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Kissing Danny
Without A Trace
m/m slash (obviously)
Xmas fluffiness for Staceykitten, with a shout out to MissKittie for reading this for me despite not knowing the characters. Special mention to Archie, the Shannybear, Jack Nasty, and in a small way, the NeNe.
AN: Total fluff. No attempts have been made to delve into angst or to study their more complex natures and problems. I write depth and angst every day damn it all. I don’t need any more right now. This is really uneven too, I think. Hmm. Um…I apparently decided that Martin’s self-image is horribly off. Blah. Does this shit even make sense??? I think not. Whatever. It's my first time in the fandom. Mistakes will be made.
For those that don’t know. Sing Sing=Ossining Prison
OMG so high school!
What happened—that is, what happened to mess everything up—was that Martin got his fairy tales mixed up.
Which was an embarrassing thing to admit to, since, after all, those bedtime stories were one of his nicer memories of childhood, a pleasant break from history or whatever he’d been told to read and to get lost in what he had wanted to read. Deep down he knew it was most probably the very fact that he got to choose them that had made him love them, though it could have also been the way those fantastic stories were linked in his head to his mother, who would always come in late after a night out with his father to check on him.
Every time she had told him not to wait up and every time she’d known she would still find him awake in the small hours of the morning, forcing himself to sit up and keep his eyes open and on the pages of the huge leather-bound book his Aunt Bonnie had given him. Still wearing a black dress and pearls, she would come in to sit next to him while he’d pretended he was still reading, then after a moment she would take the book away and kiss him goodnight before turning off the light and slipping out the door.
He’d had most of the big book memorized by the time he’d finally put it away in the sixth grade—which was only slightly more embarrassing screwing up those stories now.
It was just that…Martin had been a boy after all—was a man now—so naturally, after long days on tough cases, his mind would wander back to monsters lurking in woods outside topless towers, and knights battling dragons, and when he’d imagined those things, his head just about to hit the pillow, he had always assumed that he was playing the role of Prince Charming.
Which was a stupid and embarrassing idea. If the office ever had a poll on the person least likely to charm anyone Martin would be the winner, hands down. Martin almost looked around to see if anyone still at their desks was currently doing just that but stopped himself just in time and ducked his head back down instead.
The evidence against him was damning, he knew that; he blushed, his shirts never quite matched his suits, and no matter how brilliantly he might have tracked down the lead to solve a case, he was never going to learn to notice when people were noticing him.
The obvious continued to elude him. And if he had needed further proof of his own lack of princely charm, he have had only to recall Danny’s whispered words as the two of them had walked from the interview room at Sing Sing that morning.
“Let’s get out of here, Martin. He hadn’t got anything else for us…” The pause should have warned Martin that he wasn’t going to like the rest, but he’d barely even slowed down since he’d agreed with Danny’s assessment of the situation. He hadn’t actually stopped until Danny had tossed out that one last little soft remark. “…and I think you’ve caused enough excitement here for one day.”
He’d turned in time to see that it had been said with Danny’s usual smile, the one that said Danny was showing amusement that may or may not be real, but which he was revealing in order to invite others in on the joke to show there were no hard feelings. It had taken Martin far too long to figure out the difference between that smile and the cooler one Danny used to piss people off, and remembering that—and the trouble that had ensued during his early days on the team—had only left him standing there blankly, not understanding Danny’s apparent joke at all.
Then his brain had kicked in as it always did, jumping into overdrive to analyze everything from the exact angle of elevation of Danny’s lifted eyebrow to the deceptively level tone of Danny’s voice to what precisely had been said, thinking all of that over from every possible viewpoint to determine the best reaction—something useful with evidence and interrogation, not to mention arguments with his father, but less than practical when trying to have a normal conversation. He’d known he had been just standing there mutely, his mouth trying to catch up with his mind, and had made himself stare seriously back at Danny, even though he’d known the other man was hardly going to be fooled, even if most others would have been.
And the moment he had realized that—that he was clearly and obviously struggling to figure out what in the hell Danny was talking about—there was nothing he could have done to stop his slight blush. Of anger more than embarrassment, not that it mattered.
The flood of color into his face had gotten Danny’s attention alright. Martin had felt it snap back into focus, the sudden flare of light and heat rushing over his body, as though a glass had been angled just right beneath the sun to burn him to dust, like an unfortunate bug at Danny’s feet.
Just the memory had him roasting, his shirt suddenly too tight, the fabric abrasive on his stinging skin.
Danny’s smile had been for real then, no longer distantly amused and hiding, but right there, and just like that, Martin’s powers of speech had returned, a faintly challenging smile of his own on his face as he’d tilted his chin up, somehow only mildly surprised that Danny’s response was to step back into his personal space; only a small part of his brain even bothering to wonder just when exactly Danny had left it.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Top of his class in college and the Academy and the belligerent reply was all he’d managed. That kind of brilliant and bratty answer was the usual result of spending all his energy trying to appear calm whenever Danny leaned into his space like that. It was alarming sometimes, to try to reason out why hiding what he was feeling became a challenge only at moments like these. Why he bothered over his blushes Martin didn’t know, it wasn’t as though they were really fighting, but he was proud at least that he could still say something, say anything really. He had given up on expecting anything charming or witty to come out of his mouth, just getting out words was enough. That’s all he had to do, then Danny would back off, his eyes flickering before he would smile and shrug as though it had all been nothing.
Which in all likelihood, it probably was. Whenever Martin had stopped to dissect this…it…whatever, he’d always just assumed it was a territory thing, and Danny’s victory was in rattling him. If he spoke back, as he always did, then Danny would stop, just like always.
Danny didn’t seem to ever mind his bumbling either, anymore than he had minded Martin’s attitude, and that same small part of Martin’s ever-working brain had been curious if that had been Danny’s intent in always stepping so close. Though it was pointless to speculate on Danny’s motives, and especially useless at the time as Danny had just violated the rules of his own game by leaning in even closer.
Less than six inches from him Danny had finally stopped, the smile lingering on his lips like he’d forgotten about it. He probably had. Martin had managed to raise one eyebrow, not bothering to hide his anger as Danny’s hand had gone to wall behind him, his arm trapping Martin in place.
In an interrogation room, it would have made sense, a simple way to intimidate someone who already felt caged in and surrounded; with Danny it had been aggravating. Martin’s pulse had been pounding furiously in his ears as he’d stared back, trying to silently express his annoyance with this little game only to drop his gaze when the silence had gone on, and on. His eyes had fallen…to Danny’s mouth…waiting for the words…for Danny to get to it and explain himself. The game was the point, and Danny had been drawing it out, exhaling softly without saying anything, his breath warm across Martin’s lips.
Martin’s eyes had flown back up but Danny was looking away, smirking as he’d jerked his head to the side, in the direction of the prisoner’s exercise yard.
Martin was blushing again just remembering it. He knew he was and cleared his throat, glancing quickly around the darkened, late night office but seeing only a number of hardened felons staring back at them—at him—and...
Oh.
He’d suddenly been rather grateful for Danny’s arm being where it was—between him and them. The heat in his face had felt like he’d had a few too many, which was strange when he had been wishing for just one, something brown and smooth and sweet on his tongue. Instead, as he rarely seemed to get what he wanted, he’d gotten Special Agent Danny Taylor, pursing his lips thoughtfully and considering him.
“I think it might be the tie.” Danny had decided seriously while Martin had glared back at him, using his free hand to pull the tie out from Martin’s jacket, and Martin had dropped his head, again, to watch the length of pink silk slip through Danny’s long fingers with wide, dry eyes. Next to Danny’s skin, the pink actually seemed to grow warmer, darkening to something rosy and flushed.
“This is going to be all over the office today, isn’t it?” Martin hadn’t hid his irritation as he might have with Sam or Viv—not that they would have pinned him to a wall to point out his prison sex appeal.
That was as unsettling of a thought as why he had still made no move to leave his position, but it had hardly mattered when Danny had done it for him, standing up and bouncing away in one easy motion.
