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.ficlet: Displacement - D/M (NTG POV) PG13ish
Title: Displacement
By: HF
Email: aesc36 @gmail.com
Pairing: D/M
Rating/Warnings: PG13/Rish for naughty words, vaguely humorous.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine.
Advertisements: Eyefucking. UST. New Tech Guy POV. Coincidentally for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
wordclaim50 challenge #12, "humor," though it was written mostly because ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
stillane thought it would be a great idea.
Notes: Some time ago,stillane and I noticed that New Tech Guy (who does have an actual name) was the target of Danny and Martin's displaced UST, and stillane suggested a fic should be written about it.
DISPLACEMENT
James “Mac” MacAvoy watched mutely as Danny Taylor strode purposefully in his direction, and only became aware that he was staring when Taylor got close enough for Mac to see the beginnings of that trademark smirk of his.
Oh, my God. Mac forced himself to look back at his computer screen. He’d just finished spending ten minutes with Special Agent Fitzgerald and didn’t know if he was up to dealing with his teammate. Pretend you’re working on the email trace. You’re really busy. Maybe he’ll go away. Maybe –
No, Taylor was right there, standing, like, micrometers away and bending even closer. Drape of silk tie over Mac’s shoulder – he could practically feel it, shushing gently across his left ear – and in silence he watched as Taylor reached across the desk and picked up a pen.
He had one right there in the breast pocket of his coat, Mac thought vaguely. Why’d he need to pick one up?
When Mac had first signed on to the Missing Persons department, the tech he was replacing had told him that Taylor, while a good guy, would flirt with anything that moved. And he was very good at it.
“He got to me,” the tech had admitted, “and I’m married. With kids.”
Mac had shrugged it off as office gossip, and so was completely overcome the first time Taylor had bent over his shoulder and given him the full benefit of that smirk and those dark eyes of his. He definitely got to Mac, and Mac had a girlfriend. A serious girlfriend.
“So...” Lazy, hazy drawl and oh God no, he wasn’t going to be able to stand this. Why did this have to happen to him? “Do we know where those emails came from?”
Taylor was flipping Mac’s pen between his fingers – long, graceful fingers, Mac’s brain supplied – as he spoke, that grin plastered on his face. Mac focused desperately on his computer screen.
He was going to break this time, Mac thought. He’d have to find some way to end this before he did.
Because Fitzgerald had spent ten minutes leaning over Mac’s other shoulder to look at a voiceprint analysis for himself, tie a hideously colored blur in the corner of Mac’s vision, asking questions about... something Mac couldn’t remember, like he wasn’t flagrantly violating Mac’s personal space at all. He’d been checking through some of the data, expertly clicking his way through the various screens like he knew as much about computers as Mac himself and that was... Well, it was like a geeky way of flirting but Mac was definitely not going to think about that.
And then there were these random comments that Mac would have called suggestive if they hadn’t come from a clean-cut guy like Martin Fitzgerald.
But then again.
“Mac? The emails?”
Mac looked up and God help him, Taylor was smirking down at him, positively radiant with satisfaction at making Mac’s life the miserable hell that it was, eyes dark and the way he was looking... Mac couldn’t identify it, but it was weirdly like being undressed mentally.
He was not going there.
Taylor leaned in a bit closer, faint hint of cologne wafting over Mac, who swallowed heavily.
This right here was what the old tech had been talking about.
He’d begun squeaking out some answer about the missing girl’s online journal when he saw Fitzgerald moving swiftly through the office, heading for the corridor. Heading in the direction of the tech room and Mac prayed that Fitzgerald was going somewhere else – Malone’s office, the elevator, home, an interview – anywhere but the –
Fitzgerald unceremoniously pushed his way through the glass door, eyes narrowing as he turned in their direction. Mac sensed Taylor withdrawing a bit – though still, Mac thought helplessly, holding his, Mac’s, pen – and yeah, there it was, this weird sort of lightening, like the full weight of Taylor’s flirtation had shifted somewhere else.
Specifically, in the direction of Martin Fitzgerald, who was looking at Taylor in a way that Mac could only describe as eyefucking – he couldn’t say how, only it was the way he was looking at Taylor, hard and significant and not hiding the fact that he was doing it and Taylor was looking right back at him, like they were – were the only people in the room and were having visual sex or something like that.
Exactly like Taylor had been looking at him not too long ago.
And then, in that single blinding instant, Mac understood what was going on.
“I’m a target!”
