Danny and Martin fanfic: After a rainy day Part 2
I think that two days to digest all the angst provided by Part one might be enough.
This is Part two of the fanfic I wrote because I needed to fill the blanks (and something more) to the end of Martin's addiction storyline. I hope you enjoy it.
I'm cross-posting it in
wat_slash and in
new_wat_order to take part to the current challenge.
Title: AFTER A RAINY DAY
Author: Carrieross
Pairing: Danny/Martin
Rating: NC17.
Warnings: angst, addiction, sexual content, language.
Spoilers: Set from 4x18 The Road Home to 4x20 More than this, included.
Disclaimer: Without a Trace belongs to CBS & Warner Bros. Danny and Martin belong to them, too. No, sadly they don’t belong to me.
Author’s note: not only is
nekosmuse a thorough beta, but she’s a honest friend, and her suggestions are for the best.
If you didn't read it, yet, here is Part One.
AFTER A RAINY DAY:
PART 2
The pain was unbearable.
Half unconscious, Martin didn’t know if he was actually screaming and begging to give him a Percocet to ease it or if it was just his imagination, as he was too busy throwing up once every ten minutes to use his mouth for any other job.
He was soaked in sweat and his body was shaken by sudden shivers, when not by convulsions or the hurry to run to the bathroom.
The male nurses who were alternating one at a time by his bed would help him or clean him up, but he could barely register their presence.
He was running a fever and his nightmares were not much more than hallucinations, blurred and scary.
He was on the scene, seeing another himself on the ground, drowning in a sea of blood, when suddenly those blue eyes had turned to shining brown and his body transformed into Danny’s and the witnessing Martin was standing still, paralysed, to stare at dying Danny who was lending a hand and begging him to do something to save him, his mouth spitting blood…
All Martin knew was that he couldn’t wake up, the nightmare trapping him. He could only vaguely feel something suspiciously like a foaming at the corners of his mouth.
What day was it? How much time would that hell last? Martin prayed that he could just pass out and wake up a week later. His body and his mind had been tore apart and he wished to be dead, instead.
…………
“Just give me a sip! Only a fucking sip! I promise I’ll only sip it! I’m dying! I need a drink!
I NEED IT!”
Danny shook his head. God, it was ten years before. He had moved on.
He sighed and glanced at his alarm-clock. Almost two in the morning.
His personal withdrawal was one of the most traumatic experiences of his life -and he had had a few-. That event had stuck with him and had never faded, no matter how much Danny had strained to tell himself that it was over, that he had seen and lived worst than that, and that he would never be in that circumstance again.
Any time he would indulge in those memories -but he was very careful not to do it- he would feel those symptoms again, as if his memories weren’t just mental but above all physical. It was his body, much more than his mind, that was able to remember every shudder, every twitch, every pang to his stomach, to his liver and everywhere.
And exactly that sick he used to feel any time he remembered, but he was very careful not to do it…
Only that now Martin, his Martin, was the one who was going through that hell. His Martin… in Danny it surfaced, the hidden true feeling he had been so good in denying to himself, thus to the rest of the world. Danny was bisexual, and it had been quite easy to hide from Martin the truth about it. He had the feeling that Martin might be a classical case of man in the closet, but he had never considered taking the risk of losing a friendship to find out.
Danny kicked off his blanket and turned to lie on his back and stare at his ceiling in the dark of the night. Three or four days at most and his Martin would be okay. With an awful, sticky, traumatic experience on his shoulders, but he would be okay.
Danny slowly closed his weary eyelids to search oblivion in the sleep.
…………
While he was driving to the hospital, Martin was seriously considering taking Jack’s offer to procrastinate his return to work by some days. Weeks, maybe. A late decision, though, as he was heading to the scene of a disappearance.
Martin was starting to hate the feeling, the very same discomfort of when he had gotten back to work after he had been shot and, for God’s sake, this time his uneasiness was worsened by the fact that he would be strictly put under observation and judged by the rest of his team, or so he believed.
While he was observing all the small unfocused pictures of babies on the bulletin board, trying to keep his agitation in check, Vivian went over to him. Martin felt himself relaxing under the sort of nurturance she showed to him, now more than ever. He thanked her under his breath for not being judgemental.
From afar he got a glimpse of a slender elegant figure that was coming towards them and his heart jumped to his throat, eyes beaming with an expression of love and gratitude.
…………
He knew he had done it again. He had ditched Martin just like months earlier. But this time he was conscious that it was the right thing. He had never called Martin since he had been dismissed from the detox center. Martin had to find his own center without any pressure. And Danny was aware that he was a living pressure to Martin.
