Title: The Spaces Between
Author: stellaluna_
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Mac/Danny
Summary: There's no map for the spaces between two people. Set vaguely post-S2, but no spoilers.
Disclaimer: None of these are mine. Characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS, and Alliance Atlantis.
Notes: For fanfic100 (Prompt 078: Where?) and for psych_30 (Prompt 28: Free Association).

***

Mac's eyes are dark when he backs Danny into the wall and kisses him, and his touch is insistent, almost rough; Danny figures he's about to get fucked into the mattress, and that suits him just fine. He's been feeling edgy all day, tense with crackling, useless energy as if he's huddled at the eye of a storm. On a different day he might relieve this tension by smashing his knuckles on the punching bag at the gym, or by going home and jerking himself off to the accompaniment of some hardcore porn, but once Mac knocked on his office door and asked if he felt like grabbing a beer after shift, Danny knew he would have other ways to work off his aggravation.

Earlier, when they were sitting in the bar with a pitcher of Fat Tire on the table between them and he was listening to Mac talk about a dead end he and Hawkes had hit in the Atwood case, Danny had started off by thinking that he'd like to be the one to fuck Mac. Kiss him, get his clothes off, then get him all lubed up and begging for it. He'd looked at Mac's mouth and nodded in all the right places, and in his head Danny was sliding slick fingers into him, feeling his tightness ease, getting him ready. The muscles in his own groin were going tight by then, as he imagined holding Mac by the hips and pushing his aching cock into him, sinking his teeth into his shoulder and then reaching around to help him jerk off.

Danny knows they talked about other things after that, other cases, but he can't remember a damn word. He couldn't have missed anything important, though, because their cases are all they ever talk about.

By the time they get back to his place, the fantasy has changed, although the urgency hasn't faded one little bit, and Danny can't stop imagining Mac buried in him up to the hilt. He's glad to see the look in Mac's eyes, glad for the kisses that are long enough to take his breath away and for Mac's bruising-hard grip on his shoulders. Glad for the chance to reach down and palm Mac's growing erection through his trousers, to rub it with enough pressure to make Mac groan. All of this is telling Danny everything that he needs to know: that it's going to be hard and fast, just the way he needs it.

But when they're in the bedroom together, and naked, it all changes. Danny can still feel the urgency pulsing at him, deeper and more intense now that they've got their clothes off and Mac's body is solid and warm against his. He kisses Mac roughly, openmouthed, and grinds against him as they fall onto the bed. The tightness in his groin is spreading through his entire body now, snapping at his nerve endings and making him feel like he's going to fly apart, or like he's wandered too close to a power station.

Mac kisses him back just as hard, and Danny mutters, "Come on, already," and reaches down to stroke his cock some more. This makes Mac groan again and push into his hand, and he leans across Danny to get the lube out of the nightstand, fumbling blindly for it as they keep on kissing. After a moment, he pulls out of the kiss, presumably so that he can see what he's doing. Danny feels his movements slow and then gradually stop, and he opens his eyes to see what the hell's going on.

Mac has paused with his hand still resting in the nightstand drawer, and he's looking down at Danny with a thoughtful expression on his face. "Mac?" Danny says. "Everything okay there?"

"Fine," Mac says. He shuts the drawer and then sits up so that he's kneeling over Danny, but then sets the lube down next to the pillow without opening it. In easy reach, Danny thinks, but that's not going to do them any good if Mac's not actually going to use it.

"Now's not the time to woolgather." He slides his hand up Mac's thigh, digging his fingers in.

"I know." Mac looks down and puts his hand over Danny's, then presses it back against the mattress.

Now we're getting somewhere, Danny thinks, and he smiles up at Mac, licking his lips. "You want to get down here and fuck me, then?" he asks.

Mac's grip tightens on his hand. "Eventually." Danny looks up into his face, and Mac's eyes are darker than ever. There's a little frown line in between them, like he's trying to figure something out.

