Challenge/Prompt: karaokegal beat me at “Stump The Writer” and wanted some Danny/Peyton.
Genre: Het (with hints of implied slash)
Copyright: Title taken from Rufus Wainwright’s “This Love Affair”
Summary: There are actual tears in her eyes because they’re breathless seconds away from violence.
Author’s Notes: This should not have been so much fun to write and shouldn’t have flowed out quite so steadily.
“Mac isn’t yours to want,” Danny hisses with his hands in Peyton’s hair. It’s thick between his fingers and her cheeks are flushed and there are actual tears in her eyes because they’re breathless seconds away from violence.
“He’s not yours either,” Peyton snarls back, still fiery, that accent tearing the vowels, even with her back against the wall and it’s really fucking hot.
Danny actually shakes her, she’s limp like a ragdoll under his hands, for a minute he thinks he could kill her and he’d like it.
“Fuck you,” Peyton snarls, hands coming up to shove ineffectually at his chest.
“That an invitation, darlin’?” Danny drawls, shoving his hips into hers brutally hard, and she gasps, head snapping back.
“You can’t do this,” Peyton whispers viciously, every heroine in every British costume drama that Danny always channel hops away from. Propriety. What the fuck ever.
“Watch me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, dragging his teeth up her neck, knee parting her thighs and her eyes close. She’s angular rather than pretty but Danny knows what Mac sees in her. It makes him angrier than he wants to admit. Peyton whimpers, a ridiculously girly sound, and he bites down just under her jaw.
“Stop,” she gasps.
“Mac’s nice to you,” Danny breathes in her ear, “But I ain’t him. And I ain’t nice.”
Peyton is trembling but her eyes are clear and blue and staring up into his.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
He actually laughs and she tries to pull away from him but there’s nowhere to go.
“You want me to fuck you,” Danny informs her, grinding the leg he’s got jammed between her thighs. “Quit fighting and quit thinking I’m gonna stop.”
Words fail Peyton but her mouth opens slightly. Her lips look full and the lipstick she wears is starting to bleed at the corners.
“You don’t want me to kiss you,” Danny whispers, so close now that their lips brush as he speaks, “You really don’t want me to kiss you.”
“Why not?” Peyton sounds angry and curious and that accent is still ludicrous but the edge in her voice is damn sexy. It sounds like she’s going to break any second.
“Do you really want to go back to Mac tasting like me?” Danny whispers, “’Cause you know you will and you know the worst part?” He laughs and he’s so close he can taste her lipstick smudging onto his mouth but he’s not going to give it to her, “Mac will know that you taste like me.”
He feels Peyton’s gasp but then she’s kissing him like she wants him to fuck her, and he wants to laugh because he’s won. Won Peyton, won Mac, oh, won everything. Danny shoves a hand down into her pants, feels her wet and slick on his fingers and she moans against his mouth and he bites down on her lower lip.
He thinks, erratically, trace evidence. Trails his teeth up her jaw, presses his free hand against her arm, presses two fingers into her because he thinks he wants her screaming. All the while leaving himself all over her.
It’s not like Mac will dust his girlfriend for prints because that’s both scary and kinky beyond what their boss can manage, but still. Danny is all over Peyton, DNA and fingerprints and bruising and there won’t be any explaining this away.
Peyton digs her fingernails into his back and he stops messing around because this isn’t about her. He isn’t out to make her come; that’s an added bonus if it happens, it might make her less inclined to tell Mac he raped her.
No, she’s not going to tell Mac that. Too many questions and neither of them have enough defensive wounds to prove anything. He even makes sure not to rip the button on her pants or on his because that, too, might count as wrong evidence.
He pushes into her too hard and too fast and she bites down on his shoulder blade through his t-shirt.
“Are you doing this because he chose me or because he didn’t choose you?” Peyton gasps, and that pisses Danny off because she’s not supposed to still be talking. He doesn’t want a conversation. He doesn’t want her reading his mind like that.
“Mac doesn’t like you,” Danny whispers into her ear, nails clenching around one of her wrists.
“He likes me more than you do, evidently,” Peyton shoots back, and Danny just shoves into her harder so that words spill wildly from her smeared lips but they no longer make sense and in the end she goes limp and hey; he’s good. He knew that, but oh, he’s good.
He buttons up and leaves her crumpled on the floor.
“You’d better hope Mac never finds out,” he tosses over his shoulder, blackmail and thrill and this could happen again all twisted up in the words.
“Hadn’t you better hope the same thing?” Peyton asks quietly, smudged eyes narrowed, and Danny realised he’s underestimated her.
He’s never hated that smug accent as much as he does now and Danny forces himself to walk away before he does something even more stupid, although he’s not sure if that’s actually possible any more.
Title: And We Are The Spaces In-Between
Genre: Het (with hints of implied slash)
Summary: Danny and Peyton will never quite have him but they can have each other.
Author’s Notes: This pairing is still unsettlingly easy to write. More poetic than the above but not much nicer.
And it's because it's too cold otherwise.
Or because maybe life isn't worth living once they get around to admitting the truth.
In a career where they both spend endless and unhealthy amounts of time searching for the light of truth to the exclusion of absolutely everything else, it's hilarious (or it would be hilarious, were it not so pathetic) how much they both ignore what's staring them both in the face.
Danny has no objection to Peyton smoking in his apartment, and even if he did, he could hardly stop her. She has the window open anyway, shivering in the increasingly cold air, blonde-brown hair loose around her shoulders and wearing one of his shirts.
The perfect facsimile of lovers. But all he really wants is for her to leave.
If she leaves, though, then he'll be completely alone. And the whole point of this awkward little exercise in social interaction is so that neither of them have to face the freezing expanses of Waiting For Mac To Make His Goddamn Mind Up.
Danny has no doubt that if Mac found out about this he'd punch him. Punch him hard enough for Danny to be able to lick blood off his teeth and look up, blue-eyed, in a malevolent fashion. Peyton is Mac's after all; Danny's only borrowing her for lack of anything else to do. And because maybe in his own special way he can punish her for calmly having what he's always wanted.
Maybe not. After all, Peyton doesn't seem happy with Mac. If she was, she wouldn't be here. Here, now, smeared mascara and cigarettes from the bottom of her purse, a furtive look in her eyes as she lit one.
It's erotic and evocative, and if Danny were a photographer he'd snap Peyton in her expanse of misery, framed against the New York skyline. Painting a beautiful picture of the way he thinks he might feel if he weren't too busy feeling resentful.
Mac won't and Danny can't and now Peyton's caught in the middle and maybe it isn't fair but he doesn't care enough to stop and if she doesn't mind then he'll keep pushing until she does.
She might cry, all silhouetted like that, woman cheating on her lover because she's sick of being lonely. Danny doesn't want tears and he doesn't want her.
This really isn't fair on anyone.
The t-shirt she's stolen from him is the one in the shade of slightly mossy green that matches the colour Lindsay is forever wearing, and another stab of guilt hits his stomach. Danny wishes he could remember when it all became so complicated, when it was just him and Mac and a dance with steps he could just about follow, and had hopes of ending one day. Now Danny isn't sure what the hell's going on and Peyton stubs out her cigarette on the window ledge, head bowed in defeat.
For all Danny knows, they'll just keep doing this until one of them cracks and says: "why are we doing this and can we please stop because it's not like we're getting anywhere and I love him not you and it's getting increasingly hard to cover up your teethmarks and if he finds out then he'll never care about me and please, please, can we just walk away from this?"
All Danny actually says, though, is:
"Close the damn window."