Nevertheless, after he was called to meet Martin and Vivian at the hospital where Megan Sullivan had been seen the last time, his heart never stopped running in his chest. When he spotted them, in the corridor, and Martin nodded at him with a new light in his eyes and the detectable joy in meeting him, Danny was tempted to offer him his widest smile and hug him tight, but he imposed himself to stay put and be as professional as he could.
A lot of things had occurred between him and Martin, but there was one thing that could only improve and never go back, and that was their mute understanding. A look, and both of them knew what was on the other’s mind.
Danny thought that that was the greatest gift about Martin and him.
Later that day Martin approached him and talked about sponsors and meetings. God, Danny thought, he couldn’t be prouder of Martin than he was. His Martin, as he had taken to silently calling him. That might be a problem. Danny was clueless of how he had gotten there, but, one thing was for sure, Martin didn’t have to know. Ever.
Their time together wasn’t over. Gracefully, Danny reached Martin at the coffee-break table and started discussing the new leads of their case while nonchalantly helping himself with the coffee jug. Martin replied, but Danny wasn’t managing to keep his attention high.
Danny wondered how much time had passed since the last time they had had a coffee together, discussing a case or making small talk. He stared at Martin, letting his thoughts flow in his mind and the contentment be apparent. He had tried not to miss what Martin was saying, but he had probably failed, because afterwards he couldn’t remember most of the details Martin had conjectured about the missing person.
…………
Martin was curious. Who might be knocking at his door at nine? He was about to call for delivery, as he had just come from the hospital where the pregnant missing woman had had a baby.
And, of course, he should have known better: Danny with a bag in his hands that smelled suspiciously of spicy Mexican food. Not a light dinner, but his stomach grunted in anticipation.
Danny laughed at the noise, joking at Martin being in great shape, as he was ready to swallow heavy, junk food again.
They spent the evening eating, talking and laughing together. Martin loved that Danny wasn’t mentioning his stay at the detox center.
To say it all, Martin loved that Danny was there with him.
It was easy to be around Danny sometimes. It hadn’t be always that way, and Martin shivered at the memory of their first months of working together, when they had spent most of their time clashing and arguing and he was the favourite subject of Danny’s sharp barbs, until Danny had finally stepped back from his suspicions about Martin and his ancestry. He had kept on teasing him, then, but like it was his very personal way to gratify Martin of his respect and affection.
Martin was mesmerized by Danny’s hands making abstract patterns in the air while telling him some funny anecdote, Martin laughing any time Danny had stopped for a second, because those were obviously the right moments, but not really listening to him, as he was staring at him in wonder.
Later, when Danny yawned for the third time in one minute, Martin pushed him out of his door, thanking him for the enchiladas and his company and joking about Danny’s exhaustion.
Once left alone, Martin’s thoughts still lingered around Danny, but just in time to take them back, he shook his head and chuckled.
During the last period of his strong addiction and even after his recovery Martin had suffered from impotence difficulties, a thing that had made him exceptionally ashamed of. He was getting much better, though, and that night he could happily jerk off. Thinking of Danny.
…………
Since that night, Danny had taken to visiting Martin quite often. He had the motive and the opportunity, job being hard sometimes, so that it looked logical to stick together and share the burden of a weary case or a sorrow filled resolution.
Never mentioning it, there was the mutual need to make up for the lost time and enjoy each other, like in their old days, except they had never hung out together this often in their old days.
Danny would do his best not to bring Martin’s addiction up as a subject of conversation. The main reason was that he thought that Martin wouldn’t be so eager to talk about something that meant lack of control and defeat on his part. He meant it.
His hidden dread was, in fact, the prospect that Martin might want him to talk about his own alcoholism, for analogy, or just for giving him the chance to vent, chance Danny was sure he didn’t need. At all. Danny would never talk about his problem.
They mostly watched sports on TV, though Martin wasn’t a huge fan, and started the habit of grabbing food from a different take out any time, to experiment all the various ethnic kitchens.
Eventually, Danny started to visit Martin with a bag full of uncooked ingredients and to prepare dishes directly in Martin’s kitchen.
Once it happened that Martin was running a fever and had a cold, so Danny kept him company, watching TV together on his bed and bringing him home-made chicken soup.
Since then, when they were too tired, they would repeat the pattern, chicken soup excluded.
…………
“God, this show is pure crap!”
Danny was half laughing, half incredulous about how stupid a reality show could be.
From the other side of the bed, a dull Martin was grunting something. With a light cotton cream-white sweater and black sweat-pants on, he pressed the mute button on his remote and turned his head in Danny’s direction.
“Danny, I’d like to thank you…”
“Stop it now, Martin.”
“But I need to tell you how…”
“Just give it a break, Martin”.
Danny was lying, dressed in grey sweat pants and a weak blue jumper, ankles crossed to stretch his long legs and arms crossed behind his neck on his pillow. Suddenly grim-faced, he was purposely watching the now mute figures moving pointlessly on the screen on the shelf that sat at the foot of the bed.
