. He dumped a pile of blankets and pillows on the couch and said goodnight, then headed for his bedroom.

"Hey, Don," Danny called.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks again for letting me crash, and if you need to talk, I'm here, man. I really feel for you." He said, his face earnest and a little sweet.

Don fell back into his safe zone right away. "Thanks, and hey, try not to stain the fabric there with all that sensitivity you're oozing."

Danny only laughed at the dig. "'Night, tough guy."

Somehow when Don woke to see Danny standing in the doorway to his room he wasn't surprised in the least. He sat up, blinking, and waited.

"Why did I come here tonight, Don?" Danny asked.

"To make sure I was all right." Don said, grinning a little. He reached over and turned on the bedside lamp.

"Wrong."

"Not wrong. Right."

"Technically right, yeah, but why am I still here? The storm wasn't that bad, you know. It's worse now, in fact, but I'd say I had plenty of time to get home before it really hit." He was smiling, playful, and his shirt had disappeared along with his slacks. He stood in Don's bedroom wearing only a pair of boxers.
Danny went on. "So, why? Do you know?"
He shook his head as Danny left the door and moved closer, pausing a little before sitting on the edge of the bed.

"No, I really don't." Don whispered.

Danny laughed softly, a nice sound, soothing. "Well, I know and you'll know, too. But to start with I'm here for that tucking in you mentioned earlier."

Don swallowed, at once alarmed and excited by the return of that tension, but this time understanding it for what it was. His breath was coming fast and shallow, his head spinning, his heart pounding.
Danny's hand was on his leg now, sliding up, stroking his skin. No sign of shyness was evident in his warm blue gaze and he never faltered in his sudden push for skin-to-skin contact. If he had, Don likely would have bolted for the door.

That questing hand moved past Don's knee and lightly stroked the flesh of his inner thigh. A sudden wave of trembling overtook him and he released a long pent up breath of air as his cock came to life. The sigh he gave was long and audible, causing Danny to smile, quickening his movements.

This is it. I could back out now--no harm, no foul--but if I let it continue there's no turning back.

As if mind-reading was one of his many talents, Danny murmured, "Shhh, it's all so okay. You don't have to do anything you don't want." As he spoke, he slid up the length of Don's body, impossibly close, his hands warm and comforting.
Don relaxed under the other man's attention, the desire to escape quelled, at least for the moment. His over-strained muscles loosened one at a time in anticipation of where Danny would touch him next. Surprisingly, he bypassed Don's most intimate parts making him groan in protest but the sound was cut off by the sudden pressure of Danny's kiss.

The kiss was sweet, Danny's lips soft, yielding, but firm enough to capture Don entirely. He lay passive at first, letting the sensation (as well as the notion itself) of another man's mouth against his take over. He felt Danny increase the pressure, parting the lips beneath his, and the very second Danny's tongue slid between them a hot rush of lust billowed and spread throughout Don's body. He whimpered a little and with no more reticence or hesitation, put his hands on either side of Danny's face and sucked hard on his tongue.

That was all Danny needed. His hands began their search once more, moving from face to neck, to nipples, and all the while tonguing Don more deeply than anyone had ever done before him.
Seconds passed, far too few of them in Don's opinion, Danny pulled away and sat up a little. He removed his glasses and placed them on the bedside table, freeing those expressive eyes which so lit his face. He looked at Don and smiled. Don returned the smile then shyly reached for him, wanting him close again.
They settled down and snuggled for a while, Danny softly stroking Don's body, Don reveling in the clean scent of shampoo and soap wafting from Danny's body. His hair was soft and damp.

"You shower?" he asked.

"Yeah," Danny replied, a small hint of shyness at last revealing itself. "Wanted to be clean for you. Just in case you, you know . . . wanted this."

Don laughed just a little. "I didn't know I wanted this."

"Yeah, well, I thought you did."

"How did you--"

"Uh-uh, no questions, okay? Not right now." He looked up and they locked eyes for a time.

This is a little hard for him, too, Don thought.

Danny went on. "Let's just play a while and see what happens. You've never been with a man before, right?"

"No. You?"

Danny grinned. "Yes."

Don began another question, but was silenced by Danny's mouth.

And then there was a whirlwind, a vortex, a certain elusive portal, all mixed-up together and flowing in a dizzying stream of passion which would no doubt culminate in some sort of portentous explosion. Danny carried him there expertly and Don was lost in wonder every step of the way.

He was everywhere at once, his mouth and hands caressing the skin of Don's neck, tugging him closer, moaning softly into his hair, leaving Don content to be led.

After a time, Danny signaled the end of the tentative dance and slid his body lower, at the same time urging Don out of his underwear. Only momentarily uncomfortable at being naked and close with another man, Don lay against the pillows and let his body go, his sense of anticipation building at breakneck pace.

A soft, urgent tongue probed, tracing Don's right nipple, teasing it up and out until it stood as tall as it was ever going to be, and then Danny's lips, closing around it, sucking gently. And Don groaned, his fists tightening and his body tensing, but in a most exciting way. He murmured softly, perhaps whispering Danny's name, and then growled in protest as the pressure on his nipple suddenly went away.

A second later, it no longer mattered because Danny's hand had taken hold of Don's erection and squeezed aggressively at the same second that his tongue traveled the length of his hard belly. Unable to control himself, Don lurched forward, his entire body trembling.

"Jesus," he whispered.

He felt the soft brush of Danny's hair gliding along his skin; he sensed the looming presence of breath-warmed air; he held his own breath in extreme anticipation, waiting, waiting, waiting in agony for the moment wet lips would enclose his hardness.