Taylor and Fitzgerald turned to look at him, as though genuinely surprised to see that he was still sitting there, like he should have left during their stupid eyefuck session.
Which he should have done, Mac supposed.
“What?” Fitzgerald asked. “A target?”
“For you two” Mac said furiously. “I took a psychology class in college. You two are displacing all of – of that onto me, with your flirting and playing with my pen and your eyefucking and everything, and I’m sick of it.”
“What are you talking about?” Taylor this time, folding his arms across his chest. He glanced over at Fitzgerald, a micro-eyefuck this time, like he didn’t know exactly what he was doing, the bastard.
“That!” Mac pointed at Fitzgerald for emphasis. “The way you two were looking at each other just now, that’s the way you keep looking at me, and it’s obvious you two, like, want each other. I can’t take it! No one can. That’s why the other tech guy left, I bet, because the two of you were coming on to him when all you really want to do is sleep with each other.”
“Oh.” Fitzgerald blinked at Mac in surprise and then looked at Taylor. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” Mac said, before Taylor could say anything. “So do you think maybe you could, you know, stop displacing now? It’s getting really uncomfortable, and I have a girlfriend...”
“Poor girl,” Taylor said sympathetically, and by the time Mac realized that Taylor had just insulted him and managed to work up a comeback, Taylor was impatiently pushing Fitzgerald out the door and down the hall to... somewhere.
To where, Mac didn’t want to know.
Sort of.
* * *
That had all happened on a Friday, so Mac had two days to recover, and speculate as to what had happened after he’d shouted at (shouted at) two real FBI agents and told them to sleep with each other. Amy, the girlfriend, had complained about his distraction the entire weekend, but he couldn’t help it.
He was back at work Monday morning and in the process of turning on his computer when he saw a new pen, exactly like the one Taylor had taken on Friday, sitting on his desk, a ribbon tied around it.
-end-
By: HF
Email: aesc36 @gmail.com
Pairing: D/M
Rating/Warnings: PG13/Rish for naughty words, vaguely humorous.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine.
Advertisements: Eyefucking. UST. New Tech Guy POV. Coincidentally for
wordclaim50 challenge #12, "humor," though it was written mostly because stillane thought it would be a great idea.Notes: Some time ago,
stillane and I noticed that New Tech Guy (who does have an actual name) was the target of Danny and Martin's displaced UST, and stillane suggested a fic should be written about it.DISPLACEMENT
James “Mac” MacAvoy watched mutely as Danny Taylor strode purposefully in his direction, and only became aware that he was staring when Taylor got close enough for Mac to see the beginnings of that trademark smirk of his.
Oh, my God. Mac forced himself to look back at his computer screen. He’d just finished spending ten minutes with Special Agent Fitzgerald and didn’t know if he was up to dealing with his teammate. Pretend you’re working on the email trace. You’re really busy. Maybe he’ll go away. Maybe –
No, Taylor was right there, standing, like, micrometers away and bending even closer. Drape of silk tie over Mac’s shoulder – he could practically feel it, shushing gently across his left ear – and in silence he watched as Taylor reached across the desk and picked up a pen.
He had one right there in the breast pocket of his coat, Mac thought vaguely. Why’d he need to pick one up?
When Mac had first signed on to the Missing Persons department, the tech he was replacing had told him that Taylor, while a good guy, would flirt with anything that moved. And he was very good at it.
“He got to me,” the tech had admitted, “and I’m married. With kids.”
Mac had shrugged it off as office gossip, and so was completely overcome the first time Taylor had bent over his shoulder and given him the full benefit of that smirk and those dark eyes of his. He definitely got to Mac, and Mac had a girlfriend. A serious girlfriend.
“So...” Lazy, hazy drawl and oh God no, he wasn’t going to be able to stand this. Why did this have to happen to him? “Do we know where those emails came from?”
Taylor was flipping Mac’s pen between his fingers – long, graceful fingers, Mac’s brain supplied – as he spoke, that grin plastered on his face. Mac focused desperately on his computer screen.
He was going to break this time, Mac thought. He’d have to find some way to end this before he did.
Because Fitzgerald had spent ten minutes leaning over Mac’s other shoulder to look at a voiceprint analysis for himself, tie a hideously colored blur in the corner of Mac’s vision, asking questions about... something Mac couldn’t remember, like he wasn’t flagrantly violating Mac’s personal space at all. He’d been checking through some of the data, expertly clicking his way through the various screens like he knew as much about computers as Mac himself and that was... Well, it was like a geeky way of flirting but Mac was definitely not going to think about that.