They had had a long day at work, and the result they had achieved was a body in the Hudson, though luckily Jack had taken mercy on them and made somebody else recover it.
When it was time to go home they were so broken that they ended up looking at each other and agreeing instantaneously to grab a take-out and spend some time watching the most idiotic TV show on Martin’s bed. Martin had provided Danny some clothes and after flipping channels they had decided that the reality-show was more silly than the soap and the sit-com they had nominated for the poll.
“Thanks for helping me out so much and being with me”. Martin was quite stubborn.
“I didn’t mean to help you, so you can save it for a better cause.”
“Why’s that, Danny? You were with me, you’re here, now.”
“Sam asked me to do so. I did nothing. I just… wasn’t trusting you.”
“And you were right. You were right about everything, and still you helped me. You did, like it or not.”
“I don’t want to be remembered as the one who saved you, Martin. It’s a quite uncomfortable role, and I don’t deserve it a little bit. You saved yourself. I did what I had to, that’s all. Now shut up, will you?”
“Hey, is this a command? ‘Cause if it is, I’m not going to bow to that.”
Words were hard, but his tone was a teasing one. Martin grabbed his pillow and just hit it on Danny’s face. Danny, after a moment of astonishment, snatched Martin’s pillow from his hands and paid him back,
“Pillow fight, huh? Take this, then!”
They were laughing and throwing pillows and grasping them and defending and fighting like kids. Martin felt his heart getting lighter and warmer and he couldn’t believe it was happening for real. He and Danny were the old ones, even better than in the past. They were playing heartily and it was a beautiful new sensation.
Martin hit Danny, who was lying on his back again, with his pillow a little harder and suddenly heard a suffocated noise from under the pillow. He lifted it, to find a panting Danny who was staring at him in a curious expression.
“Hey, man, why’s that?” Martin was rather puzzled. A mixture of affection and emotion was evident in Danny’s vaguely glistening eyes and, if Martin didn’t know better, he could bet Danny was on the verge of tears.
Danny swallowed before muttering something in between his sighs,
“I’m so glad that you’re here, Martin, you know,”
Martin darkened his expression in astonishment. Danny stopped talking, realizing he had given away too much. Martin didn’t let go and pressed him to go ahead, with a well-placed “And?”
“Nothing. It’s just… God, you were dying on me…” and Danny’s voice broke.
As if a lighting-bolt had struck him, Martin got where all of this came from.
The shooting.
The beginning of everything.
They had never uttered a word about that night since. And here it was, like a ghost between them, like it had happened the night before and not months and months earlier.
Danny was as wounded as him, but there were no doctors to cure him.
Just as much as Martin’s internal wounds, which couldn’t have been sewed with a needle, but had been cured by Martin himself with painkillers. Ironically, the pain had never been killed by them, but it had surged stronger and stronger instead.
Martin froze, not capable to say anything that could ease their shared pain.
“I’m sorry, Martin. I left you alone. You went through everything alone. I’m so sorry. I just couldn’t… God, you became an addict on me.”
“No, Danny. This isn’t on you. It just happened. Calm down. Please, I…”
Martin shook off his discomfort and leaned over Danny, closer to his face. Danny’s features were relaxed and soft, his eyes were filled with dew drops and his face was now tear-stained. His lips were swollen. His eyes were a burning dark brown.
Martin got closer to touch Danny’s lips with his. He could see Danny’s dark eye-lashes going down and his eyes turning into a narrow fissure. As he brushed Danny’s lips he pulled back nervously.
“It’s okay, Martin,”
Danny whispered in a sigh, while tensing his cheek-muscles.
Martin gazed at Danny as if it was the first time, astonishment irradiating from his eyes, and tried to move to lie on his back when Danny grabbed his arm and kept him stuck where he was.
“It’s okay, Martin” he repeated in a steady, but sweet tone, eyes dark and bright.
Martin didn’t think, his brain completely blank. Next thing he knew he was approaching Danny again, more peremptorily this time. He pressed his lips against Danny’s to find his way into his mouth. He felt its softness and warmth. His tongue touched and tasted Danny’s. He felt Danny widening his mouth to take everything he could give him. He could feel it was wet and very cosy. While kissing him, Martin registered his own cock getting harder and twitching on the mattress, while he was leaning on Danny.
Martin slowed the kiss, then he broke it to catch his breath.
He would ask the earth to swallow him, if it was possible. But Danny didn’t seem to feel as embarrassed.
“I’m pretty sure you’re hard, too” he said with something on his lips that looked more like an earnest smile than the usual grin.
Martin blushed and, smiling, he nodded in response, regretting his easy compliance. With a soft whisper Danny invited him to settle over his body.