Always so damn easy. And if there ever really were a Prince Charming Danny should have been it—him. Danny who wore shining, soft suits and who probably had gotten and given looks at age eleven, and who wouldn’t know Lonely if it came up and bit him in the…
Martin coughed and looked up from the files in his hand to study the office once more. No one noticed and he bent back down, staring blankly at the LUDS from their current case, his thoughts circling right back to where they had been since that morning.
Danny who was charming to everyone, even Martin when he wasn’t teasing him, who got confessions from street punks and housewives, and who actually enjoyed getting shot at. And who had never, not once, despite all of Martin’s careful observations, ever blushed.
He had been chuckling all the way back to the car, slipping into the passenger side without a word when Martin had grabbed the keys.
The strange thing was, coming on nine hours later, and there hadn’t been one word to Martin from anyone else about the State of New York’s finest convicts’ invitation to anal rape. The tie in question was still around his neck—though soon to be banished to the back of his closet—and Danny, when he’d been around, had been subdued, distracted. As distracted as Martin was now, not that he’d allowed anyone to see it. But if he’d been concentrating as he should have, he would have been able to go home an hour ago as just about everyone else already had.
He counted the empty desks almost absently, hesitating on the last one; the chair was empty, the desk itself was a mess of paperwork and pens, a paper coffee cup illuminated by the small lamp.
They rarely, if ever, listened to the radio while driving unless they wanted information from the news, but Martin had nearly switched it on several times, wishing for a distraction that just might keep Danny from breaking the silence with another bout of laughter. Each time he did, Martin had felt his shoulders tense up, his mouth tightening just a little bit more.
That he obviously didn’t like being teased, much less laughed at, hadn’t seemed to matter to Danny, who had kept glancing slyly over in Martin’s direction before cracking these impossibly wide grins. Martin had kept his eyes on the road, his hands tight on the wheel as though that was going to untangle the great knot of heat twisting inside his chest or keep him from saying something foolish.
He’d coughed, then clenched his jaw, shooting Danny one look. One warning. But of course Danny had been moving and hadn’t seen it.
Danny always seemed to be in motion, especially in cars when he ought to be still, shifting his feet, his fingers playing idly with the door handle, turning to look at something out the window. Only twice before had Martin seen Danny too drained to move or to pretend he wanted to. Only twice outside of that first Meeting had Martin been permitted to see Danny like that, so he knew there had been other times, and that this job took its toll on even Danny Taylor. So he shouldn’t have been irritated at Danny’s restlessness on the way back from the prison interview. It was just Danny being Danny.
Jack had called on the way and Danny had actually gotten serious enough to answer Jack’s questions, pausing once—to see if Martin had anything to add, though Danny did not actually address him—and then he’d closed his cell and given Martin another long look.
There had been no earthly reason for Martin to get so annoyed, making himself stay still while the long, lean body next to him kept rubbing against the back of the seat, arms coming up to stretch, reaching in his direction only to pull back just as his fingers would have brushed Martin’s hair.
Martin had taken a deep breath, the sound far too loud in the quiet car, and felt Danny’s eyes on him again, imagining the pleased smile that went with the look all too easily.
Martin’s mouth had tightened, and Danny’s arm, coming down from another stretch, had dropped to the arm rest, his hand tapping out something on the leather before he moved that away too.
It was useless to wonder why Danny would be considerate of his space in the car but not anywhere else, but Martin had known Danny was trying to control himself, and had sighed heavily at the thoughtfulness of that, feeling some of his anger leave him.
He worked better with Danny than with any of the other agents, except possibly Jack, and yet in moments like this, moments of just the two of them alone, he always felt on edge, like he’d had far too much coffee and it was all he could to sit still, like he was about to go ten rounds with any of those criminals penned up at Sing Sing. Each moment of shared space was almost a battle, so similar to what it had been with Sam, at least for him, when each touch had been a negotiation for more. And though he’d known he shouldn’t be thinking of his brief relationship with Sam at that moment, he had glanced over at Danny, who had been smiling but no longer looking in his direction.
Besides, with Sam he had been fighting to touch, with Danny it was a fight to not…
His mouth had opened, only to snap shut as Danny had decided to speak again. In whole sentences this time, and without laughter, as though he’d known what Martin was thinking. Though he couldn’t have of course. That was impossible. There were any number of books that would attest to the fact that mind-reading was a myth.
“Relax, Martin, unlike some…” With the same perverse delicacy that had kept Danny from saying out loud what he had noticed at the prison yard, names had remained unspoken, but Martin had barely stopped his flinch. “I would never trade you for cigarettes.”
“You don’t smoke.” Martin still didn’t know where that answer had come from, his voice surprisingly level. But it had seemed to make Danny happy, judging from how Danny had sat up, and a quick look over had allowed him to see the hint of a real smile at Danny’s lips.
“Yeah well, maybe I’ll start…” Martin had nearly relaxed into his own smile at that, but Danny had leaned his head to one side and continued, slowly, in a voice as rough and unfamiliar as any of those illegal substances smuggled in past the guards. “…I probably could’ve been drowning in contraband the way that tie reflects your eyes…”
Martin swallowed, pushing down the pile of phone records and needlessly readjusting the stack. Then he put all the stray pens on his desk away and reached for the paper cup full of cold coffee sitting to one side. It was identical to the cup abandoned on Danny’s desk, and Martin glared at it before he tossed it in the trash.
“It’s good to know I appeal so much to the dregs of society.” It was possible that Martin had only imagined the hurt in his own voice as he had snapped back at Danny’s joke. Possible, since he had sounded angry enough, but the way his luck seemed to run it was doubtful. His first few months with the team he’d known he was viewed as the office bitch, the agent only there because of who his father was. But in the last years, he’d thought that was over.
All he could remember thinking was that his tie was ridiculous and it didn’t go with his eyes and he was never going to dress as well as the others and then suddenly those words had spilled from him, as snotty and mean as anything else in his father’s life that he’d rejected.
They’d hit a red light, and he’d had time to look over, to watch Danny’s eyebrows go up before Danny had looked away, shaking his head before turning back to him. Danny’s eyes had been bright, but his smile had stayed frozen, dangerous. Danny hid behind that smile, the way he hid a safe distance behind all of them, and Martin had known that and had still been dumb enough to snap at him.
“Dregs of society, Martin?” Hearing it repeated, even quietly, had made Martin’s head go back, and then the sound of honking behind him had made him move his eyes back to the road.
He’d wanted to take it back the moment he’d said it. But he couldn’t, so he’d said nothing while he’d waited, expecting some sort of retaliatory hit. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Danny would choose a small, simple blow to knock him back on his ass. Why punch when one calculated thrust was enough to render Martin silent?
At the thought it was far too easy to imagine Danny two hundred years ago, dancing around with a fencing foil in the name of love or honor. Martin thought back to his childhood stories and could only imagine himself in a bulky suit of armor, trying to fight off the quick, clever blows and ending up standing still and mute, just hoping he wouldn’t fall down.
Martin gave up on the LUDS and yanked at his tie, loosening it before he undid the top button of his shirt. He planted both elbows on his desk and just resisted resting his head in his hands. Then he swore softly and did it anyway, because sitting still and mute was exactly what he had done, even knowing that Danny wasn’t fooled.
“Martin… It isn’t only those who haven’t seen a woman in ten years…” Danny’s flat voice and false smile were familiar, hinting at something deeper, some feeling under the surface. Anger, Martin had assumed, jerking the steering wheel as he’d pulled into the building garage. His face and voice might reveal nothing, but Danny’s body had been still at last, only his hand had been moving, gripping the door handle hard as though Danny couldn’t wait to leave the car.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” The shocked, rough question hadn’t even sounded like it had come from him, and it was as though Martin had been a kid again, his voice cracking, his face hot for no reason he could name. He couldn’t remember if he’d meant to sound angry, but words had come out soft, his lungs unable to pull in breath and his mind spinning too quickly for him to explain. Not that he had known what to say.
