All Ran Away and Hid, for flipflopadd1ct
Title: All Ran Away and Hid
Author: smilla02
Recipient: flipflopadd1ct
Rating: NC-17
Author's Notes: Based loosely on flipflopadd1ct's prompts: Martin surprises Danny with his sexual knowledge and something about jerking off.
Summary: Danny looks at Martin. Established relationship.
Air whooshes inside from the sliding doors; Danny raises his head, sees Martin entering. He’s dishevelled, the buttons of his shirts undone, suit jacket rumpled. Weariness in the droop of his shoulders. Each line of exhaustion carved deep on his face.
Martin doesn’t look at Danny even if Danny knows he’s seen him. He sits at his desk, swivels the chair around, gives his back to Sam, to Vivian. To Danny.
Across the hall in Jack’s office, Danny can see Deputy Director Fitzgerald; can see the angry set of Jack’s mouth, the contained rage in his posture. Victor has his back to the window and, from behind, he looks exactly like Martin.
Martin stands up abruptly, chair sliding back a couple of feet with the force of his push. "I'm getting coffee," he tells nobody, gaze firmly locked on the tips of his shoes and something suspiciously close to embarrassment staining his cheeks red.
He walks out from the bullpen with a slow measured walk, but Danny knows he would run if he could.
***
Some nights Danny likes to stand back and watch. Martin has long bones, slim hips, bony fingers that curve surely around his own cock. Intimacy and a practiced confidence, an efficient pace, precise.
Martin throws his head back when he comes, bares his throat and Danny kisses the hollow spot under his Adam’s apple, where the sweat pools and Martin’s scent is sharp.
Afterwards, Danny feels Martin shivering, trembling slightly under his hand. Danny touches his cock, softening and fragile looking between Martin's legs. He licks a long stripe from knee to the juncture of hipbone and femur.
Martin doesn't talk, but he spreads his legs, welcomes Danny inside with a clench of muscle and a push back.
***
Martin is a complicated mess of shyness and hard-steel will. Stubbornness in the set of his jaw and sky blue eyes.
Walking back to the Bureau they argue. It's an old argument: sometimes Danny forgets how different they are. Coming at things from opposite paths and not quite meeting in the middle. Sometimes not meeting at all.
Danny gets mad. "I don’t believe you’re so naïve," he says. Martin rolls his eyes, doesn't speak for the rest of the way. Walks fast and ramrod straight, looking exactly like the white bread Danny thought he was.
They have to stop at a red light, and Martin taps his foot, flush still visible on his neck, close to the edges of his collar. "You’re being unreasonable," Danny says. Martin starts walking a second before the light becomes green again.
"Fine." Danny says when they're even again.
***
Martin loops his tongue around the crown of Danny’s cock. Left and right, then right and left, hands resting lightly on each side of Danny’s hip and thumbs circling signs into the hollow there. Danny moans, thrusts slowly, exhales softly when Martin raises his head, looks at him with a slanted down smile, lips red and wet, hint of confusion on his furrowed brow.
"Is it too much?" Danny asks. "We could--"
Martin’s smile dims. Something dark and alien passes through his eyes before his lashes veil them and Danny can't see it anymore.
Martin makes him come between the next two breaths.
***
For 123 miles from Reading, Pennsylvania, to New York City, Martin drives. Danny sits comfortably in his seat, glad for the cool air blowing through the vents and the two-hour drive, minus traffic, he spends out of the heat.
Looking at Martin so he can forget dead faces and cold bodies thrown away like trash.
Martin drives with efficiency, barely over the edge of the speed limit. Both hands on the wheel, firmly planted on ten and two, shoulders relaxed and shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows.
"No way we’d be on time," Martin says after a while, without turning his gaze from the road. Danny nods even if he knows Martin won’t see him, wonders when Martin started reading behind his exaggerated smiles and found the truth.
The road is long; the yellow line stretching far into the distance like it’d never end.
***
Danny can only see shadows in the corner and the blurry contour of the furniture. Martin is half across him, their legs intertwined, his skin pale. Danny’s own is darker, and they both form a long striped stretch of limbs and muscles and Danny doesn’t believe he’s ever seen something so beautiful.
Martin’s breath is even, but Danny can tell the exact moment when he passes from sleep to consciousness, feels the flexing of muscles; a sensual movement, and his own body burns with the want in it.
One of Martin’s arms is buried under Danny’s body, and the space between them is non-existent: chest to chest, and hips and thighs and ankles. When Martin wraps his free hand around Danny’s cock, Danny is surprised that his body doesn’t liquefy inside Martin’s. Become one with his.
***
It’s weird seeing Martin walking in a prison like he owns the place. Of all the possibilities, Danny figures prison is not somewhere a Fitzgerald should walk with ease.