Martin couldn’t tell if he was delegating all the important decisions to his cock or if it was his cock that was the off-center terminal of his inner thoughts, behaving consequently.
In both cases, Martin paid heed to his member and lifted to adjust himself on Danny, a shy grin on his face, straining not to look away, but meeting Danny’s eyes, instead. And Danny was right, he was very hard. So was Danny, Martin confirmed mentally.
Danny chuckled before snapping a, “Cuanto pesas?”
Startled, Martin looked at Danny in wonder, but an instant later he recalled the time, a few days earlier, when he had had the venture to ask in his personal Spanish the same thing to a witness and how Danny had behaved himself, seemingly forgiving Martin and never mentioning that poor figure, only to retaliate now.
As soon as he got it, Martin burst in a noisy laughter, leaning his head to touch his forehead to Danny’s forehead.
Danny was weeping, but he could give the credit to his own overpowering laughing, mouth wide open and Martin instinctively kissed him again, teeth brushing and tongues in a frantic search for each other.
Lower in their bodies, their hips started to move accordingly, Martin not being able to stop himself from rolling from side to side to make his cock brush and bump against Danny’s, who was apparently getting the hint, sliding with his hips on the opposite side, so well that a joke formed in Martin’s head and he shot Danny a muffled, “You’re doing great, gringo! Keep going!”
This time it was Danny who stared for a second at Martin before grinning and showing his appreciation by grasping Martin’s hips with his hands and starting to thrust forward, making their cocks burn in a pleasant pain for the rubbing, still trapped in their sweat-pants and underwear.
Martin felt Danny’s hands working on his pants and trying to slide them lower. He got the hint and hovered to help Danny, finishing the work by himself and setting himself totally free from his garments.
Danny underneath was labouring to get free from his, but he needed Martin’s help to get rid of everything.
Martin contemplated naked Danny for some moments: golden skin, flat abdomen, long perfect cock stiff on his tummy and balls dragged slightly up. Martin was incredibly excited. He was struggling not to touch himself as he was afraid one single stroke would make him come like a fourteen year-old boy. But his groin was aching. He needed to do something, only that he didn’t have a clue of what he was supposed to do.
Danny lent a hand and he settled on Danny again, feeling goofy and inexpert. A moment later he felt Danny’s legs spreading under him and Danny’s hand reaching his cock and stroking it while Danny’s eyes were still looking at him, lips half-shut to softly suggest him,
“Let go, Martin, close your eyes and relax”.
He obeyed silently, squeezing his eyes and moving his head back, while he was thrusting against Danny’s hand, faster and faster, until he arched his back and his lust won over him. He came abundantly on Danny’s hand, on Danny’s tummy, shooting more violently than usual, barely managing not to pass out. He lapsed on Danny, whose hand remained trapped between them.
From the heaven where he thought he had landed, he felt that Danny was trying to grab his own cock to jerk off. Still letting his breath out in heavy pants, Martin moved to help Danny and masturbated him for a few strokes, before feeling and hearing Danny come, his hand getting suddenly drenched in come, and he would never ever bet a penny on how hot having sex with a man -okay, with Danny- might be. This was the best thing that had happened to him, ever.
But when Danny relaxed and his heart started to bounce noisily, jumping so much that Martin thought it was his own, a loving feeling grew in his chest: he embraced Danny and whispered a barely audible, “I love you.”
He winced at of what he had just said to Danny and hoped his tone had been so low that he didn’t actually hear it, well knowing that it was a lie he was telling himself.
Danny didn’t reply, though, so maybe he was safe. Not that Martin didn’t mean what he had said, but he was dying of embarrassment. The ‘what ifs’ were freaking him.
Without any more words, Martin climbed from the soft comfortable bed Danny was and went to the bathroom to shower. While under the spray, he begged God that Danny wouldn’t leave. He needed him.
When he got back to his bedroom, Danny was still where he had left him, but got up quickly and went showering in turn.
When Danny returned from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, Martin saw the hesitation and fear in his eyes, as if Danny didn’t know what the right thing to do was and the shower had brought Danny the same dreads Martin was having. He gazed at Danny as gently as he was able to do, letting his eyes speak for him, and invited him over by patting the bed with his hand. Danny smiled at him and crawled in. Martin switched the lamp off and was quietly curling to sleep, when he felt Danny’s hands looking for him and pulling him into his arms, his head between Danny’s shoulder and the corner of his neck.
While feeling his hair stroked with the tip of his fingers, he heard Danny muttering, exhaling against it,
“You won’t ever get hurt again, Martin. I promise. They will never hurt you again, I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of you.”
Martin returned the favour Danny had made him some minutes earlier, pretending he was sleeping, but instinctively deepened his face in Danny’s neck, to breathe his scent and be wrapped by his arms and his soul, certain that they were embracing like their world was all there, in each other’s arms.
