TITLE: Hitting for the Cycle
SUMMARY: Lindsay has a little fun at a baseball game.
PAIRING: Seriously, if you have to ask…
RATING: M. They begged me.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the show or the characters. Life would be awesome if I did. I am just borrowing them to satisfy my own muse and they will be returned at the end of the fic, mostly unscathed.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: If you haven't done so already, you should sign the pro-D/L petition! We want to thank TPTB for everything they've done for us over the past two seasons and show them just how many fans D/L has. Visit my profile page for the link, and add your name to the list! We have over 800 signatures so far.

I forgot to thank my betas! Spunky and Bo, you are awesome!

It's four hundred degrees.

At least, it feels that way to Lindsay. The temperature is probably closer to the high nineties, but the humidity makes it unbearable, and the recent heat wave that has hit the city shows no signs of breaking. Though clouds have accumulated overhead, she has no hope that they will bring much-needed rain – the sky has been overcast for days with no precipitation. She finds herself wishing for a return to Bozeman for the summer, if only to escape the humidity. She hates humidity for a variety of reasons, including the fact that her hair never behaves properly when it's muggy.

The heat wouldn't bother her so much if she'd been able to remain indoors, sprawled on the couch in front of her air conditioning unit like a normal person. But no. She had to accompany her delusional boyfriend to Yankee Stadium for the game.

He's obviously delusional, if he thinks that what she wants to do in this weather is sit outside at a baseball game. She's never been a fan of baseball. It's too boring for her taste; she prefers football – there's more excitement, there's more energy, there's a greater possibility of a fight. Now, if he had wanted to take her to a Giants game, then she'd be more than willing, but as she stretches her legs out over the empty seats in front of her – grateful that the two burly men who'd been sitting there finally got up for snacks – she inwardly groans at the prospect of spending another two hours or more faking interest in the sport.

She reminds herself, as the inning closes with yet another strikeout, leaving the score tied at zero, that she did agree to come. However, she only agreed to come because she hasn't really seen Danny in weeks – not properly – and if she didn't accompany him to the game, she might not have gotten to spend any time with him at all.

Things have been crazy since the warehouse; Danny's been on moderated duty, despite his protests that he's fine, which leaves Lindsay, Stella, and Hawkes to pick up the slack. She's been working quite a bit recently, not to mention that when Danny does work, it's usually on an opposite shift. He'll be entering the lab just as she's leaving it, or she'll have to leave for a scene in the middle of the night.

Lindsay suspects that Mac is attempting to limit her and Danny's interaction in the lab. Because the whole team found out within hours of Danny's hostage crisis that the two were dating. Personally, Lindsay would have been worried if they hadn't. She and Danny weren't exactly subtle, and they do work with trained investigators. After a rather embarrassing meeting in Mac's office, they both agreed to keep it out of the lab. It seems, though, that Mac doesn't entirely trust them. She's barely gotten to spend five minutes with Danny.

Which is another reason that she doesn't want to be here. This is the first time in weeks that she and Danny have had the same day off, and she would have preferred to spend the day within the comfort of his bedroom. Or on the pool table. Whichever. She's not particularly picky at this point in time.

She knows how important baseball is to Danny, and that he hasn't had the opportunity to come to a game in quite a while. He usually has to settle for watching the game on television, which she actually prefers, because then she can read or something. And Danny almost always lazily throws his arm across the back of the couch, and she settles against his shoulder. She knows that he loves coming to the stadium – he claims that it isn't the same without the smell of the grass in the outfield and feeling the sun on his face. But at the ballpark, there's an armrest between her and Danny, and the seats are uncomfortable, and the jackass behind her keeps kicking the back of her seat.

But she keeps her mouth shut when she glances to her right and sees Danny smiling. He hasn't smiled like that in a while; he's under a lot of stress, and even though his injury isn't as bad as Mac and Stella are making it out to be, she knows it bothers him more than he lets on. Broken bones are broken bones, no matter what Danny's pride says. Still, it's been months since she saw that light in his eyes – probably that morning in his apartment, the day that changed everything.

He turns to her, grinning, and says, "Isn't this fun?"