Danny should call Martin on that, but he’s distracted by memories coming too close to the surface. Memories Danny doesn’t want to remember, memories he didn’t think he had to remember. Prisons are an ancient pain, reminding him of Rafi’s betrayed look. Prisons are Danny feeling like an ungrateful bastard. A fool.
Danny’s skin itches inside the grey institutional walls.
"They’d eat you whole," he tells Martin, nodding towards the inmates giving leery looks at Martin’s ass, and there is a perverse satisfaction when he sees Martin flinching, knows he’s being unfair. Can’t find the will to stop.
Feels the pain he’s trying to tame becoming unreasonable rage when Martin doesn’t rise to the bait.
***
Danny bangs the front door shut with his foot, presses Martin against it, kisses his lips, his jaw, the soft skin under his ear. Starts back again and Martin’s body is solid under his weight, consistent and grounding.
Danny grinds his erection with force against Martin’s hip, feels his strength matched when Martin pushes back.
Danny whispers sorrysorrysorrysorry. Softly. So Martin knows that he means it.
Martin kisses him on the side of his face, silences him with tongue and teeth, arms tight around Danny’s chest, hands flat on Danny’s back.
It lacks finesse, it’s fast, it’s over too soon. But Danny feels his orgasm washing over him like forgiveness.
***
It’s been one year.
Danny is a messy cook; he does it on purpose, throwing around ingredients and mixing them liberally so the air in his kitchen becomes sharp with the scent of garlic and oregano, the penetrating aroma of cumino.
Martin sits on Danny’s kitchen table, legs swinging back and forth, back and forth, nervous energy and hands clenched tight on the edges of the table. Danny looks back above his shoulder, raises an eyebrow and Martin settles, stops the movement of his legs, looks chagrined.
"I will let you straighten up the kitchen after," Danny tells Martin, and Martin smiles, a knowing smile.
It’s been one year. They both know that later, cleaning the kitchen will be the last of their thoughts.
***
Danny comes out from the bathroom, freshly shaved and showered, water dripping onto his back from his wet hair. Martin is still sleeping in Danny’s bed, sheet tangled around his legs and spots of red standing bright on his chest.
There’s still some time before he has to wake him up, so Danny stops in the doorway, wood digging into his bare back and skin cooling with the breeze coming from the open window.
He’d thought once he would never understand Martin, thought their differences irreconcilable, their respective worlds too far away to mingle.
But now, Martin sleeps on Danny’s bed in Danny’s bedroom, with rays of sun falling across his face, looking young and relaxed, and Danny knows he was looking at Martin from the wrong angle, and maybe this, this is the right one, finally, to look at Martin and make sense of him.
Author: smilla02
Recipient: flipflopadd1ct
Rating: NC-17
Author's Notes: Based loosely on flipflopadd1ct's prompts: Martin surprises Danny with his sexual knowledge and something about jerking off.
Summary: Danny looks at Martin. Established relationship.
Air whooshes inside from the sliding doors; Danny raises his head, sees Martin entering. He’s dishevelled, the buttons of his shirts undone, suit jacket rumpled. Weariness in the droop of his shoulders. Each line of exhaustion carved deep on his face.
Martin doesn’t look at Danny even if Danny knows he’s seen him. He sits at his desk, swivels the chair around, gives his back to Sam, to Vivian. To Danny.
Across the hall in Jack’s office, Danny can see Deputy Director Fitzgerald; can see the angry set of Jack’s mouth, the contained rage in his posture. Victor has his back to the window and, from behind, he looks exactly like Martin.
Martin stands up abruptly, chair sliding back a couple of feet with the force of his push. "I'm getting coffee," he tells nobody, gaze firmly locked on the tips of his shoes and something suspiciously close to embarrassment staining his cheeks red.
He walks out from the bullpen with a slow measured walk, but Danny knows he would run if he could.
***
Some nights Danny likes to stand back and watch. Martin has long bones, slim hips, bony fingers that curve surely around his own cock. Intimacy and a practiced confidence, an efficient pace, precise.
Martin throws his head back when he comes, bares his throat and Danny kisses the hollow spot under his Adam’s apple, where the sweat pools and Martin’s scent is sharp.
Afterwards, Danny feels Martin shivering, trembling slightly under his hand. Danny touches his cock, softening and fragile looking between Martin's legs. He licks a long stripe from knee to the juncture of hipbone and femur.
Martin doesn't talk, but he spreads his legs, welcomes Danny inside with a clench of muscle and a push back.
***
Martin is a complicated mess of shyness and hard-steel will. Stubbornness in the set of his jaw and sky blue eyes.
Walking back to the Bureau they argue. It's an old argument: sometimes Danny forgets how different they are. Coming at things from opposite paths and not quite meeting in the middle. Sometimes not meeting at all.
Danny gets mad. "I don’t believe you’re so naïve," he says. Martin rolls his eyes, doesn't speak for the rest of the way. Walks fast and ramrod straight, looking exactly like the white bread Danny thought he was.