"So it's gonna be that kind of game, huh?" Danny reaches for Mac's erection again with his other hand, but Mac catches it before he can and pins that hand to the mattress too.

"No." Mac leans forward, not letting go of Danny's hands, until their faces are inches apart. "Danny, I want you to listen to me."

A shiver of mingled fear and confusion runs through Danny at the words, and maybe, he thinks, there's a little bit of anger in there, too. Listen to you why, he wants to say. This isn't supposed to be about talking, and it sure as hell isn't supposed to be about listening. That's how they've been able to keep this thing between them going: no serious talk, no expectations. Those are the ground rules. Not that they've ever talked about that, either, but that's been the tacit agreement all along. They talk about cases and baseball and leave it at that. Danny is sure that Mac has nothing else to say to him, and he sure as shit has nothing else to say to Mac.

Nothing else he wants to say to Mac, anyway.

"Listen," Mac says, an insistent tone creeping into his voice, and Danny stares up at him. After a few seconds, during which he grits his teeth to keep himself from talking, Mac nods and then stretches out on top of him. Danny starts to arch towards him out of instinct, but before he can, Mac slides down his body and presses his mouth to Danny's stomach, just below his navel. Danny smiles to himself and leans back. He hadn't been anticipating getting a blowjob tonight, but he's not about to turn down the offer.

"Manhattan Island is thirteen miles long from end to end," Mac says in a low voice.

"What the fuck -- " Danny tries to sit up, and Mac pushes him back.

"From here," and he kisses Danny's stomach again, "to about, let's say...here." He licks a steady line up the center of Danny's chest, taking his time about it. The drag of Mac's tongue against his skin makes Danny gasp, and he lets his head fall back against the pillows.

"To here," Mac says again, and kisses his chest just above his sternum. One hand traces a parallel track up the side of Danny's torso, fingers skating over his ribcage. "Of course, that doesn't tell you anything about how the streets run."

"Manhattan's a grid," Danny says, and tries to arch into Mac again. "Everyone knows that."

"Parts of it are," Mac says. He lifts his head a little. "But what about the Village? You can get lost there if you don't know your way around."

"So just look for Sixth Avenue."

"Or you might find yourself on Minetta Street." Mac nuzzles small kisses along Danny's left hip. "Starts off at Minetta Lane near Sixth and MacDougal, but if you follow it to the end you'll be at Sixth and Bleecker. Or Washington Mews." His tongue drifts toward Danny's navel. "Never know it's there if you're not looking for it. It used to be stables."

"Okay, so big deal," Danny says.

"And if you go uptown, the grid gets interrupted by Central Park." Mac sketches a rough rectangle on Danny's chest with the tips of his fingers. "You can't say that's no big deal."

"What's your point?"

"Maps to the city, Danny," Mac says. "The printed ones will only tell you so much, but the ones you keep in your head..." His tongue moves across Danny's collarbone. "Want to know how I map the city?"

"Sure," Danny says, and he has a moment to wonder what he's just agreed to, but then Mac's teeth close around his nipple and it becomes impossible to think.

What happens next is so slow and blurred that Danny can't help wondering if it's not a dream. Mac licks patterns into his skin, pinpoints landmarks with his teeth or the point of his tongue; and he whispers to him the whole time, murmuring about Marble Hill and Washington Square Arch and how the Flatiron Building marks the place where Broadway and Fifth Avenue bleed into each other. His tone is calm and conversational the whole time, measured, as if he were talking with Danny over coffee in the break room instead of flickering his tongue into his navel and leaving red suck marks down his pecs in a neat line.

Even this doesn't cool the tension that's been burning in Danny all day. Instead, it draws it to a sharp point inside him; he can feel the want, the need, gathering in him, tightening even more until he's walking the razor's edge between pleasure and pain and gasping in a hoarse voice. After some time has passed, he feels Mac slide one hand between his legs, and then feels his wet fingers begin to work inside him. Danny doesn't know when he grabbed the lube again and doesn't care; he almost cries out in relief, writhing under him.