She forces a smile and nods, but he barely notices, as the guy selling beer is currently in their section. Danny's back to her, she rolls her eyes and drops her head into her hands. She can't stop thinking about everything they could be doing right now, if they weren't in a stadium surrounded by thousands of people just as delusional as Danny.

Although she shouldn't talk. There were some football games in college where she ended up underneath a few inches of snow before the fourth quarter.

"Here," Danny says, turning back to her and handing her a beer. "Figured you might be thirsty."

She takes the beer with a smile that's slightly more genuine than the one she previously gave him. He's having a good time, and she shouldn't ruin that. Besides, at least she is getting to spend time with him, just the two of them, outside of work.

But next time they have a day off, she gets to pick the activity.

"Man," Danny's voice is full of excitement that she wishes she could emulate, "A-Rod's looking good. Today's looking to be a banner day for him. He could hit for the cycle."

Lindsay smiles and raises her eyebrows. Were this football, she would be able to rattle off stats like a pro, but she doesn't really follow baseball, so she doesn't contradict Danny as he enthusiastically debates with the guy sitting beside him. She doesn't understand a word the other man is saying, his speech already slurred from too many beers, even though it's only the top of the third, but Danny doesn't seem to have any problems.

The other man gets up and Danny turns back to her. "It would be awesome if A-Rod could hit for the cycle. A Yankee hasn't done that in twelve years."

"How exciting," Lindsay says, hoping that the sarcasm isn't evident in her tone.

"Tell me about it," Danny laughs. "I almost did it once in college. There's an energy surrounding you when you're close. It's unlike anything…" He trails off, his eyes raking over her, and she shivers, despite the heat. "Unlike almost anything I've experienced."

She feels a heat settling in the pit of her belly that has absolutely nothing to do with the blistering temperatures, and it does not diminish in the slightest as Danny turns away to watch A-Rod come up to the plate. In fact, as she has the opportunity to study his face, the flame in her stomach only gets larger. His ears are oddly shaped. There's no real lobe, like most people have; it seems as though his ear connects to the side of his head on a slope rather than a curve. His nose has that bump on the bridge that's not noticeable from the front but pretty obvious in profile. She loves that bump; it gives his nose character. His hair is getting long again; she loves it running her fingers through it. It also makes it easier to grip when they're kissing.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and the muscles in his upper arm bulge. Lindsay closes her eyes and vividly remembers how those arms feel around her waist, her shoulders. She remembers the first time he ever held her in his arms, to carry her across a roof for an experiment. She follows the line of his muscles up to his shoulders. She loves his shoulders. She also loves his legs, which are deceptively strong. They're not as muscled as his arms, but they've supported her weight more than once.

To be honest, there is very little about this man that she doesn't love. She even loves that he's slightly bowlegged, that his legs are pasty, and that there's a small bald patch on the back of his head.

And suddenly Lindsay knows that she can't sit here much longer. She awkwardly shifts position, but the heat still pools in the pit of her stomach. They have to get out of this stadium.

She gets an idea as A-Rod swings on a 1-2 pitch and hits a line drive over the third baseman's head. Danny cheers with the rest of the crowd, but Lindsay's focused on something else. While everyone is cheering – A-Rod's single knocked in a run – she places her hand on Danny's cheek and guides his face down to hers, capturing his lips in a gentle kiss.

The tenderness of the kiss morphs into something stronger, as Lindsay realizes that it has been days since she's even seen Danny for more than a few minutes. She didn't intend to keep it chaste, but she's rapidly losing control. Because kissing Danny is addicting – the way he moves his mouth over hers, the way his tongue slides against hers, the way he hums in the back of his throat. He practically makes love to her mouth, and she can't get enough of it. She could spend a lifetime kissing Danny.

She'd certainly like the opportunity to try.

He brings his hands up to cup her face, and she mimics his position, her fingertips playing with his nonexistent earlobes. She gently bites his lip and tries to sidle closer to him, but her movements are thwarted by that damn armrest. He tangles his fingers in her curls, but releases a growl of frustration almost instantly. She's made it difficult for him, having pulled her hair back in a ponytail in an attempt to cool off a bit. He angles her head to take the kiss even deeper, if that's possible.