For a moment he’d thought he was having another sick, seizing daydream, the kind that always came as the pills had started to wear off, his body too hot, his mouth sticky and dry, his head pounding harder than his leg ever did anymore.
Martin was oblivious to a lot of things, he knew that, but there was no way in hell that he could have missed something like this.
But Danny had been turning to him even as Martin had slammed his foot too hard on the brakes. They were parked, Martin had noticed distantly, though the motor was still running. He had been breathing heavily, staring at Danny with eyes that were far too big and way too surprised and the one thing he did remember thinking was that Danny was going to laugh at him for a long time at this one, and Martin would deserve it. He’d clearly been joking and now Martin was about to have a heart attack. As though Danny would ever…
Then Danny was watching him, frowning slightly. For the second time that day, Danny’s eyes had been focused seriously on him, and he had felt the warm brown travel over his body, knowing he was flushing with color when he’d felt Danny’s gaze settle on his face. And whatever had been in his expression had made Danny’s head go back, his eyebrows up before he’d wiped his face of everything.
Danny had turned his face partially away and down, staring at the dashboard for a long moment. He’d turned back with no warning, leaning across the space between them before Martin could think about moving back, stretching across with an ease that said the action had been anticipated, so close that Martin could see that sweep of his eyelashes on his cheeks when he blinked. He’d sighed, and Martin had opened his mouth, feeling it warm on his tongue, his hands curling as he noticed the line of tension drawn down the middle of Danny’s forehead.
“You don’t get it, do you, Martin?” The startled curiosity in Danny’s voice was disarming, and Martin had done nothing but stare back, licking his lips when he knew he ought to speak, frowning when he’d realized that Danny hadn’t expected an answer. “You honestly don’t get it.” The raw amazement in Danny’s voice had only hinted at the painful revelations Danny’s quick mind was working out, and even if Martin had wanted to deny it, to pretend he understood all of what was going on, he hadn’t even been able to try.
Martin had put a hand up, his palm just brushing the collar of Danny’s brown coat.
“Danny…”
At his name Danny had shaken his head, pulling away until Martin’s breath was his own.
“And I thought you were so smart.” The mocking, distant smile had flitted across Danny’s face at that, just like it had before, I know what a junkie looks like, Martin, and then Danny was moving away, getting out of the car and heading toward the elevator without waiting for Martin.
Martin was really starting to hate that smile. And if Danny found him hard to read than it was only fair since Martin didn’t understand much of anything at this point. He’d messed up. He got that much. And about the only good aspect of that was that Danny had seemed surprised to notice Martin’s idiot status, which meant Danny recognized his intelligence and contributions to the team.
Or had, anyway.
It also meant that Martin was better at hiding things from Danny than he’d thought. And that Danny didn’t make such a hot Prince Charming either.
“What’s wrong?” Martin didn’t realize he was still leaning over his desk with his head in his hands until Sam’s quiet question made him look up. Sam was wearing her coat and holding a briefcase, obviously headed out for the night.
“Danny’s an idiot.” He answered with a small shrug, smiling so Sam would think it was a joke. She smiled, but of course she didn’t understand; Martin wasn’t entirely willing to believe that he did either. He sat back in his chair without explaining, and after a moment she nodded a silent goodbye, looking away first.
He watched the line of her back as she stepped away toward the elevators, the movements of her hair as she turned, and then felt his gaze moving on, moving back to the empty desk, to the abandoned coffee cup that he’d brought up with his latte after a coffee run about five hours ago.
He’d left the coffee on the desk without a word and hadn’t looked to see if Danny had had any. He’d been so busy not looking that he hadn’t seen when Danny had apparently left his desk and had no way of knowing if he was coming back tonight.
The elevators chimed as Sam headed home and Martin rubbed his face his one hand, stretching and looking out over the floor and seeing that he was the last one left for the night. It was probably late, well past dinner time, and his sigh didn’t quite cover the growling of his stomach.
He pushed aside the LUDS and stood up, most of his things were already stowed away in his backpack, but he tidied his desk for a moment, then grabbed a stack of papers that needed Jacks’ signature.
A few feet from his desk he stopped. He closed the phone book still open on Danny’s desk, and the law book as well, switching off the lamp before allowing his hand to wrap around the cup.
It was about half-empty, and cold, but Martin grinned anyway, then tossed that away too.
Danny hadn’t been angry enough to ignore the offering, which was something. Danny would have known it was from him since anyone else would have asked. And Danny wasn’t that into coffee, so it had to mean something.
He was going to end up searching for hidden meanings in everything if he wasn’t careful. Martin shook his head and stepped away from Danny’s desk; to stay there would seem like he was waiting, needing to feel the sudden warmth at his back or to hear a pleasantly ironic question that would stop his mind from circling and snap him back to the moment.
Danny read him far better than Sam ever had, and yet Danny had still been so surprised…
To learn what, that Martin was both clueless and blind? Martin wondered with a grimace, stepping back to grab his backpack and then heading toward Jack’s office, waving the papers as though to remind himself of what needed to be done. Danny had seen him at his lowest and still Martin had managed to throw him a curveball. There was a backward sort of accomplishment in that.
There were dim wall lights near the elevators, and the opened windows let in the light from the surrounding buildings, gleaming off the shiny surfaces of empty tables. It was more than enough light to guide him down the hall, to Jack’s unlocked office. He slipped inside and set the papers in the center on top of an already considerable pile, unable to keep himself from noticing that Danny had already filled out the paperwork for the drive out to Ossining.
His sigh was so loud it was almost pathetic. To be honest, it was pathetic, and that just made him want to sigh again. He didn’t, but he knew his shoulders were drooping; his leg abruptly aching and heavy as though he’d been on his feet all day, and he took his time pulling his hand away from the paperwork and turning around.
The sudden presence behind him in the darkened office startled him into taking an awkward step back. He narrowly missed the edge of the leather couch against the wall and moved to keep his weight off his bad leg, ending up with one shoulder hard against the door jamb, his backpack sliding to the floor as his hand smacked the door, pushing it most of the way closed.
That amount of stumbling should have had him red in the face and muttering an apology with a bowed head, but after the day he’d had, Martin found himself slightly short of breath and glaring through the shadows at Danny’s vaguely apologetic grin. Seeing that took some of the anger from his glare, but he lifted his chin anyway when Danny—who must have moved quickly out of the doorway at Martin’s extremely ungraceful little fall—circled around him and stepped closer.
He eliminated the distance between them easily, as though he were following dance steps Martin was unaware of, and it was of course only natural and in fact, required, of him to glide silently through the dim light and stop when he could have reached out and finished closing the door himself.
And on that thought, Danny reached out, casually resting his hand and his weight on the glass and grinning when the door clicked shut.
His hair was mussed and sticking out nearly as far as his ears did, that added to his undone buttons and loosened tie said that Danny had had about the same kind of afternoon as Martin had. But Martin didn’t move, keeping his breath low and even as he stood with his back to the door, waiting in vain for his heartbeat to slow.
“Hey, Martin…” There was something about how Danny said his name, pausing afterward as though he needed to catch his breath, and Martin allowed his eyes to dip down to Danny’s chest, noticing that it was in fact moving a little quicker than normal. But he moved his frown right back up when Danny ducked his head—and coincidentally moved just that much closer—to add, “…Thanks.”
Some of Martin’s mind—the part that wasn’t trying desperately to keep from shivering at the lick of hot, wet air on his neck—was aware that his throat had gone dry. He swallowed, though knowing it was an obvious visual sign of his state of mental arousal. Any good agent would notice that, even in the dark. So Danny was definitely going to notice, and for no reason his brain could currently work out, it was very important that Danny not notice.
He frowned, focusing carefully on the lower half of Danny’s face for a moment, observing his mouth like always, studying that smile. It was no use looking for clues in those smugly curved, dark pink lips, other than what was implied by the smile’s very existence. He already knew that Danny wasn’t mad at him any more, or else Danny wouldn’t be here now, acting like he always did, so… Martin swallowed again, damning the consequences, and transferred his frown to Danny’s eyes. So…he let out of small huff of air and felt his frown come close to disappearing to find Danny staring patiently back at him, waiting.
