Title: Beautiful Lovers
Fandom: CSI: New York
Summary: Danny Messer is very happy with his older lover.
"There's something about an older man…you know. The way they treat you…"
Sitting across the interview table from Melanie Dobson, listening to her expound on the virtues of taking an older man for a lover, Danny Messer had to fight to keep the grin off his face. It was clear from the fact she was staring right at him, as if daring him to agree or not with that little smile playing on her lips, that she was used to using that fact to shock and appall whoever she was confessing her little slice of naughtiness to.
Not that it mattered much to Danny one way or the other. Because he did know the virtues she purred on about, and knew them first hand.
Oh yeah, he knew exactly what it was about older men and the way they treated a lover.
He imagined the slow honeyed innuendo had been laid on thick as it was for his benefit, the lacquered nails trailing back and forth over the polished table not so much a distraction as she had planned. Nah. Miss Dobson was used to using her young thing charms and whiles on older men to get them under her thumb. To do what she wanted. Unfortunately for her, Danny wasn't in the least bit impressed.
Signing off on the evidence report and turning it all over to Stella, Danny found himself in the lab, eyes peering down a microscope, still thinking about Miss Dobson and her predilections. Although she was mostly doing things to piss off daddy, she did have a valid point. There really was nothing like having an older lover.
The way they took their time. The slow, steady beat of courting romance, not just the rush to get laid. Danny grinned. Though there was that, too.
Everything was just richer, more grounded. And he was beginning to understand just how much of the devil really was in the details.
"Danny, you got a minute? I need a hand."
Speak of that very devil and he shall appear…
Danny grinned into the microscope, making sure he toned it down to an appropriate level before rising to greet the other man. Mac Taylor, Danny's boss, lover, tormentor and very own older man. He made sure Mac still saw it though. He could usually pull an answering half smile or better from Mac if he tried hard enough.
"You bet. Just give me a sec and I'm all yours."
"You do that." From the startled rise of his brows to the slow, appreciative smirk that lightly fell onto the pursed lips just so, gone before it had barely begun, Mac hadn't missed the promise in the irreverent retort. "Layout room in five."
But then, he wouldn't miss it. That, too, was what an older lover gave you. Depth. And banter and conversation woven and piled high with layer upon layer of comfortable familiarity. Taking your own good, sweet time meant you got to know someone. Something other than their favorite team or that one erogenous zone that never failed to make them scream. Although with Mac, Danny knew that one already.
"Of course, of course, " Danny waved him away, happy smile beaming down into the microscope once again. He didn't have to look to know that Mac had already left, heading down the hall.
For a moment he worried that dinner at Roma's may have been cancelled due to work, but then he dismissed it. Nah. Mac would have told him here if that had been it. And while a nice private dinner at home, just for two was nice, every once in a while there was just something about eating out on the town, together as a couple that sent shivers of joy down Danny's spine. Another older lover detail, he was sure of it. A touch of old world romance in the heart of Manhattan. The quiet clink of silverware, plate full of homemade pasta and a nice bottle of wine set with candlelight on the checkered red and white cloth spread over their table in the back…
Danny could feel the happiness rise, threatening to bubble over if he wasn't too careful. Whoever believed the rumor that Mac Taylor was a hardassed ex-marine 24/7 sure didn't know what they were missin' and Danny Messer was in no mind to let them in on his secret. From the slow, easy wake-up kisses in the morning to the devouring kisses Mac would sometimes claim him with at night when Danny was sure he would either come out the other side brain damaged from lack of oxygen or just missing his tonsils.
Or the gentle hours of lovemaking on rainy days when Mac would sometimes wring him out three and four times before he would let them stop, only to cuddle up under the blankets and comforter with him afterwards when Danny was sure he wasn't up to remembering his own name, let alone anything else outside the 7 foot circle of the bed.
The times that balanced that; the frantic, needy baughts of sex when it didn't matter where they were as long as one of them ended up taking the other in the next immediate seconds; a possession that was usually hard, fast and completely devastating. Of course those desperate sessions weren't always about a bad case; those times when one or both of them had seen something horrible on the job and needed a reconnection to something good; something positive. Sometimes Mac would do something to set Danny off – like a rise of an eyebrow, a swift, ruthless take down of a suspect on the run or an exasperated growl of 'Messer' would be enough. And sometimes Danny would notice Mac staring at him – at his glasses perched over his head to look down the 'scope or the way Danny would sometimes take down a suspect with a sideways sliding tackle or sudden push into the side of a building.
Sometimes though…sometimes it was just about the jeans Danny would wear that got the older man going. Or the slide of Mac's own dogtags around his neck, hidden beneath the layers of jacket, button up and tank undershirt…
"You coming, Messer?"
Shooting a sideways look at the slight impatience in the exasperated tone as Mac once more ducked most of his body inside Trace, Danny removed the last slide, taking off his gloves and throwing them in the trash even as he clicked off the 'scope.
"Yeah, boss," He couldn't help the grin from spreading across his face and didn't try. Damn but there should be a law against bein' this happy. "Right behind you, Mac. Right behind you."
And if he was whistling the old country song about older women (or in his case, older men) making beautiful lovers, well all he could say was there was truth in advertising.
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