And then there were these random comments that Mac would have called suggestive if they hadn’t come from a clean-cut guy like Martin Fitzgerald.
But then again.
“Mac? The emails?”
Mac looked up and God help him, Taylor was smirking down at him, positively radiant with satisfaction at making Mac’s life the miserable hell that it was, eyes dark and the way he was looking... Mac couldn’t identify it, but it was weirdly like being undressed mentally.
He was not going there.
Taylor leaned in a bit closer, faint hint of cologne wafting over Mac, who swallowed heavily.
This right here was what the old tech had been talking about.
He’d begun squeaking out some answer about the missing girl’s online journal when he saw Fitzgerald moving swiftly through the office, heading for the corridor. Heading in the direction of the tech room and Mac prayed that Fitzgerald was going somewhere else – Malone’s office, the elevator, home, an interview – anywhere but the –
Fitzgerald unceremoniously pushed his way through the glass door, eyes narrowing as he turned in their direction. Mac sensed Taylor withdrawing a bit – though still, Mac thought helplessly, holding his, Mac’s, pen – and yeah, there it was, this weird sort of lightening, like the full weight of Taylor’s flirtation had shifted somewhere else.
Specifically, in the direction of Martin Fitzgerald, who was looking at Taylor in a way that Mac could only describe as eyefucking – he couldn’t say how, only it was the way he was looking at Taylor, hard and significant and not hiding the fact that he was doing it and Taylor was looking right back at him, like they were – were the only people in the room and were having visual sex or something like that.
Exactly like Taylor had been looking at him not too long ago.
And then, in that single blinding instant, Mac understood what was going on.
“I’m a target!”
Taylor and Fitzgerald turned to look at him, as though genuinely surprised to see that he was still sitting there, like he should have left during their stupid eyefuck session.
Which he should have done, Mac supposed.
“What?” Fitzgerald asked. “A target?”
“For you two” Mac said furiously. “I took a psychology class in college. You two are displacing all of – of that onto me, with your flirting and playing with my pen and your eyefucking and everything, and I’m sick of it.”
“What are you talking about?” Taylor this time, folding his arms across his chest. He glanced over at Fitzgerald, a micro-eyefuck this time, like he didn’t know exactly what he was doing, the bastard.
“That!” Mac pointed at Fitzgerald for emphasis. “The way you two were looking at each other just now, that’s the way you keep looking at me, and it’s obvious you two, like, want each other. I can’t take it! No one can. That’s why the other tech guy left, I bet, because the two of you were coming on to him when all you really want to do is sleep with each other.”
“Oh.” Fitzgerald blinked at Mac in surprise and then looked at Taylor. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” Mac said, before Taylor could say anything. “So do you think maybe you could, you know, stop displacing now? It’s getting really uncomfortable, and I have a girlfriend...”
“Poor girl,” Taylor said sympathetically, and by the time Mac realized that Taylor had just insulted him and managed to work up a comeback, Taylor was impatiently pushing Fitzgerald out the door and down the hall to... somewhere.
To where, Mac didn’t want to know.
Sort of.
That had all happened on a Friday, so Mac had two days to recover, and speculate as to what had happened after he’d shouted at (shouted at) two real FBI agents and told them to sleep with each other. Amy, the girlfriend, had complained about his distraction the entire weekend, but he couldn’t help it.
He was back at work Monday morning and in the process of turning on his computer when he saw a new pen, exactly like the one Taylor had taken on Friday, sitting on his desk, a ribbon tied around it.
-end-
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The new pen is a clever touch. UST for everybody!
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Probably the latter. Martin has hidden depths... He's the kind of person you'd never really expect to act out.
And looking at your icon, I think New Hampshire should change its state motto: "Give me pornography, or give me death!"
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the leaning!
and Martin's geek!flirting
and the micro-eyefuck!
and the bwee, and, and—
*ded. so ded*
and I have a fitting icon*! *win*
*) I seriously typed 'eyecon' there
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That sounds like some very bizarre variety of kink. NC17 for eyecon sex.
and Martin's geek!flirting
Which, because I'm a nerd, I think is terribly hot :D
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That was really great.
I loved the way Mac exploded. Displacement
Oh this needs it very own icon!
I think the bow on the pen was a very nice touch.
Now, I'm curious about the conversation that happend after Danny pushed Martin down the hall. Cause obviously they were "busy" all weekend. Any possiblities on finding out about that? Hmmm. I'd be so ever grateful.