FIN.
This is Part two of the fanfic I wrote because I needed to fill the blanks (and something more) to the end of Martin's addiction storyline. I hope you enjoy it.
I'm cross-posting it in
wat_slash and in
new_wat_order to take part to the current challenge.
Title: AFTER A RAINY DAY
Author: Carrieross
Pairing: Danny/Martin
Rating: NC17.
Warnings: angst, addiction, sexual content, language.
Spoilers: Set from 4x18 The Road Home to 4x20 More than this, included.
Disclaimer: Without a Trace belongs to CBS & Warner Bros. Danny and Martin belong to them, too. No, sadly they don’t belong to me.
Author’s note: not only is
nekosmuse a thorough beta, but she’s a honest friend, and her suggestions are for the best.
If you didn't read it, yet, here is Part One.
AFTER A RAINY DAY:
PART 2
The pain was unbearable.
Half unconscious, Martin didn’t know if he was actually screaming and begging to give him a Percocet to ease it or if it was just his imagination, as he was too busy throwing up once every ten minutes to use his mouth for any other job.
He was soaked in sweat and his body was shaken by sudden shivers, when not by convulsions or the hurry to run to the bathroom.
The male nurses who were alternating one at a time by his bed would help him or clean him up, but he could barely register their presence.
He was running a fever and his nightmares were not much more than hallucinations, blurred and scary.
He was on the scene, seeing another himself on the ground, drowning in a sea of blood, when suddenly those blue eyes had turned to shining brown and his body transformed into Danny’s and the witnessing Martin was standing still, paralysed, to stare at dying Danny who was lending a hand and begging him to do something to save him, his mouth spitting blood…
All Martin knew was that he couldn’t wake up, the nightmare trapping him. He could only vaguely feel something suspiciously like a foaming at the corners of his mouth.
What day was it? How much time would that hell last? Martin prayed that he could just pass out and wake up a week later. His body and his mind had been tore apart and he wished to be dead, instead.
…………
“Just give me a sip! Only a fucking sip! I promise I’ll only sip it! I’m dying! I need a drink!
I NEED IT!”
Danny shook his head. God, it was ten years before. He had moved on.
He sighed and glanced at his alarm-clock. Almost two in the morning.
His personal withdrawal was one of the most traumatic experiences of his life -and he had had a few-. That event had stuck with him and had never faded, no matter how much Danny had strained to tell himself that it was over, that he had seen and lived worst than that, and that he would never be in that circumstance again.
Any time he would indulge in those memories -but he was very careful not to do it- he would feel those symptoms again, as if his memories weren’t just mental but above all physical. It was his body, much more than his mind, that was able to remember every shudder, every twitch, every pang to his stomach, to his liver and everywhere.
And exactly that sick he used to feel any time he remembered, but he was very careful not to do it…
Only that now Martin, his Martin, was the one who was going through that hell. His Martin… in Danny it surfaced, the hidden true feeling he had been so good in denying to himself, thus to the rest of the world. Danny was bisexual, and it had been quite easy to hide from Martin the truth about it. He had the feeling that Martin might be a classical case of man in the closet, but he had never considered taking the risk of losing a friendship to find out.
Danny kicked off his blanket and turned to lie on his back and stare at his ceiling in the dark of the night. Three or four days at most and his Martin would be okay. With an awful, sticky, traumatic experience on his shoulders, but he would be okay.
Danny slowly closed his weary eyelids to search oblivion in the sleep.
…………
While he was driving to the hospital, Martin was seriously considering taking Jack’s offer to procrastinate his return to work by some days. Weeks, maybe. A late decision, though, as he was heading to the scene of a disappearance.
Martin was starting to hate the feeling, the very same discomfort of when he had gotten back to work after he had been shot and, for God’s sake, this time his uneasiness was worsened by the fact that he would be strictly put under observation and judged by the rest of his team, or so he believed.
While he was observing all the small unfocused pictures of babies on the bulletin board, trying to keep his agitation in check, Vivian went over to him. Martin felt himself relaxing under the sort of nurturance she showed to him, now more than ever. He thanked her under his breath for not being judgemental.
From afar he got a glimpse of a slender elegant figure that was coming towards them and his heart jumped to his throat, eyes beaming with an expression of love and gratitude.
…………
He knew he had done it again. He had ditched Martin just like months earlier. But this time he was conscious that it was the right thing. He had never called Martin since he had been dismissed from the detox center. Martin had to find his own center without any pressure. And Danny was aware that he was a living pressure to Martin.
Nevertheless, after he was called to meet Martin and Vivian at the hospital where Megan Sullivan had been seen the last time, his heart never stopped running in his chest. When he spotted them, in the corridor, and Martin nodded at him with a new light in his eyes and the detectable joy in meeting him, Danny was tempted to offer him his widest smile and hug him tight, but he imposed himself to stay put and be as professional as he could.