Danny had reached some decision and was thanking him. The thought solidified suddenly, though figuring out what Danny had decided would also be good, wouldn’t it? It might even make him seem as smart as Danny evidently thought he was.
At that, his chest eased enough for him to breathe, his tongue leaving the roof of his mouth at last.
“For the coffee?” he guessed, his voice only a little rougher than it should have been, and that made his lips curve up in a smug smile of his own. It was ridiculous to be smiling, it had nothing to do with what he had said at all, and yet there was no wiping it from his face now that it was there. All of which made it even more ridiculous that Danny’s smile grew wider until even his eyes seemed to crinkle into smiles of their own.
It didn’t make sense, but Martin lifted his chin, deciding to keep his smile in place even when Danny shook his head playfully, his shoulders moving almost as if he wanted to laugh.
“…For cleaning up my desk for me,” he explained, straightening his face for all of a second before the grin cracked through again. “And don’t think I owe you for that coffee either.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” It was pointless to wonder why it was so natural to reply in the same polite tone, his heart pounding even as he wanted to stick his tongue out. They were both idiots. It was incredible that he had ever thought they’d make good fairytale heroes.
His face was getting warmer by he second, and the memory of his stupidly rambling thoughts earlier wasn’t helping. He shifted his weight, felt the sleeve of his jacket brush Danny’s sleeve, shifted again, then lifted his chin even higher until he was practically leaning his head back against the door.
He was aware that even with the couch on one side, even with his leg, he could leave if he wanted; he had only to reach out a little and grab the door handle and Danny’s arm would return to his side. He could, he supposed, do that, and then duck his head and blush some more and mumble something about an appointment in the morning before heading to the elevators.
Or he could jerk his chin up even higher and say something that might have even made his father die of shame, and watch Danny frown before tripping out the door ahead of him, turning back with a deliberate smile to let Martin know it didn’t matter when they would both know that it did.
There was a hot spot on his shoulder now, a prickling of heat down his legs, and he blinked at the recognition of the effect of Danny’s proximity, to realize that he was not blushing at all, that this was heat as Danny did not pull away as he would have done before, but in fact leaned in.
He hadn’t noticed the sudden, serious alteration in Danny’s smile. But he saw it now, his hands curling at his sides to see Danny’s eyes grow wide, to see how carefully he was being studied in return even as Danny kept his grin in place …
Oh.
It was so obvious and still he hadn’t seen it, so busy looking for traps in the smile he’d neglected to see what exactly Danny was asking him when that warm gaze had been on him.
“You want this, right, Martin?” Danny’s whisper slipped inside his ear and short-circuited his brain, and there was no stopping his shiver this time. Danny’s voice was rough, close to breaking as it might have at eleven, and Martin’s mind spun hundreds of images before his eyes, wondering if Danny had also read fairytales and complained that the stories never matched their gold and black illustrations, if he’d also wanted to save damsels in distress with the kiss that never came, and if not then how had he known.
There was a strange, high color on Danny’s cheekbones, he could feel the heat now they were so close, even though Danny had stopped moving, and Martin felt himself fixating on that, unable to determine if it was arousal or something else.
“Martin?” Blushing. Danny was blushing. Or at least, Danny was red in the face, and serious, and most of all, still, above him, and waiting.
Martin’s mouth fell open and then he was shaking his head and grinning. “You don’t get it, do you, Danny?”
Danny’s hand slipped loudly on the glass of the door and then Danny’s head was moving back an inch or so, so Martin could see the furrowed line between Danny’s eyebrows, and then the slow, pleased smile as Danny realized exactly what he was hearing.
Danny’s other hand hit the door solidly behind him, loud even over the sound of Martin’s pulse thundering in his ears. Their foreheads could have touched they were so close, and if he wanted, if he wanted…
That was what this was about, wasn’t it? And he had just figured it out now while he’d left Danny waiting. Really charming, Martin, he chastised himself and lifted his chin. Whatever he’d thought about saying turned into a silent gasp at the sudden heat of their lips brushing, and then he was just holding himself still at the lingering exchange of breath.
An accident, that’s how he would explain it if Danny jumped away. If Martin had read this all wrong it wouldn’t be the first time, and anyway it was all Danny’s fault for leaning in so close this time. Except maybe it wasn’t an accident after all, because the fact was that Danny was smiling against his mouth and was in no way, shape, or form jumping away from him.
Danny was, in fact, laughing gently now, but stopped abruptly just as Martin frowned.
It was funny, Martin admitted to himself but keeping the frown on his face when Danny seemed to take that as encouragement to sneak a hand behind his head and urge him closer. He allowed himself to be pulled forward and held his breath for the one moment, the pause as Danny hesitated, his hand trembling on Martin’s neck, his thumb passing once over Martin’s cheek. And then his frown was for real, his hand leaving the door to slide its way to Danny’s neck, bringing that smile to his mouth.
Kissing Danny. He was kissing Danny. Pressing forward into his hot, opened mouth, past lips that tasted of sweetened coffee and cream, not pausing to breathe, not pausing for anything, just gripping short hair when his fingers slipped over burning, damp skin.
He hit the door, his back flat to the glass, gasping into Danny’s mouth to feel Danny in his space again, to feel Danny against him, hands under his jacket, at his hips, rubbing hot friction, burning him through cotton and poly-blends that Danny didn’t seem to mind, urging him to push for more with short, rough groans and hungry licks, his tongue as greedy as the fingers searching for bare skin. He wanted all of it, all of Danny, and there was Danny, his hard and restless body hard and restless for him, hands grabbing at his hips as though Martin could get any closer while Martin devoured his mouth, only to tear away in a sudden need for air, leaving Martin staring into the shadows of Jack’s office with wide eyes, his mouth open.
He shivered violently, glancing around once before dragging in a breath.
Jack’s office. That thought was startling enough to send his head back, hitting the glass with a painfully loud sound. He might have felt the pain if not for the marvelous sensation of Special Agent Danny Taylor’s lips sucking at his exposed throat, the soft, shaking whisper of his name against his shoulder. The way Danny said his name, pausing afterward as though he could never regain his breath…Martin moved his hand, stroked carefully down the back of Danny’s neck, felt Danny push back into his touch.
“Danny…” He wasn’t even sure it was his voice until he felt what had to be Danny’s teeth at his earlobe, nibbling encouragement. “Danny, this is Jack’s office.”
“Yes, Martin, that does mean there is a couch in here.” Danny managed to be smug and breathless at the same time, as though he had planned all of this when of course he couldn’t have. That would have been impossible. Just as impossible as telepathy, and yet there was Danny’s hand, creeping down around Martin’s belt with enough insistently warm pressure to make Martin struggle to look at him, forgetting where they were for a moment.
“Trying to tell me something, Danny?” He couldn’t laugh, not with Danny leaving trails of heat across his stomach, but he could hear the grin in his voice and knew Danny could too. He waited, still smiling, and a moment later Danny had straightened enough to lean over him, peering suspiciously at him in the dim light.
He could see darkened cheeks and wet lips and wide, earnest eyes before those eyes flickered, and Danny was smiling, shaking his head. It was so easy to keep on smiling back that Martin wondered why he hadn’t done it more before. Danny didn’t seem to mind his smiling like an idiot, but, he realized, Danny got the joke.
“I’m sure that if we put our heads together…” He barely noticed the heat of his blush and went on, lifting his chin at Danny’s high eyebrows, “…we could find someplace better suited to continue this.”
Danny’s momentary astonishment and following smirk were a sight worth any amount of blushes, and since Danny didn’t seem to mind those, Martin thought he might try startling Danny again, soon and often. Considering the big, dumb smile currently plastered across Danny’s face, Martin thought he might to have to keep at it for a while, just to see that every day from now on.
So what if he screwed up? Danny never minded his bumbling anyway.
The End
I can't help it! I always go for this type couple, either in its angst form or in the moments of total sugar. Mmmm. (And you knows I can't resist those ears!)