But Danny stalled, content to squeeze and release, squeeze and release, seeming to enjoy Don's reaction and perhaps hoping to delay the inevitable.

"I'm going to suck you," Danny said: irreverent, sexy, so damned cocksure, and Don reacted violently to those words, straining forward and growling low beneath his breath.

"Gonna suck you good and hard till you come in my mouth."

As the mental representation of such a scene popped into his mind, Don's cock surged, pushing out a copious amount of precome. Danny ran his thumb through it and pulled it across the sensitive head. His steady squeeze and release technique was rushing Don all too quickly toward a climax he'd rather delay. Through clenched lips he managed to choke out. "You've got to stop or I'll come now. Been a long time."

And it was true. A denial of any sort of pleasure had subconsciously been implemented in Don's life when Angela left him. He had no idea how long it had been since he'd had an orgasm and this one was going to happen quickly.

A soft laugh came from the direction of Danny's mouth, but he released his grasp regardless, turning his attention to the hard curves of Don's abdomen. He licked softly, beard stubble creating a pleasing friction to contrast the silky softness of Danny's tongue.

He played with Don like this for a minute or two, then cursed under his breath, "hell with this. I want you." And Don had no time to prepare for the assault the Italian unleashed upon him.

He rose to a kneeling position, placing both hands on Don's thighs, urging them open. Stunned, still battling that inner voice that sometimes whispered that this was wrong, Don protested weakly before a sharp look from the other man silenced him. Without any pretense or hesitation, Danny lowered his head and captured Don's cock between his lips. He sucked instantly and his mouth very suddenly was flush against the skin of Don's belly.

"Oh my God." Don's voice was harsh, ragged.

And then there was movement, Danny's head rising and falling, hot slope of throat engulfing him with precision suction only to let loose with no lingering stroke a mere second later. The feeling it produced was chaotic and maddening: one moment encased in deliciously wet friction, the very next only cool empty air. Don's cock protested just as strongly as the rest of his body by hardening to the point of steel and oozing yet more precome. It dripped onto his skin and seemed to burn as though on fire.

In his way, Danny was still toying with him and Don decided he'd had enough. Abandoning whatever remained of his reluctance, which was really very little, he reached down and grasped Danny's head while at the same time thrusting forward quickly. But Danny escaped somehow and lowered his wet tongue to the soft, tight flesh of Don's balls. He licked steadily, his tongue moving in ever tightening circles until he opened wide and took in the entire set, leaving a throbbing cock alone and aching.

Don shook and writhed, his hands still entangled in Danny's hair. "God, please, just suck!" He wheezed.

"That's right, baby. Want it." Danny replied, lifting his mouth away from Don's balls.

Hearing a man call him baby, in this case a term of passion as well as endearment, only inflamed Don further. His moans became groans as he flexed forward, involuntarily seeking release, his hands grabbing, searching. "Suck!" he begged.

Danny obliged. He lowered his head onto the other man's erection and swallowed in one gulp as Don tugged on his shoulders, as if to speed him along. He had never wanted, needed, to come so bad in his life.

Don closed his eyes and tensed, ejaculation seemingly suspended in mid-occurrence but eminent all the same. He was barely breathing and the room began to spin as every hair on his body seemed to stand on end. Beneath his clutching hands, the hard muscles in Danny's back grew tight as the man worked in earnest to bring him to orgasm. Abandoning himself, Don moved, frantic now, hips rising, falling, rising again, the exquisite suction of Danny's mouth along the length of his cock increasing with every stroke.
And there it was, the beginning. He heard a long sustained moan grow from his throat and then he was choking on words of encouragement all the while thinking, oh dear God, please don't stop.

"God, Danny. I'm gonna come." He curled his fingers in Danny's still damp hair and began to thrust frantically, no longer concerned about anything but emptying his balls. He opened his eyes and glanced down: Danny was staring up at him through clouded blue eyes, hair tousled, hard body flexed, and somehow taking everything Don could give as he fucked himself so deeply into that mouth. It was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen.

"Oh, fuck," he whispered, come ascending rapidly from balls to cock and finally erupting in creamy blasts into the warmth of Danny's mouth. Don twisted against the sheets as he came, pleasure shooting through his body in what felt like never-ending waves, but he never took his eyes off Danny's face.

Exhausted, Don lay quiet, his fingers still entwined in Danny's hair, heartbeat returning to normal. Danny released him after moment and slid up the bed to rest on the pillow. He put an arm around Don's waist and snuggled into his neck.

Still shaking, Don whispered, "What now?"

Danny opened one eye and looked at him. "Sleep. What else"?

Don glanced down, directing his eyes to the other man's obvious erection, but Danny just smiled. "Nah, don't worry about that. Another time maybe."

"When?" Don asked, then blushed immediately.

"Eager, eh?" Danny teased, but then went on in a serious tone of voice. "You take tomorrow to really think it all over. If I asked right now to see you again this way you'd say yes because you're caught up in the moment. I'd rather you say yes because that's what you want. Understand?"

Don nodded, then asked. "What are we talking about here? A fling or a thing?"

"You know, for a guy that never talks, you talk too much. Sleep now, questions and answers later." He replied, leaning close for a kiss, but there was a smile in his eyes. "You wore me out, you know."

Don nodded again then settled down, comforted by the feel of a warm body by his side. Just before he dozed off, Danny said one more thing.

"Don't like worry about any of this, okay? Whether we do this again or never ever speak of it, I want you to know it won't change anything between us."

Drowsy, Don murmured agreement and then fell into a sleep deeper than any he'd known for two years.
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On the Wings of Sorrow

On the Wings of Sorrow