A lot of things had occurred between him and Martin, but there was one thing that could only improve and never go back, and that was their mute understanding. A look, and both of them knew what was on the other’s mind.
Danny thought that that was the greatest gift about Martin and him.
Later that day Martin approached him and talked about sponsors and meetings. God, Danny thought, he couldn’t be prouder of Martin than he was. His Martin, as he had taken to silently calling him. That might be a problem. Danny was clueless of how he had gotten there, but, one thing was for sure, Martin didn’t have to know. Ever.
Their time together wasn’t over. Gracefully, Danny reached Martin at the coffee-break table and started discussing the new leads of their case while nonchalantly helping himself with the coffee jug. Martin replied, but Danny wasn’t managing to keep his attention high.
Danny wondered how much time had passed since the last time they had had a coffee together, discussing a case or making small talk. He stared at Martin, letting his thoughts flow in his mind and the contentment be apparent. He had tried not to miss what Martin was saying, but he had probably failed, because afterwards he couldn’t remember most of the details Martin had conjectured about the missing person.
…………
Martin was curious. Who might be knocking at his door at nine? He was about to call for delivery, as he had just come from the hospital where the pregnant missing woman had had a baby.
And, of course, he should have known better: Danny with a bag in his hands that smelled suspiciously of spicy Mexican food. Not a light dinner, but his stomach grunted in anticipation.
Danny laughed at the noise, joking at Martin being in great shape, as he was ready to swallow heavy, junk food again.
They spent the evening eating, talking and laughing together. Martin loved that Danny wasn’t mentioning his stay at the detox center.
To say it all, Martin loved that Danny was there with him.
It was easy to be around Danny sometimes. It hadn’t be always that way, and Martin shivered at the memory of their first months of working together, when they had spent most of their time clashing and arguing and he was the favourite subject of Danny’s sharp barbs, until Danny had finally stepped back from his suspicions about Martin and his ancestry. He had kept on teasing him, then, but like it was his very personal way to gratify Martin of his respect and affection.
Martin was mesmerized by Danny’s hands making abstract patterns in the air while telling him some funny anecdote, Martin laughing any time Danny had stopped for a second, because those were obviously the right moments, but not really listening to him, as he was staring at him in wonder.
Later, when Danny yawned for the third time in one minute, Martin pushed him out of his door, thanking him for the enchiladas and his company and joking about Danny’s exhaustion.
Once left alone, Martin’s thoughts still lingered around Danny, but just in time to take them back, he shook his head and chuckled.
During the last period of his strong addiction and even after his recovery Martin had suffered from impotence difficulties, a thing that had made him exceptionally ashamed of. He was getting much better, though, and that night he could happily jerk off. Thinking of Danny.
…………
Since that night, Danny had taken to visiting Martin quite often. He had the motive and the opportunity, job being hard sometimes, so that it looked logical to stick together and share the burden of a weary case or a sorrow filled resolution.
Never mentioning it, there was the mutual need to make up for the lost time and enjoy each other, like in their old days, except they had never hung out together this often in their old days.
Danny would do his best not to bring Martin’s addiction up as a subject of conversation. The main reason was that he thought that Martin wouldn’t be so eager to talk about something that meant lack of control and defeat on his part. He meant it.
His hidden dread was, in fact, the prospect that Martin might want him to talk about his own alcoholism, for analogy, or just for giving him the chance to vent, chance Danny was sure he didn’t need. At all. Danny would never talk about his problem.
They mostly watched sports on TV, though Martin wasn’t a huge fan, and started the habit of grabbing food from a different take out any time, to experiment all the various ethnic kitchens.
Eventually, Danny started to visit Martin with a bag full of uncooked ingredients and to prepare dishes directly in Martin’s kitchen.
Once it happened that Martin was running a fever and had a cold, so Danny kept him company, watching TV together on his bed and bringing him home-made chicken soup.
Since then, when they were too tired, they would repeat the pattern, chicken soup excluded.
…………
“God, this show is pure crap!”
Danny was half laughing, half incredulous about how stupid a reality show could be.
From the other side of the bed, a dull Martin was grunting something. With a light cotton cream-white sweater and black sweat-pants on, he pressed the mute button on his remote and turned his head in Danny’s direction.
“Danny, I’d like to thank you…”
“Stop it now, Martin.”
“But I need to tell you how…”
“Just give it a break, Martin”.
Danny was lying, dressed in grey sweat pants and a weak blue jumper, ankles crossed to stretch his long legs and arms crossed behind his neck on his pillow. Suddenly grim-faced, he was purposely watching the now mute figures moving pointlessly on the screen on the shelf that sat at the foot of the bed.