They have to stop at a red light, and Martin taps his foot, flush still visible on his neck, close to the edges of his collar. "You’re being unreasonable," Danny says. Martin starts walking a second before the light becomes green again.
"Fine." Danny says when they're even again.
***
Martin loops his tongue around the crown of Danny’s cock. Left and right, then right and left, hands resting lightly on each side of Danny’s hip and thumbs circling signs into the hollow there. Danny moans, thrusts slowly, exhales softly when Martin raises his head, looks at him with a slanted down smile, lips red and wet, hint of confusion on his furrowed brow.
"Is it too much?" Danny asks. "We could--"
Martin’s smile dims. Something dark and alien passes through his eyes before his lashes veil them and Danny can't see it anymore.
Martin makes him come between the next two breaths.
***
For 123 miles from Reading, Pennsylvania, to New York City, Martin drives. Danny sits comfortably in his seat, glad for the cool air blowing through the vents and the two-hour drive, minus traffic, he spends out of the heat.
Looking at Martin so he can forget dead faces and cold bodies thrown away like trash.
Martin drives with efficiency, barely over the edge of the speed limit. Both hands on the wheel, firmly planted on ten and two, shoulders relaxed and shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows.
"No way we’d be on time," Martin says after a while, without turning his gaze from the road. Danny nods even if he knows Martin won’t see him, wonders when Martin started reading behind his exaggerated smiles and found the truth.
The road is long; the yellow line stretching far into the distance like it’d never end.
***
Danny can only see shadows in the corner and the blurry contour of the furniture. Martin is half across him, their legs intertwined, his skin pale. Danny’s own is darker, and they both form a long striped stretch of limbs and muscles and Danny doesn’t believe he’s ever seen something so beautiful.
Martin’s breath is even, but Danny can tell the exact moment when he passes from sleep to consciousness, feels the flexing of muscles; a sensual movement, and his own body burns with the want in it.
One of Martin’s arms is buried under Danny’s body, and the space between them is non-existent: chest to chest, and hips and thighs and ankles. When Martin wraps his free hand around Danny’s cock, Danny is surprised that his body doesn’t liquefy inside Martin’s. Become one with his.
***
It’s weird seeing Martin walking in a prison like he owns the place. Of all the possibilities, Danny figures prison is not somewhere a Fitzgerald should walk with ease.
Danny should call Martin on that, but he’s distracted by memories coming too close to the surface. Memories Danny doesn’t want to remember, memories he didn’t think he had to remember. Prisons are an ancient pain, reminding him of Rafi’s betrayed look. Prisons are Danny feeling like an ungrateful bastard. A fool.
Danny’s skin itches inside the grey institutional walls.
"They’d eat you whole," he tells Martin, nodding towards the inmates giving leery looks at Martin’s ass, and there is a perverse satisfaction when he sees Martin flinching, knows he’s being unfair. Can’t find the will to stop.
Feels the pain he’s trying to tame becoming unreasonable rage when Martin doesn’t rise to the bait.
***
Danny bangs the front door shut with his foot, presses Martin against it, kisses his lips, his jaw, the soft skin under his ear. Starts back again and Martin’s body is solid under his weight, consistent and grounding.
Danny grinds his erection with force against Martin’s hip, feels his strength matched when Martin pushes back.
Danny whispers sorrysorrysorrysorry. Softly. So Martin knows that he means it.
Martin kisses him on the side of his face, silences him with tongue and teeth, arms tight around Danny’s chest, hands flat on Danny’s back.
It lacks finesse, it’s fast, it’s over too soon. But Danny feels his orgasm washing over him like forgiveness.
***
It’s been one year.
Danny is a messy cook; he does it on purpose, throwing around ingredients and mixing them liberally so the air in his kitchen becomes sharp with the scent of garlic and oregano, the penetrating aroma of cumino.
Martin sits on Danny’s kitchen table, legs swinging back and forth, back and forth, nervous energy and hands clenched tight on the edges of the table. Danny looks back above his shoulder, raises an eyebrow and Martin settles, stops the movement of his legs, looks chagrined.
"I will let you straighten up the kitchen after," Danny tells Martin, and Martin smiles, a knowing smile.
It’s been one year. They both know that later, cleaning the kitchen will be the last of their thoughts.
***
Danny comes out from the bathroom, freshly shaved and showered, water dripping onto his back from his wet hair. Martin is still sleeping in Danny’s bed, sheet tangled around his legs and spots of red standing bright on his chest.
There’s still some time before he has to wake him up, so Danny stops in the doorway, wood digging into his bare back and skin cooling with the breeze coming from the open window.
He’d thought once he would never understand Martin, thought their differences irreconcilable, their respective worlds too far away to mingle.
But now, Martin sleeps on Danny’s bed in Danny’s bedroom, with rays of sun falling across his face, looking young and relaxed, and Danny knows he was looking at Martin from the wrong angle, and maybe this, this is the right one, finally, to look at Martin and make sense of him.