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Any possiblities on finding out about that? Hmmm. I'd be so ever grateful.
Maybe in a few weeks, once I can actually write my own stuff again. *gazes at depressingly large pile of RL things*
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*sorry, I don't make sense right now, but I am reading my Flist as distraction from my booooring term paper, so I am not at my most coherent or most creative ;)*
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And speaking of cracking up, thanks to that post you made a few weeks ago, I've been mentally adding "in my pants" to everything I read.
"To be or not to be... in my pants. That is the question. In my pants."
Seriously.
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:)
moose-there's a party in my pants-sal
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I still don't like the new tech guy, but omg was that funny. I almost feel bad for him, almost, but not quite, because yeah... heh.
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On the other hand, it's Danny and Martin's UST. And that has its benefits.
It's a dilemma, I tell you.
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They went to dinner, saw an art film, played backgammon at a coffee house, then went to their own apartments for the night. Yes.
Of course they had hot, resolving-the-sexual-tension sex. What do you think happened? ;)
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Sometimes a pen is just a pen.
Except possibly when it's given to you by two guys you just told to go have sex with each other.
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Great fic! Made me laugh in a very good way.
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you got to love the eyefuck and the UST!
They're both so good at the UST, it would be a shame to write the RST if that weren't, you know, hotter than the UST and the eyefucking *g*
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*reads*
*chokes*
*dies*
Oh my God, those poor pretty idiotic boys. And bwah! for poor Mac. Although I don't know what the hell I'm pitying him for, what with being surrounded by Danny and Martin.
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Oh, yeah. If I were Mac, I'd be invested in having the UST continue as long as possible. (I would also be plotting with Viv to do away with Elena.)
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So, so cool. It's all the things that would suck about actually being near an OTP. The bits that you adore about them individually, the things that make you want them both, versus the fact that they really are just best together. Not to mention unconscionably hot.
The extremities of the coolness:
1) The Pen of Flirtation! Eeee!
2)And then there were these random comments that Mac would have called suggestive if they hadn’t come from a clean-cut guy like Martin Fitzgerald.
But then again.
Exactly! I've often thought that Martin could get away with bloody murder, simply because no one would believe he'd cut loose enough to misbehave. Perpetually underestimated in his deviousness, is our boy.
3)positively radiant with satisfaction at making Mac’s life the miserable hell that it was
Yeah. Am dying with laughter.
4)Sort of.
*cackle*
5)Symbolism. Got to love the symbolism.
Thank you for running with it! And I get the biggest kick of all out of the fact that the title, with all it's accompanying designations, reads very like tech-speak.
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Yeah, it's not fair... There should be a rule. If you have that much hot, you need to share it with the rest of the class.
I've often thought that Martin could get away with bloody murder, simply because no one would believe he'd cut loose enough to misbehave.
Oh, definitely. It's pretty obvious Martin will freely ignore the rules and things like safety procedures when he thinks he needs to, and I've written him like that a lot... But now you make me want to write devious!Martin.
Thank you for running with it!
Thank you for suggesting it! I hope your week will provide you with a few more episodes of debilitating glee despite thesis-related horror *hugs*
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This is where I break, I was trying to keep it together, but this made me burst *laughs*
but it was weirdly like being undressed mentally.
The best definition so far to Danny's way of flirting *shiver*
If I go on quoting I'll end quoting this fic entirely, this was just amazing and so Danny and Martin and just perfect even with the teach guy in it, probably because of the teach guy in it. you are the best when it comes to look at the boys from a different point of view.
*scurries over to read the other fic*
Ah, and the micro-eyefuck... *lol*
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There have been times when I'm convinced Danny is mentally peeling off Martin's clothes, the way he looks at him. Or maybe like Danny has x-ray vision or something...
And this really had to be written from NTG's perspective, if only because NTG gets to tell Danny and Martin exactly what I want to tell them (and the writers, come to think of it). It was pretty cathartic, actually :D
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This was great. The poor guy. And the new pen. And the micro - eyefuck! Wonderful little details that make a great little story. I repeat: Hee ^_^
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PS I know there's the longer one waiting for me... I promise I'll read it tomorrow. I'm so slow!
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I can totally see that! Even a Mr Straighty McStraight, winner of the annual 'Straightest Straight in Straightville' contest would succumb to the Danny Taylor Effect!
Brilliant story, love it!
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Which is why Danny is perfect for Martin :D
Thank you! *squees back at your icon*
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Awesome!