They had had a long day at work, and the result they had achieved was a body in the Hudson, though luckily Jack had taken mercy on them and made somebody else recover it.
When it was time to go home they were so broken that they ended up looking at each other and agreeing instantaneously to grab a take-out and spend some time watching the most idiotic TV show on Martin’s bed. Martin had provided Danny some clothes and after flipping channels they had decided that the reality-show was more silly than the soap and the sit-com they had nominated for the poll.
“Thanks for helping me out so much and being with me”. Martin was quite stubborn.
“I didn’t mean to help you, so you can save it for a better cause.”
“Why’s that, Danny? You were with me, you’re here, now.”
“Sam asked me to do so. I did nothing. I just… wasn’t trusting you.”
“And you were right. You were right about everything, and still you helped me. You did, like it or not.”
“I don’t want to be remembered as the one who saved you, Martin. It’s a quite uncomfortable role, and I don’t deserve it a little bit. You saved yourself. I did what I had to, that’s all. Now shut up, will you?”
“Hey, is this a command? ‘Cause if it is, I’m not going to bow to that.”
Words were hard, but his tone was a teasing one. Martin grabbed his pillow and just hit it on Danny’s face. Danny, after a moment of astonishment, snatched Martin’s pillow from his hands and paid him back,
“Pillow fight, huh? Take this, then!”
They were laughing and throwing pillows and grasping them and defending and fighting like kids. Martin felt his heart getting lighter and warmer and he couldn’t believe it was happening for real. He and Danny were the old ones, even better than in the past. They were playing heartily and it was a beautiful new sensation.
Martin hit Danny, who was lying on his back again, with his pillow a little harder and suddenly heard a suffocated noise from under the pillow. He lifted it, to find a panting Danny who was staring at him in a curious expression.
“Hey, man, why’s that?” Martin was rather puzzled. A mixture of affection and emotion was evident in Danny’s vaguely glistening eyes and, if Martin didn’t know better, he could bet Danny was on the verge of tears.
Danny swallowed before muttering something in between his sighs,
“I’m so glad that you’re here, Martin, you know,”
Martin darkened his expression in astonishment. Danny stopped talking, realizing he had given away too much. Martin didn’t let go and pressed him to go ahead, with a well-placed “And?”
“Nothing. It’s just… God, you were dying on me…” and Danny’s voice broke.
As if a lighting-bolt had struck him, Martin got where all of this came from.
The shooting.
The beginning of everything.
They had never uttered a word about that night since. And here it was, like a ghost between them, like it had happened the night before and not months and months earlier.
Danny was as wounded as him, but there were no doctors to cure him.
Just as much as Martin’s internal wounds, which couldn’t have been sewed with a needle, but had been cured by Martin himself with painkillers. Ironically, the pain had never been killed by them, but it had surged stronger and stronger instead.
Martin froze, not capable to say anything that could ease their shared pain.
“I’m sorry, Martin. I left you alone. You went through everything alone. I’m so sorry. I just couldn’t… God, you became an addict on me.”
“No, Danny. This isn’t on you. It just happened. Calm down. Please, I…”
Martin shook off his discomfort and leaned over Danny, closer to his face. Danny’s features were relaxed and soft, his eyes were filled with dew drops and his face was now tear-stained. His lips were swollen. His eyes were a burning dark brown.
Martin got closer to touch Danny’s lips with his. He could see Danny’s dark eye-lashes going down and his eyes turning into a narrow fissure. As he brushed Danny’s lips he pulled back nervously.
“It’s okay, Martin,”
Danny whispered in a sigh, while tensing his cheek-muscles.
Martin gazed at Danny as if it was the first time, astonishment irradiating from his eyes, and tried to move to lie on his back when Danny grabbed his arm and kept him stuck where he was.
“It’s okay, Martin” he repeated in a steady, but sweet tone, eyes dark and bright.
Martin didn’t think, his brain completely blank. Next thing he knew he was approaching Danny again, more peremptorily this time. He pressed his lips against Danny’s to find his way into his mouth. He felt its softness and warmth. His tongue touched and tasted Danny’s. He felt Danny widening his mouth to take everything he could give him. He could feel it was wet and very cosy. While kissing him, Martin registered his own cock getting harder and twitching on the mattress, while he was leaning on Danny.
Martin slowed the kiss, then he broke it to catch his breath.
He would ask the earth to swallow him, if it was possible. But Danny didn’t seem to feel as embarrassed.
“I’m pretty sure you’re hard, too” he said with something on his lips that looked more like an earnest smile than the usual grin.
Martin blushed and, smiling, he nodded in response, regretting his easy compliance. With a soft whisper Danny invited him to settle over his body.
Martin couldn’t tell if he was delegating all the important decisions to his cock or if it was his cock that was the off-center terminal of his inner thoughts, behaving consequently.
