A/n hello everyone. So I couldn't get that condom spray scene out of my head and this story wouldn't leave either, so here you go. Let me know what you think. This will be two chapters, the next chapter to be added soon.

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI NY or Condom Spray. No copyright infringement is intended.

Going Solo

Okay… so was she hinting or was she messing with him? This question that went around, and around in his brain for the entire train ride home, it pushed everything else out of his mind, including the strangeness of the case they'd had. Sex on the torch of the Statue of Liberty, that was just weird! And the blood on Lady Liberty's face, it was sacrilege! What was wrong with some people?

He looked at his watch and sighed at the hour. He stretched, crossed his legs and shifted his messenger bag to the empty seat next to him.

The train tunnel flashed by in darkness, while the shrieks, and rattles, and clash of steel on steel, lulled him into falling asleep, then a flash of light from the bulbs in the tunnel yanked him back upright with a jerk.

The man sitting at the other end of the train glared at him for no apparent reason. Danny shifted so that the man saw his badge and the joker got up and left the car. Two women about his age were giving him the eye but he ignored them. They were cute, but all he could think about was Lindsay. She was finally back to her old self, as evidenced by her less then subtle hint in the lab. But was it a hint, or was she screwing with his head, he wondered for the hundredth time.

Stop thinking about screwing!

There was no way he was actually contemplating what he was contemplating at that moment. He trusted German engineering about as far as he could throw it. Okay… so they made great cars, but contraceptives. No… it wasn't a possibility… was it?

His head was shaking back and forth in denial, and the two women were still trying to catch his eye. The fact was she'd spoiled him for other women. She was passionate, kind, giving and sexy as hell. He didn't deserve her.

The problem was that she was adventurous enough not to flinch if he decided to "experiment" with the condom spray she left in his pocket. It was in his pants pocket at the moment, and he slipped one hand in to touch the innocuous little canister. It was smooth, and warm to the touch from contact with his body heat. What would if feel like when sprayed on…

Okay… let's not go there till you're home. Do you want to freak out the women across the aisle and get arrested? Try explaining that one to Mac, or Stella, or anyone else in the lab including Lindsay.

The train jerked to a stop at the next station and the women headed for the exit. The tall, blond one winked at him over his shoulder and he sighed. There was a time he would have followed her out the doors of the subway, but those days were over. He was happy about that; life was simpler now that he had one woman in his life.

The train started up again, and there were three more people on the train from the previous stop. A hugely fat, African American man, a very small, white, red haired woman who sat down right next to him despite the fact that there were a dozen empty places. The last person was a teen-aged boy with long dark hair and a skateboard in one hand.

The next stop was his, and he stepped out into the noisy station, pushing past five other people getting onto the train. Transit cops were hauling a homeless man out of the station. It smelled like the man had emptied his bladder against the wall. There was a Hispanic man sitting on a wooden stool and playing the saxophone. The gold of the instrument gleamed off the dim and flickering lights. When would they get all the subway lights working at the same time? They seemed to be forever on the fritz. He wouldn't have it any other way.

He jogged up the stairs to the street and turned left. It was a one block hike to his apartment. His hands were beginning to sweat and he rubbed them hard on his jeans. One hand brushed the pocket that held the canister and he yanked that hand away.

Why am I even thinking about doing this?

The door to his apartment building was in front of him. He went up the stairs and opened the door with his key. He decided not to wait for the elevator and took the stairs instead, two at a time. He suddenly felt the need to be inside of his own space. It felt like someone was chasing him. The door slammed behind him, and he dropped his badge and gun on the table.

Okay… just think of it as a science experiment.

Yeah… that'll work. He was so glad that Lindsay wasn't here. She and Stella were stuck at the lab finishing up on the case. Mac had sent him home; he still thought Danny needed to be babied after the ordeal with the Irish mob. His hand was in perfect working order as he was about to demonstrate.

God… he was actually going to do this. What if he had an allergic reaction? What if it got stuck in place?

He dropped his left shoe on the hardwood floor, and began to imagine a humiliating trip to the emergency room. He pulled the small canister out of his pocket, and stared at it while he went to his bedroom. This was crazy!

Okay Messer… if you're really going to do this you better get comfortable.

The desire to laugh uncontrollably welled up in his chest. Why was he so hesitant to try something that had obviously been tested on some hapless college students and found to be effective?

That was comforting!

His socks were on the floor and he was sitting on the bed before he realized he'd moved. This was ridiculous. He unbuttoned the shirt he wore and threw it on the floor next to his shoes. He'd lost his mind; he wasn't going to do this. His pants and boxers joined the pile on the floor and he lay down on his back. Okay… his cell phone was on the bedside table within easy reach should he need to call an ambulance. The next thing he had to do was think of something arousing. Normally spanking it was fun; today it was a real chore.

Think of something sexy. Think about Lindsay.

Okay good, got a picture of Lindsay in his head. Unfortunately even her smiling face wasn't doing it for him, He began to stroke mini Messer, but mini Messer wasn't cooperating at all.

I need something more stimulating.

He wished he hadn't got rid of his porn collection when he hooked up with Lindsay. His hand was still trying to stroke some life into his uncooperative cock, nope… not even a twitch. How could this be, it's not like he hadn't been doing this on and off since he was thirteen. Well they say it happens to all men eventually. Not to him though, he was the exception to the rule and he was going to prove it.

He was striding into the bathroom thinking about a nice, warm, relaxing shower when his brain succeeded getting through to him.

Hello Genius, you have to let the spray on condom dry! Running water isn't conducive to drying anything. Try thinking with your head, and I mean the one on top of your shoulders, not the one between your legs, that melon up there on your shoulders isn't just for decoration, you know.

He stopped just before turning on the hot water. His brain was right, what was he thinking. He looked around, and decided to try it in here, maybe lying down was preventing the blood from getting to where it needs to go.

Yeah… like your brain, you're not using it. Why are you even doing this?

He ignored that annoying voice in his head, and began to try and think of the night before when Lindsay had showed him lots of new uses for chocolate syrup and blindfolds. Her mouth was the most creative orifice he'd had the pleasure of feeling on his body. He'd give anything to feel that mouth on his cock right now, her tongue licking the head, her small hands stroking the base and driving him wild.

Damn… there might have been a twitch.

He looked down hopefully and mini Messer was still flaccid and soft as a stick of butter left out on the kitchen counter all day.

Hey… didn't they use butter one afternoon when it was raining and…. Damn… why wasn't this working? He was trying too hard. That was the problem. He picked up the can of condom spray and read the directions. Maybe the manufactures have printed some tips on the can? He held it up to the light and squinted at the can.

He was concentrating so hard on the can; he didn't hear the door to the apartment open or the creak of the floor outside the bathroom door.

"Danny… I've been calling you... what are you…"

He whipped around and wished the floor would open up and swallow him. This was just to humiliating to be born.