"Consider the architecture of the Guggenheim," Mac says, and bites at his nipple again. He pushes his fingers higher into Danny, but doesn't step up his pace even now. He moves just as slowly as he has been all along, and sounds just as calm; he won't go any faster no matter how much Danny thrashes beneath him, how much he grabs at his back and shoulders or curses at him. And his voice never rises or changes in pitch, not even a little bit.

If Mac's voice doesn't betray him, though, sometimes his body does. His hard-on hasn't quit this whole time, and whenever he changes position a little, it rubs against the hollow of Danny's hip, or the side of his thigh; when this happens, patches of damp and sweat are left on his skin. Once their cocks press together for a few seconds, and Mac goes absolutely still. He manages to finish his sentence about Frank Lloyd Wright, but he doesn't move again for seconds on end, and Danny can feel the brief shudder that goes through his body.

It's when Mac is mapping the layout of Tribeca along his stomach, and Danny is fucking his fingers as hard as he can, that he first thinks that Mac is -- sometimes -- writing words in between the ordered lines of the streets he's tracing on Danny. One street after another detailed in Mac's quiet sentences, and like he said earlier, in this part of Manhattan the grid isn't anything like orderly. And Danny would be the first to admit that his concentration is somewhat shot to hell right about now. But there are curved lines that can't be accounted for, slipping along his skin wherever Mac's tongue goes, and Danny thinks for a moment of that game from when he was a kid, writing words on someone's back with your fingers, and making them guess what you were saying.

He doesn't have very long to wonder about it, though, or to try to puzzle out what words, if any, are being traced on his skin, because just then Mac stops talking and slides lower, and runs his tongue around the head of Danny's cock. Danny moans in relief and clutches at the back of Mac's head, and Mac draws him all the way into his mouth and sucks at him hard. He's rubbing his tongue the length of his shaft when Danny finally, finally, feels the tension he's been carrying around snap; he comes hard, thrusting into Mac's mouth and screaming inside his head even though the only sounds he's making out loud are little groans and gasps.

Mac licks him until his shudders have stopped, then sits up and slides into him in one smooth thrust. Danny's been ready for this for ages, and he meets the thrust with a roll of his hips. He's got his eyes open now so that he can watch Mac's face, and Mac's eyes flutter shut, his lips parted a little as he pushes himself forward. He's not trying to talk now, but is letting out little half-stifled whimpers that seem to come from the back of his throat, and it's not very long at all before he's bucking against Danny, body wracked with helpless tremors.

When they've both got their breath back and are lying side by side on their backs, staring up at the ceiling, Danny says, "I'm still not sure what the hell that was, but I'm all for doing it again."

"It's about patterns, Danny," Mac says. "Small patterns all add up to form a greater whole. You can't hope to see the big picture unless you understand the details."

"Details, huh?" Danny says. "Guess you are a pretty detail-oriented guy, at that."

"I wanted you to see some of what I see in the city. It's all part of..." Mac pauses. "All part of the real story."

Danny glances over at him, but Mac is still looking at the ceiling. "I could get into that," Danny says. "So what other kind of things you know how to map?"

Mac smiles a little. "Tidepools," he says. "Helixes. Other parts of the city."

"Constellations?" Danny asks.

"I used to know them," Mac says. "Not so much anymore." He turns his gaze toward Danny, and Danny wonders if he's imagining the sudden anxiety in his eyes. "But if you wanted -- "

"I'm good with whatever you want to show me," Danny says. He wonders suddenly if he's been wrong this whole time, if maybe there are things Mac hasn't been saying to him, too.

"Danny -- " Mac rolls onto his side. "I'll show you whatever I can," he says after a pause.

"That works."

Danny cups Mac's cheek in one hand, and Mac leans closer to kiss him on the mouth; they have no map for this, none that Danny thinks he'll ever be able to read.

***