Without A Trace
m/m slash (obviously)
Xmas fluffiness for Staceykitten, with a shout out to MissKittie for reading this for me despite not knowing the characters. Special mention to Archie, the Shannybear, Jack Nasty, and in a small way, the NeNe.
AN: Total fluff. No attempts have been made to delve into angst or to study their more complex natures and problems. I write depth and angst every day damn it all. I don’t need any more right now. This is really uneven too, I think. Hmm. Um…I apparently decided that Martin’s self-image is horribly off. Blah. Does this shit even make sense??? I think not. Whatever. It's my first time in the fandom. Mistakes will be made.
For those that don’t know. Sing Sing=Ossining Prison
OMG so high school!
What happened—that is, what happened to mess everything up—was that Martin got his fairy tales mixed up.
Which was an embarrassing thing to admit to, since, after all, those bedtime stories were one of his nicer memories of childhood, a pleasant break from history or whatever he’d been told to read and to get lost in what he had wanted to read. Deep down he knew it was most probably the very fact that he got to choose them that had made him love them, though it could have also been the way those fantastic stories were linked in his head to his mother, who would always come in late after a night out with his father to check on him.
Every time she had told him not to wait up and every time she’d known she would still find him awake in the small hours of the morning, forcing himself to sit up and keep his eyes open and on the pages of the huge leather-bound book his Aunt Bonnie had given him. Still wearing a black dress and pearls, she would come in to sit next to him while he’d pretended he was still reading, then after a moment she would take the book away and kiss him goodnight before turning off the light and slipping out the door.
He’d had most of the big book memorized by the time he’d finally put it away in the sixth grade—which was only slightly more embarrassing screwing up those stories now.
It was just that…Martin had been a boy after all—was a man now—so naturally, after long days on tough cases, his mind would wander back to monsters lurking in woods outside topless towers, and knights battling dragons, and when he’d imagined those things, his head just about to hit the pillow, he had always assumed that he was playing the role of Prince Charming.
Which was a stupid and embarrassing idea. If the office ever had a poll on the person least likely to charm anyone Martin would be the winner, hands down. Martin almost looked around to see if anyone still at their desks was currently doing just that but stopped himself just in time and ducked his head back down instead.
The evidence against him was damning, he knew that; he blushed, his shirts never quite matched his suits, and no matter how brilliantly he might have tracked down the lead to solve a case, he was never going to learn to notice when people were noticing him.
The obvious continued to elude him. And if he had needed further proof of his own lack of princely charm, he have had only to recall Danny’s whispered words as the two of them had walked from the interview room at Sing Sing that morning.
“Let’s get out of here, Martin. He hadn’t got anything else for us…” The pause should have warned Martin that he wasn’t going to like the rest, but he’d barely even slowed down since he’d agreed with Danny’s assessment of the situation. He hadn’t actually stopped until Danny had tossed out that one last little soft remark. “…and I think you’ve caused enough excitement here for one day.”
He’d turned in time to see that it had been said with Danny’s usual smile, the one that said Danny was showing amusement that may or may not be real, but which he was revealing in order to invite others in on the joke to show there were no hard feelings. It had taken Martin far too long to figure out the difference between that smile and the cooler one Danny used to piss people off, and remembering that—and the trouble that had ensued during his early days on the team—had only left him standing there blankly, not understanding Danny’s apparent joke at all.
Then his brain had kicked in as it always did, jumping into overdrive to analyze everything from the exact angle of elevation of Danny’s lifted eyebrow to the deceptively level tone of Danny’s voice to what precisely had been said, thinking all of that over from every possible viewpoint to determine the best reaction—something useful with evidence and interrogation, not to mention arguments with his father, but less than practical when trying to have a normal conversation. He’d known he had been just standing there mutely, his mouth trying to catch up with his mind, and had made himself stare seriously back at Danny, even though he’d known the other man was hardly going to be fooled, even if most others would have been.
And the moment he had realized that—that he was clearly and obviously struggling to figure out what in the hell Danny was talking about—there was nothing he could have done to stop his slight blush. Of anger more than embarrassment, not that it mattered.
The flood of color into his face had gotten Danny’s attention alright. Martin had felt it snap back into focus, the sudden flare of light and heat rushing over his body, as though a glass had been angled just right beneath the sun to burn him to dust, like an unfortunate bug at Danny’s feet.
Just the memory had him roasting, his shirt suddenly too tight, the fabric abrasive on his stinging skin.
Danny’s smile had been for real then, no longer distantly amused and hiding, but right there, and just like that, Martin’s powers of speech had returned, a faintly challenging smile of his own on his face as he’d tilted his chin up, somehow only mildly surprised that Danny’s response was to step back into his personal space; only a small part of his brain even bothering to wonder just when exactly Danny had left it.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Top of his class in college and the Academy and the belligerent reply was all he’d managed. That kind of brilliant and bratty answer was the usual result of spending all his energy trying to appear calm whenever Danny leaned into his space like that. It was alarming sometimes, to try to reason out why hiding what he was feeling became a challenge only at moments like these. Why he bothered over his blushes Martin didn’t know, it wasn’t as though they were really fighting, but he was proud at least that he could still say something, say anything really. He had given up on expecting anything charming or witty to come out of his mouth, just getting out words was enough. That’s all he had to do, then Danny would back off, his eyes flickering before he would smile and shrug as though it had all been nothing.
Which in all likelihood, it probably was. Whenever Martin had stopped to dissect this…it…whatever, he’d always just assumed it was a territory thing, and Danny’s victory was in rattling him. If he spoke back, as he always did, then Danny would stop, just like always.
Danny didn’t seem to ever mind his bumbling either, anymore than he had minded Martin’s attitude, and that same small part of Martin’s ever-working brain had been curious if that had been Danny’s intent in always stepping so close. Though it was pointless to speculate on Danny’s motives, and especially useless at the time as Danny had just violated the rules of his own game by leaning in even closer.
Less than six inches from him Danny had finally stopped, the smile lingering on his lips like he’d forgotten about it. He probably had. Martin had managed to raise one eyebrow, not bothering to hide his anger as Danny’s hand had gone to wall behind him, his arm trapping Martin in place.
In an interrogation room, it would have made sense, a simple way to intimidate someone who already felt caged in and surrounded; with Danny it had been aggravating. Martin’s pulse had been pounding furiously in his ears as he’d stared back, trying to silently express his annoyance with this little game only to drop his gaze when the silence had gone on, and on. His eyes had fallen…to Danny’s mouth…waiting for the words…for Danny to get to it and explain himself. The game was the point, and Danny had been drawing it out, exhaling softly without saying anything, his breath warm across Martin’s lips.
Martin’s eyes had flown back up but Danny was looking away, smirking as he’d jerked his head to the side, in the direction of the prisoner’s exercise yard.
Martin was blushing again just remembering it. He knew he was and cleared his throat, glancing quickly around the darkened, late night office but seeing only a number of hardened felons staring back at them—at him—and...
Oh.
He’d suddenly been rather grateful for Danny’s arm being where it was—between him and them. The heat in his face had felt like he’d had a few too many, which was strange when he had been wishing for just one, something brown and smooth and sweet on his tongue. Instead, as he rarely seemed to get what he wanted, he’d gotten Special Agent Danny Taylor, pursing his lips thoughtfully and considering him.
“I think it might be the tie.” Danny had decided seriously while Martin had glared back at him, using his free hand to pull the tie out from Martin’s jacket, and Martin had dropped his head, again, to watch the length of pink silk slip through Danny’s long fingers with wide, dry eyes. Next to Danny’s skin, the pink actually seemed to grow warmer, darkening to something rosy and flushed.
“This is going to be all over the office today, isn’t it?” Martin hadn’t hid his irritation as he might have with Sam or Viv—not that they would have pinned him to a wall to point out his prison sex appeal.
That was as unsettling of a thought as why he had still made no move to leave his position, but it had hardly mattered when Danny had done it for him, standing up and bouncing away in one easy motion.