But before he has the chance to do so, she pulls away, licking her lips to savor his taste and flashing him a grin that contains far more innocence than she's feeling at the moment. He stares at her, his jaw slack, as she relaxes back in her seat.

"What, uh…" She finds him irresistible when he's tripping over his words. "What was that for?"

Lindsay lifts one shoulder in a barely perceptible shrug. "How do you celebrate?"

"Celebrate." He chuckles softly and runs his tongue along his bottom lip. Lindsay cocks an eyebrow in a silent dare, but Danny doesn't take her up on it. He turns his attention back to the game. "You plan on celebrating like that every time we get a run?"

She also turns back to the game. "If I feel so inclined."

Posada's hit also bats in a run, and she can feel every muscle in Danny's body tense, but she remains in her seat, her eyes locked on the infield. There's a noise on her right that indicates Danny has turned to look at her, but she determinedly stares directly in front of her. His eyes bore into the side of her head, but she only folds her arms across her chest and crosses her legs at the ankles. Eventually, he slumps in his seat. She can almost hear him pouting.

The corners of her mouth quirk upwards in the trace hint of a smile.

Phelps grounds out to end the inning, and Lindsay and Danny exchange a glance as the White Sox trot off the field. She winks at him and turns away, sipping her beer. They sit in absolute silence as Farnsworth strikes out three in a row, and it isn't until A-Rod comes up to the plate again that Danny opens his mouth.

"Curious to know who the last Yankee to hit for the cycle was?"

She smiles. She can hear the anticipation in his voice, and it gives her a thrill. "Not particularly, but I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"Tony Fernandez. September 3, 1995."


A-Rod hits a grounder towards the shortstop that takes a bad hop and goes right over his head. He picks up his speed and rounds first as the ball dribbles into the outfield. The left fielder dives for it and hurls it towards second base, but A-Rod slides and is safe. All the other spectators leap to their feet to cheer, but as Danny starts to stand, Lindsay firmly grips his forearm and hauls him back to his seat, pressing her lips against his once more.

He immediately forces her mouth open with his tongue and grips a handful of her hair. She whimpers as she feels her control ebbing once more. Danny is all kinds of talented, especially at this. She attacks her mouth with his, the oppressive heat serving to heighten her reaction to his bruising kiss. She feels dizzy and lightheaded; kissing Danny is a rollercoaster, and all she wants is to get back on the ride.

She slides as close to Danny as the armrest will allow, grabs the wrist of his free hand, and places it on her breast. He moans in back of his throat and gives her breast a light squeeze. She gives him an answering moan and tries to move even closer, barely noticing the sharp pain as her hip smacks off the armrest. In fact, she's conscious of very little at the moment. She's only able to focus on Danny – his lips, his scent, his heat.

He strokes a thumb across her breast, and she can feel her nipples tightening in response. She whimpers again and tries to regain some semblance of control. She reminds herself that they're in public – in the middle of a very crowded ballpark, quite possibly on the jumbo-tron. She never thought she would be the type of person who would engage in massive PDAs, but perhaps that was because she had never dated a guy that she wanted to attack in public.

With an extreme amount of self-control, she manages to pull away. She rubs her bottom lip with her thumb and deliberately avoids Danny's gaze, because she doesn't want to see the pleading in his eyes. She gives him a faltering smile and settles back against her seat.

"You're killing me here, Montana."

She runs her fingers through his hair. "Believe me, Messer, when I say that killing you is not my intention."

He gives an exasperated sigh. "What is your intention?"

She cocks her head to the side, unsure of how to respond. She isn't entirely sure what her intention is, aside from getting the two of them out of this stadium. She smiles weakly at him again and murmurs, "I missed you, is all."

His eyes soften, and he leans forward to rest his forehead against hers, bumping noses in the process. "I missed you, too." Lindsay's stomach gives a little flutter at the tenderness in his tone. She loves when his voice gets like that; it doesn't happen often, but it makes her melt every time. "How about we watch the rest of the game?"