In both cases, Martin paid heed to his member and lifted to adjust himself on Danny, a shy grin on his face, straining not to look away, but meeting Danny’s eyes, instead. And Danny was right, he was very hard. So was Danny, Martin confirmed mentally.
Danny chuckled before snapping a, “Cuanto pesas?”
Startled, Martin looked at Danny in wonder, but an instant later he recalled the time, a few days earlier, when he had had the venture to ask in his personal Spanish the same thing to a witness and how Danny had behaved himself, seemingly forgiving Martin and never mentioning that poor figure, only to retaliate now.
As soon as he got it, Martin burst in a noisy laughter, leaning his head to touch his forehead to Danny’s forehead.
Danny was weeping, but he could give the credit to his own overpowering laughing, mouth wide open and Martin instinctively kissed him again, teeth brushing and tongues in a frantic search for each other.
Lower in their bodies, their hips started to move accordingly, Martin not being able to stop himself from rolling from side to side to make his cock brush and bump against Danny’s, who was apparently getting the hint, sliding with his hips on the opposite side, so well that a joke formed in Martin’s head and he shot Danny a muffled, “You’re doing great, gringo! Keep going!”
This time it was Danny who stared for a second at Martin before grinning and showing his appreciation by grasping Martin’s hips with his hands and starting to thrust forward, making their cocks burn in a pleasant pain for the rubbing, still trapped in their sweat-pants and underwear.
Martin felt Danny’s hands working on his pants and trying to slide them lower. He got the hint and hovered to help Danny, finishing the work by himself and setting himself totally free from his garments.
Danny underneath was labouring to get free from his, but he needed Martin’s help to get rid of everything.
Martin contemplated naked Danny for some moments: golden skin, flat abdomen, long perfect cock stiff on his tummy and balls dragged slightly up. Martin was incredibly excited. He was struggling not to touch himself as he was afraid one single stroke would make him come like a fourteen year-old boy. But his groin was aching. He needed to do something, only that he didn’t have a clue of what he was supposed to do.
Danny lent a hand and he settled on Danny again, feeling goofy and inexpert. A moment later he felt Danny’s legs spreading under him and Danny’s hand reaching his cock and stroking it while Danny’s eyes were still looking at him, lips half-shut to softly suggest him,
“Let go, Martin, close your eyes and relax”.
He obeyed silently, squeezing his eyes and moving his head back, while he was thrusting against Danny’s hand, faster and faster, until he arched his back and his lust won over him. He came abundantly on Danny’s hand, on Danny’s tummy, shooting more violently than usual, barely managing not to pass out. He lapsed on Danny, whose hand remained trapped between them.
From the heaven where he thought he had landed, he felt that Danny was trying to grab his own cock to jerk off. Still letting his breath out in heavy pants, Martin moved to help Danny and masturbated him for a few strokes, before feeling and hearing Danny come, his hand getting suddenly drenched in come, and he would never ever bet a penny on how hot having sex with a man -okay, with Danny- might be. This was the best thing that had happened to him, ever.
But when Danny relaxed and his heart started to bounce noisily, jumping so much that Martin thought it was his own, a loving feeling grew in his chest: he embraced Danny and whispered a barely audible, “I love you.”
He winced at of what he had just said to Danny and hoped his tone had been so low that he didn’t actually hear it, well knowing that it was a lie he was telling himself.
Danny didn’t reply, though, so maybe he was safe. Not that Martin didn’t mean what he had said, but he was dying of embarrassment. The ‘what ifs’ were freaking him.
Without any more words, Martin climbed from the soft comfortable bed Danny was and went to the bathroom to shower. While under the spray, he begged God that Danny wouldn’t leave. He needed him.
When he got back to his bedroom, Danny was still where he had left him, but got up quickly and went showering in turn.
When Danny returned from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, Martin saw the hesitation and fear in his eyes, as if Danny didn’t know what the right thing to do was and the shower had brought Danny the same dreads Martin was having. He gazed at Danny as gently as he was able to do, letting his eyes speak for him, and invited him over by patting the bed with his hand. Danny smiled at him and crawled in. Martin switched the lamp off and was quietly curling to sleep, when he felt Danny’s hands looking for him and pulling him into his arms, his head between Danny’s shoulder and the corner of his neck.
While feeling his hair stroked with the tip of his fingers, he heard Danny muttering, exhaling against it,
“You won’t ever get hurt again, Martin. I promise. They will never hurt you again, I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of you.”
Martin returned the favour Danny had made him some minutes earlier, pretending he was sleeping, but instinctively deepened his face in Danny’s neck, to breathe his scent and be wrapped by his arms and his soul, certain that they were embracing like their world was all there, in each other’s arms.
FIN.