Always so damn easy. And if there ever really were a Prince Charming Danny should have been it—him. Danny who wore shining, soft suits and who probably had gotten and given looks at age eleven, and who wouldn’t know Lonely if it came up and bit him in the…
Martin coughed and looked up from the files in his hand to study the office once more. No one noticed and he bent back down, staring blankly at the LUDS from their current case, his thoughts circling right back to where they had been since that morning.
Danny who was charming to everyone, even Martin when he wasn’t teasing him, who got confessions from street punks and housewives, and who actually enjoyed getting shot at. And who had never, not once, despite all of Martin’s careful observations, ever blushed.
He had been chuckling all the way back to the car, slipping into the passenger side without a word when Martin had grabbed the keys.
The strange thing was, coming on nine hours later, and there hadn’t been one word to Martin from anyone else about the State of New York’s finest convicts’ invitation to anal rape. The tie in question was still around his neck—though soon to be banished to the back of his closet—and Danny, when he’d been around, had been subdued, distracted. As distracted as Martin was now, not that he’d allowed anyone to see it. But if he’d been concentrating as he should have, he would have been able to go home an hour ago as just about everyone else already had.
He counted the empty desks almost absently, hesitating on the last one; the chair was empty, the desk itself was a mess of paperwork and pens, a paper coffee cup illuminated by the small lamp.
They rarely, if ever, listened to the radio while driving unless they wanted information from the news, but Martin had nearly switched it on several times, wishing for a distraction that just might keep Danny from breaking the silence with another bout of laughter. Each time he did, Martin had felt his shoulders tense up, his mouth tightening just a little bit more.
That he obviously didn’t like being teased, much less laughed at, hadn’t seemed to matter to Danny, who had kept glancing slyly over in Martin’s direction before cracking these impossibly wide grins. Martin had kept his eyes on the road, his hands tight on the wheel as though that was going to untangle the great knot of heat twisting inside his chest or keep him from saying something foolish.
He’d coughed, then clenched his jaw, shooting Danny one look. One warning. But of course Danny had been moving and hadn’t seen it.
Danny always seemed to be in motion, especially in cars when he ought to be still, shifting his feet, his fingers playing idly with the door handle, turning to look at something out the window. Only twice before had Martin seen Danny too drained to move or to pretend he wanted to. Only twice outside of that first Meeting had Martin been permitted to see Danny like that, so he knew there had been other times, and that this job took its toll on even Danny Taylor. So he shouldn’t have been irritated at Danny’s restlessness on the way back from the prison interview. It was just Danny being Danny.
Jack had called on the way and Danny had actually gotten serious enough to answer Jack’s questions, pausing once—to see if Martin had anything to add, though Danny did not actually address him—and then he’d closed his cell and given Martin another long look.
There had been no earthly reason for Martin to get so annoyed, making himself stay still while the long, lean body next to him kept rubbing against the back of the seat, arms coming up to stretch, reaching in his direction only to pull back just as his fingers would have brushed Martin’s hair.
Martin had taken a deep breath, the sound far too loud in the quiet car, and felt Danny’s eyes on him again, imagining the pleased smile that went with the look all too easily.
Martin’s mouth had tightened, and Danny’s arm, coming down from another stretch, had dropped to the arm rest, his hand tapping out something on the leather before he moved that away too.
It was useless to wonder why Danny would be considerate of his space in the car but not anywhere else, but Martin had known Danny was trying to control himself, and had sighed heavily at the thoughtfulness of that, feeling some of his anger leave him.
He worked better with Danny than with any of the other agents, except possibly Jack, and yet in moments like this, moments of just the two of them alone, he always felt on edge, like he’d had far too much coffee and it was all he could to sit still, like he was about to go ten rounds with any of those criminals penned up at Sing Sing. Each moment of shared space was almost a battle, so similar to what it had been with Sam, at least for him, when each touch had been a negotiation for more. And though he’d known he shouldn’t be thinking of his brief relationship with Sam at that moment, he had glanced over at Danny, who had been smiling but no longer looking in his direction.
Besides, with Sam he had been fighting to touch, with Danny it was a fight to not…
His mouth had opened, only to snap shut as Danny had decided to speak again. In whole sentences this time, and without laughter, as though he’d known what Martin was thinking. Though he couldn’t have of course. That was impossible. There were any number of books that would attest to the fact that mind-reading was a myth.
“Relax, Martin, unlike some…” With the same perverse delicacy that had kept Danny from saying out loud what he had noticed at the prison yard, names had remained unspoken, but Martin had barely stopped his flinch. “I would never trade you for cigarettes.”
“You don’t smoke.” Martin still didn’t know where that answer had come from, his voice surprisingly level. But it had seemed to make Danny happy, judging from how Danny had sat up, and a quick look over had allowed him to see the hint of a real smile at Danny’s lips.
“Yeah well, maybe I’ll start…” Martin had nearly relaxed into his own smile at that, but Danny had leaned his head to one side and continued, slowly, in a voice as rough and unfamiliar as any of those illegal substances smuggled in past the guards. “…I probably could’ve been drowning in contraband the way that tie reflects your eyes…”
Martin swallowed, pushing down the pile of phone records and needlessly readjusting the stack. Then he put all the stray pens on his desk away and reached for the paper cup full of cold coffee sitting to one side. It was identical to the cup abandoned on Danny’s desk, and Martin glared at it before he tossed it in the trash.
“It’s good to know I appeal so much to the dregs of society.” It was possible that Martin had only imagined the hurt in his own voice as he had snapped back at Danny’s joke. Possible, since he had sounded angry enough, but the way his luck seemed to run it was doubtful. His first few months with the team he’d known he was viewed as the office bitch, the agent only there because of who his father was. But in the last years, he’d thought that was over.
All he could remember thinking was that his tie was ridiculous and it didn’t go with his eyes and he was never going to dress as well as the others and then suddenly those words had spilled from him, as snotty and mean as anything else in his father’s life that he’d rejected.
They’d hit a red light, and he’d had time to look over, to watch Danny’s eyebrows go up before Danny had looked away, shaking his head before turning back to him. Danny’s eyes had been bright, but his smile had stayed frozen, dangerous. Danny hid behind that smile, the way he hid a safe distance behind all of them, and Martin had known that and had still been dumb enough to snap at him.
“Dregs of society, Martin?” Hearing it repeated, even quietly, had made Martin’s head go back, and then the sound of honking behind him had made him move his eyes back to the road.
He’d wanted to take it back the moment he’d said it. But he couldn’t, so he’d said nothing while he’d waited, expecting some sort of retaliatory hit. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Danny would choose a small, simple blow to knock him back on his ass. Why punch when one calculated thrust was enough to render Martin silent?
At the thought it was far too easy to imagine Danny two hundred years ago, dancing around with a fencing foil in the name of love or honor. Martin thought back to his childhood stories and could only imagine himself in a bulky suit of armor, trying to fight off the quick, clever blows and ending up standing still and mute, just hoping he wouldn’t fall down.
Martin gave up on the LUDS and yanked at his tie, loosening it before he undid the top button of his shirt. He planted both elbows on his desk and just resisted resting his head in his hands. Then he swore softly and did it anyway, because sitting still and mute was exactly what he had done, even knowing that Danny wasn’t fooled.
“Martin… It isn’t only those who haven’t seen a woman in ten years…” Danny’s flat voice and false smile were familiar, hinting at something deeper, some feeling under the surface. Anger, Martin had assumed, jerking the steering wheel as he’d pulled into the building garage. His face and voice might reveal nothing, but Danny’s body had been still at last, only his hand had been moving, gripping the door handle hard as though Danny couldn’t wait to leave the car.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” The shocked, rough question hadn’t even sounded like it had come from him, and it was as though Martin had been a kid again, his voice cracking, his face hot for no reason he could name. He couldn’t remember if he’d meant to sound angry, but words had come out soft, his lungs unable to pull in breath and his mind spinning too quickly for him to explain. Not that he had known what to say.