Lindsay groans inwardly. That's the last thing she wants to do. But she's apparently tormented him long enough, so she cautiously takes his left hand, mindful of his broken fingers, and turns back towards the field.

For a few innings, they have a real pitcher's duel on their hands. Even when someone manages to get a hit, the fielders bail their pitchers out of the jam. Lindsay sits with her head on Danny's shoulder, giggling at his lame jokes. His thumb lazily strokes the back of her hand, and she burrows her face in the crook of his neck. She's so content to just sit there with Danny that she barely notices the armrest digging into her side. He rests his head against hers, and they talk about work. He's desperate to hear about the cases she's been working on, since his own caseload has been so light. He's been forced to remain in the lab unless they're desperate for bodies, doing mostly paperwork and lab work. She knows that he hates it, so she gives him the details and they begin to talk out her most recent case – a dead stripper – that has her stymied.

Their conversation dies down as A-Rod steps up to the plate. So far, the man has hit a single and a double, which is probably an average day for him. A couple of knucklers go into the dirt, and he foul tips a few pitches. The count at 2-2, he takes a brief time out to brush the dirt off his pants.

"You know," Danny says, his voice raspy, "only six players in the American League have hit a natural cycle."

Lindsay smiles and shakes her head. He has obviously figured out what she was doing. "Is that so?"

Danny inclines his head in a slight nod. "So…" He licks his lips. "It would be even more exciting if A-Rod were to do that."

Lindsay finds that she is barely able to breathe, and Danny's entire body seems to lock in place as A-Rod swings on an inside curve and knocks a screamer down the third base line. The left fielder catches it as it bounces off the wall, but he throws wild and misses the cutoff man. A-Rod makes it to third.

She scarcely has time to turn before Danny's lips are crashing down on hers. There is nothing chaste or tender about this kiss. It's all about passion and lust; it sucks the heat from the surrounding atmosphere – and there's an abundance of it – and places it between their lips. Their tongues duel for dominance, and she fists her hands in his hair, trying to pull him closer.

His left hand captures her breast of its own accord this time, while his right hand slides down her back to slip underneath the waistband of her cutoffs. She leans forward, rising slightly out of the seat, and he clutches at her ass, his knuckles digging into her flesh. It's glorious torture, what he's doing to her body, and she loves every second of it. She wouldn't have it any other way.

But it's extremely unfair that she's the only one being turned into a sputtering mess. Her left hand grabs a fistful of his shirt, but her right hand makes a slow trek down his chest and abs to the denim clad juncture between his thighs. She settles her palm flat against the bulge in his jeans and gives it a light squeeze. He whimpers and thrusts his hips up into her hand. She smiles against his lips. She loves being able to do that to him. She doubts Danny Messer is the type of guy who whimpers at a girl's touch – but he does at hers.

They both break apart at roughly the same time, collapsing in their seats, breathless. She raises a hand to her forehead, a bit dizzy. She glances up and meets Danny's eyes and almost passes out from the look he's giving her. He looks like he can't wait to rip off all her clothes, and she's waiting for him to tell her to grab her purse, but the crowd lets out another cheer, and his attention is brought back to the game. Lindsay angrily crosses her arms. Looks like she has to take a backseat to baseball.

It's the bottom of the eighth, and Lindsay has had enough. The Yankees are winning by an obscene amount, and it's quite obvious that Danny's going to stay until the end of the game. She doesn't plan on it. She's hot, and she's tired, and she's royally pissed off. She leans forward to gather up her belongings but freezes mid-bend.

A-Rod is coming up to the plate.

Everything goes in slow motion as he knocks the dirt out of his cleats and takes his stance. He swings on the first pitch and belts a long fly ball into left field. Lindsay inhales sharply, but it lands on the wrong side of the foul line. Danny turns to look at her, his eyebrows raised. Their eyes remain locked as A-Rod blasts a three-run homer over the wall in left center field.

The rest of the spectators leap to their feet, screaming their lungs out as the bases clear, but Lindsay keeps her eyes on Danny. The air between them becomes charged with a familiar type of electricity, and Lindsay loves it.

"You know," Danny murmurs, using one finger to stroke her cheek, "if we leave now, we'll beat the rush."