For a moment he’d thought he was having another sick, seizing daydream, the kind that always came as the pills had started to wear off, his body too hot, his mouth sticky and dry, his head pounding harder than his leg ever did anymore.
Martin was oblivious to a lot of things, he knew that, but there was no way in hell that he could have missed something like this.
But Danny had been turning to him even as Martin had slammed his foot too hard on the brakes. They were parked, Martin had noticed distantly, though the motor was still running. He had been breathing heavily, staring at Danny with eyes that were far too big and way too surprised and the one thing he did remember thinking was that Danny was going to laugh at him for a long time at this one, and Martin would deserve it. He’d clearly been joking and now Martin was about to have a heart attack. As though Danny would ever…
Then Danny was watching him, frowning slightly. For the second time that day, Danny’s eyes had been focused seriously on him, and he had felt the warm brown travel over his body, knowing he was flushing with color when he’d felt Danny’s gaze settle on his face. And whatever had been in his expression had made Danny’s head go back, his eyebrows up before he’d wiped his face of everything.
Danny had turned his face partially away and down, staring at the dashboard for a long moment. He’d turned back with no warning, leaning across the space between them before Martin could think about moving back, stretching across with an ease that said the action had been anticipated, so close that Martin could see that sweep of his eyelashes on his cheeks when he blinked. He’d sighed, and Martin had opened his mouth, feeling it warm on his tongue, his hands curling as he noticed the line of tension drawn down the middle of Danny’s forehead.
“You don’t get it, do you, Martin?” The startled curiosity in Danny’s voice was disarming, and Martin had done nothing but stare back, licking his lips when he knew he ought to speak, frowning when he’d realized that Danny hadn’t expected an answer. “You honestly don’t get it.” The raw amazement in Danny’s voice had only hinted at the painful revelations Danny’s quick mind was working out, and even if Martin had wanted to deny it, to pretend he understood all of what was going on, he hadn’t even been able to try.
Martin had put a hand up, his palm just brushing the collar of Danny’s brown coat.
“Danny…”
At his name Danny had shaken his head, pulling away until Martin’s breath was his own.
“And I thought you were so smart.” The mocking, distant smile had flitted across Danny’s face at that, just like it had before, I know what a junkie looks like, Martin, and then Danny was moving away, getting out of the car and heading toward the elevator without waiting for Martin.
Martin was really starting to hate that smile. And if Danny found him hard to read than it was only fair since Martin didn’t understand much of anything at this point. He’d messed up. He got that much. And about the only good aspect of that was that Danny had seemed surprised to notice Martin’s idiot status, which meant Danny recognized his intelligence and contributions to the team.
Or had, anyway.
It also meant that Martin was better at hiding things from Danny than he’d thought. And that Danny didn’t make such a hot Prince Charming either.
“What’s wrong?” Martin didn’t realize he was still leaning over his desk with his head in his hands until Sam’s quiet question made him look up. Sam was wearing her coat and holding a briefcase, obviously headed out for the night.
“Danny’s an idiot.” He answered with a small shrug, smiling so Sam would think it was a joke. She smiled, but of course she didn’t understand; Martin wasn’t entirely willing to believe that he did either. He sat back in his chair without explaining, and after a moment she nodded a silent goodbye, looking away first.
He watched the line of her back as she stepped away toward the elevators, the movements of her hair as she turned, and then felt his gaze moving on, moving back to the empty desk, to the abandoned coffee cup that he’d brought up with his latte after a coffee run about five hours ago.
He’d left the coffee on the desk without a word and hadn’t looked to see if Danny had had any. He’d been so busy not looking that he hadn’t seen when Danny had apparently left his desk and had no way of knowing if he was coming back tonight.
The elevators chimed as Sam headed home and Martin rubbed his face his one hand, stretching and looking out over the floor and seeing that he was the last one left for the night. It was probably late, well past dinner time, and his sigh didn’t quite cover the growling of his stomach.
He pushed aside the LUDS and stood up, most of his things were already stowed away in his backpack, but he tidied his desk for a moment, then grabbed a stack of papers that needed Jacks’ signature.
A few feet from his desk he stopped. He closed the phone book still open on Danny’s desk, and the law book as well, switching off the lamp before allowing his hand to wrap around the cup.
It was about half-empty, and cold, but Martin grinned anyway, then tossed that away too.
Danny hadn’t been angry enough to ignore the offering, which was something. Danny would have known it was from him since anyone else would have asked. And Danny wasn’t that into coffee, so it had to mean something.
He was going to end up searching for hidden meanings in everything if he wasn’t careful. Martin shook his head and stepped away from Danny’s desk; to stay there would seem like he was waiting, needing to feel the sudden warmth at his back or to hear a pleasantly ironic question that would stop his mind from circling and snap him back to the moment.
Danny read him far better than Sam ever had, and yet Danny had still been so surprised…
To learn what, that Martin was both clueless and blind? Martin wondered with a grimace, stepping back to grab his backpack and then heading toward Jack’s office, waving the papers as though to remind himself of what needed to be done. Danny had seen him at his lowest and still Martin had managed to throw him a curveball. There was a backward sort of accomplishment in that.
There were dim wall lights near the elevators, and the opened windows let in the light from the surrounding buildings, gleaming off the shiny surfaces of empty tables. It was more than enough light to guide him down the hall, to Jack’s unlocked office. He slipped inside and set the papers in the center on top of an already considerable pile, unable to keep himself from noticing that Danny had already filled out the paperwork for the drive out to Ossining.
His sigh was so loud it was almost pathetic. To be honest, it was pathetic, and that just made him want to sigh again. He didn’t, but he knew his shoulders were drooping; his leg abruptly aching and heavy as though he’d been on his feet all day, and he took his time pulling his hand away from the paperwork and turning around.
The sudden presence behind him in the darkened office startled him into taking an awkward step back. He narrowly missed the edge of the leather couch against the wall and moved to keep his weight off his bad leg, ending up with one shoulder hard against the door jamb, his backpack sliding to the floor as his hand smacked the door, pushing it most of the way closed.
That amount of stumbling should have had him red in the face and muttering an apology with a bowed head, but after the day he’d had, Martin found himself slightly short of breath and glaring through the shadows at Danny’s vaguely apologetic grin. Seeing that took some of the anger from his glare, but he lifted his chin anyway when Danny—who must have moved quickly out of the doorway at Martin’s extremely ungraceful little fall—circled around him and stepped closer.
He eliminated the distance between them easily, as though he were following dance steps Martin was unaware of, and it was of course only natural and in fact, required, of him to glide silently through the dim light and stop when he could have reached out and finished closing the door himself.
And on that thought, Danny reached out, casually resting his hand and his weight on the glass and grinning when the door clicked shut.
His hair was mussed and sticking out nearly as far as his ears did, that added to his undone buttons and loosened tie said that Danny had had about the same kind of afternoon as Martin had. But Martin didn’t move, keeping his breath low and even as he stood with his back to the door, waiting in vain for his heartbeat to slow.
“Hey, Martin…” There was something about how Danny said his name, pausing afterward as though he needed to catch his breath, and Martin allowed his eyes to dip down to Danny’s chest, noticing that it was in fact moving a little quicker than normal. But he moved his frown right back up when Danny ducked his head—and coincidentally moved just that much closer—to add, “…Thanks.”
Some of Martin’s mind—the part that wasn’t trying desperately to keep from shivering at the lick of hot, wet air on his neck—was aware that his throat had gone dry. He swallowed, though knowing it was an obvious visual sign of his state of mental arousal. Any good agent would notice that, even in the dark. So Danny was definitely going to notice, and for no reason his brain could currently work out, it was very important that Danny not notice.
He frowned, focusing carefully on the lower half of Danny’s face for a moment, observing his mouth like always, studying that smile. It was no use looking for clues in those smugly curved, dark pink lips, other than what was implied by the smile’s very existence. He already knew that Danny wasn’t mad at him any more, or else Danny wouldn’t be here now, acting like he always did, so… Martin swallowed again, damning the consequences, and transferred his frown to Danny’s eyes. So…he let out of small huff of air and felt his frown come close to disappearing to find Danny staring patiently back at him, waiting.
Danny had reached some decision and was thanking him. The thought solidified suddenly, though figuring out what Danny had decided would also be good, wouldn’t it? It might even make him seem as smart as Danny evidently thought he was.
At that, his chest eased enough for him to breathe, his tongue leaving the roof of his mouth at last.
“For the coffee?” he guessed, his voice only a little rougher than it should have been, and that made his lips curve up in a smug smile of his own. It was ridiculous to be smiling, it had nothing to do with what he had said at all, and yet there was no wiping it from his face now that it was there. All of which made it even more ridiculous that Danny’s smile grew wider until even his eyes seemed to crinkle into smiles of their own.
It didn’t make sense, but Martin lifted his chin, deciding to keep his smile in place even when Danny shook his head playfully, his shoulders moving almost as if he wanted to laugh.
“…For cleaning up my desk for me,” he explained, straightening his face for all of a second before the grin cracked through again. “And don’t think I owe you for that coffee either.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” It was pointless to wonder why it was so natural to reply in the same polite tone, his heart pounding even as he wanted to stick his tongue out. They were both idiots. It was incredible that he had ever thought they’d make good fairytale heroes.
His face was getting warmer by he second, and the memory of his stupidly rambling thoughts earlier wasn’t helping. He shifted his weight, felt the sleeve of his jacket brush Danny’s sleeve, shifted again, then lifted his chin even higher until he was practically leaning his head back against the door.
He was aware that even with the couch on one side, even with his leg, he could leave if he wanted; he had only to reach out a little and grab the door handle and Danny’s arm would return to his side. He could, he supposed, do that, and then duck his head and blush some more and mumble something about an appointment in the morning before heading to the elevators.
Or he could jerk his chin up even higher and say something that might have even made his father die of shame, and watch Danny frown before tripping out the door ahead of him, turning back with a deliberate smile to let Martin know it didn’t matter when they would both know that it did.
There was a hot spot on his shoulder now, a prickling of heat down his legs, and he blinked at the recognition of the effect of Danny’s proximity, to realize that he was not blushing at all, that this was heat as Danny did not pull away as he would have done before, but in fact leaned in.
He hadn’t noticed the sudden, serious alteration in Danny’s smile. But he saw it now, his hands curling at his sides to see Danny’s eyes grow wide, to see how carefully he was being studied in return even as Danny kept his grin in place …
Oh.
It was so obvious and still he hadn’t seen it, so busy looking for traps in the smile he’d neglected to see what exactly Danny was asking him when that warm gaze had been on him.
“You want this, right, Martin?” Danny’s whisper slipped inside his ear and short-circuited his brain, and there was no stopping his shiver this time. Danny’s voice was rough, close to breaking as it might have at eleven, and Martin’s mind spun hundreds of images before his eyes, wondering if Danny had also read fairytales and complained that the stories never matched their gold and black illustrations, if he’d also wanted to save damsels in distress with the kiss that never came, and if not then how had he known.
There was a strange, high color on Danny’s cheekbones, he could feel the heat now they were so close, even though Danny had stopped moving, and Martin felt himself fixating on that, unable to determine if it was arousal or something else.
“Martin?” Blushing. Danny was blushing. Or at least, Danny was red in the face, and serious, and most of all, still, above him, and waiting.
Martin’s mouth fell open and then he was shaking his head and grinning. “You don’t get it, do you, Danny?”
Danny’s hand slipped loudly on the glass of the door and then Danny’s head was moving back an inch or so, so Martin could see the furrowed line between Danny’s eyebrows, and then the slow, pleased smile as Danny realized exactly what he was hearing.
Danny’s other hand hit the door solidly behind him, loud even over the sound of Martin’s pulse thundering in his ears. Their foreheads could have touched they were so close, and if he wanted, if he wanted…
That was what this was about, wasn’t it? And he had just figured it out now while he’d left Danny waiting. Really charming, Martin, he chastised himself and lifted his chin. Whatever he’d thought about saying turned into a silent gasp at the sudden heat of their lips brushing, and then he was just holding himself still at the lingering exchange of breath.
An accident, that’s how he would explain it if Danny jumped away. If Martin had read this all wrong it wouldn’t be the first time, and anyway it was all Danny’s fault for leaning in so close this time. Except maybe it wasn’t an accident after all, because the fact was that Danny was smiling against his mouth and was in no way, shape, or form jumping away from him.
Danny was, in fact, laughing gently now, but stopped abruptly just as Martin frowned.
It was funny, Martin admitted to himself but keeping the frown on his face when Danny seemed to take that as encouragement to sneak a hand behind his head and urge him closer. He allowed himself to be pulled forward and held his breath for the one moment, the pause as Danny hesitated, his hand trembling on Martin’s neck, his thumb passing once over Martin’s cheek. And then his frown was for real, his hand leaving the door to slide its way to Danny’s neck, bringing that smile to his mouth.
Kissing Danny. He was kissing Danny. Pressing forward into his hot, opened mouth, past lips that tasted of sweetened coffee and cream, not pausing to breathe, not pausing for anything, just gripping short hair when his fingers slipped over burning, damp skin.
He hit the door, his back flat to the glass, gasping into Danny’s mouth to feel Danny in his space again, to feel Danny against him, hands under his jacket, at his hips, rubbing hot friction, burning him through cotton and poly-blends that Danny didn’t seem to mind, urging him to push for more with short, rough groans and hungry licks, his tongue as greedy as the fingers searching for bare skin. He wanted all of it, all of Danny, and there was Danny, his hard and restless body hard and restless for him, hands grabbing at his hips as though Martin could get any closer while Martin devoured his mouth, only to tear away in a sudden need for air, leaving Martin staring into the shadows of Jack’s office with wide eyes, his mouth open.
He shivered violently, glancing around once before dragging in a breath.
Jack’s office. That thought was startling enough to send his head back, hitting the glass with a painfully loud sound. He might have felt the pain if not for the marvelous sensation of Special Agent Danny Taylor’s lips sucking at his exposed throat, the soft, shaking whisper of his name against his shoulder. The way Danny said his name, pausing afterward as though he could never regain his breath…Martin moved his hand, stroked carefully down the back of Danny’s neck, felt Danny push back into his touch.
“Danny…” He wasn’t even sure it was his voice until he felt what had to be Danny’s teeth at his earlobe, nibbling encouragement. “Danny, this is Jack’s office.”
“Yes, Martin, that does mean there is a couch in here.” Danny managed to be smug and breathless at the same time, as though he had planned all of this when of course he couldn’t have. That would have been impossible. Just as impossible as telepathy, and yet there was Danny’s hand, creeping down around Martin’s belt with enough insistently warm pressure to make Martin struggle to look at him, forgetting where they were for a moment.
“Trying to tell me something, Danny?” He couldn’t laugh, not with Danny leaving trails of heat across his stomach, but he could hear the grin in his voice and knew Danny could too. He waited, still smiling, and a moment later Danny had straightened enough to lean over him, peering suspiciously at him in the dim light.
He could see darkened cheeks and wet lips and wide, earnest eyes before those eyes flickered, and Danny was smiling, shaking his head. It was so easy to keep on smiling back that Martin wondered why he hadn’t done it more before. Danny didn’t seem to mind his smiling like an idiot, but, he realized, Danny got the joke.
“I’m sure that if we put our heads together…” He barely noticed the heat of his blush and went on, lifting his chin at Danny’s high eyebrows, “…we could find someplace better suited to continue this.”
Danny’s momentary astonishment and following smirk were a sight worth any amount of blushes, and since Danny didn’t seem to mind those, Martin thought he might try startling Danny again, soon and often. Considering the big, dumb smile currently plastered across Danny’s face, Martin thought he might to have to keep at it for a while, just to see that every day from now on.
So what if he screwed up? Danny never minded his bumbling anyway.
The End
I can't help it! I always go for this type couple, either in its angst form or in the moments of total sugar. Mmmm. (And you knows I can't resist those ears!)
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