(no subject)
Title: Curb
Fandom/Pairing: Without A Trace - Danny/Martin
Rating: Light R
Summary: Martin needs to keep control.
Beta: The fabulous lillyjk
Feedback: I am a whore for it.
Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me and I won't make any money from them.
Notes: This is my first attempt at writing Danny/Martin (it was bound to happen eventually they're too pretty to ignore!) so erm be kind!
Curb
How does it look to those around them? Martin wonders. Can people see the subtle change in the tension between him and Danny? How the looks and touches have a weight to them now, a meaning? Martin likes things to look disciplined, in their place. Doesn’t like it when things look out of control. He thinks it makes him vulnerable, makes him look weak in the eyes of others, and, this thing with Danny, this war to rip apart his composure that Danny is waging stands to shatter Martin’s grip on things, send his world spinning into chaos and he is not willing to let that happen.
He can feel the weight of Danny’s eyes on him right now. Feel them as they settle on the back of his neck. Feel them rest there for a moment before moving slowly down his spine. They make him feel exposed, as though Danny’s eyes have stripped him naked, showing the rest of the office the sight that Danny sees when they are alone. Suddenly, Martin can no longer feel the floor under his feet, but, instead, the memory of a mattress under his knees, against the palms of his hands, the pressure of Danny’s body resting over his and, it’s no longer eyes on the back of his neck, it’s a mouth. A mouth that moves down his body, vertebrae by vertebrae, dipping ever downwards until he thinks he will bite through his lip in an effort to keep the moan building up inside of him from breaking free.
And then it’s gone. Martin has to shake his head to clear it as he reaches an unsteady hand out to his coffee cup and listens in on the conversation that has drawn Danny’s attention away from him. Most of him is grateful for the interruption but there is a part of him that wishes it hadn’t come, wishes his daydream hadn’t ended when it did. Wishes he could stand up right now and grab Danny by the collar and drag him into the nearest closet and fuck him through the wall. But that wouldn’t do. That would mean losing control.
He knows that’s what Danny is trying to do. Break him. Crack the brittle veneer that Martin surrounds himself with. Danny who feels everything around him on an emotional level, no matter the pain it brings, wants to make him do the same. But he won’t, he can’t, he knows the cost of letting himself feel, knows the bitterness it can bring and he doesn’t want that with Danny. Not after all these years of waiting. Not now that he is finally where he wants to be.
Martin thinks he would like to film the two of them together. Then he could watch later and see how they look. See the contrast of their skin tones, cinnamon on cream. See the way that Danny arches into his every touch; see the way he writhes, and, see him gasp as Martin sinks slowly inside. Rewind and replay the frames over and over until the images no longer affect him and he feels sure that he won’t slip and let Danny and his emotions in.
The case is closed, the person found safe and well, and, once the paperwork is finished, they have two days off. Martin knows that no matter what he says, what excuses he gives, he will end up knocking on the door of Danny’s apartment. He knows that Danny will open up and let him in, not saying a word, only an arch of an eyebrow and a sly grin letting Martin know that Danny has no doubt at all as to why he is there. He knows there will be no pretence of polite conversation, no small talk about the office. Just Danny pushing him back against the wall and then sinking down to kneel before him, those eyes raking his body as he does. He knows he won’t feel Danny’s hands on his hips, holding him still, as the wet heat of Danny’s mouth surrounds him. He knows that Danny likes to ride the bucking of his hips, knows that Danny is aware of the response that the feel of his tongue and soft scrape of his teeth will create. Martin knows that later, in the bedroom, Danny will moan and babble to himself in Spanish, the volume growing, until he shouts his release and Martin will taste blood in his mouth as his teeth tear away another portion of his lip in an attempt to keep his own cry from sounding out. Martin knows that as he feels muscles clench around him, he will grip Danny’s hips so hard he’ll leave bruises behind. And most of all he knows that Danny will see those bruises as a sign of victory in his war to break Martin down.
Martin figures he has somewhere in the region of twelve hours before he gives in and starts the journey to Danny’s apartment block. Time enough to prepare. Time to add another layer to the wall, to paper over the cracks that are starting to show. Time to steel himself against the force of Danny’s will, time to regain control
Fandom/Pairing: Without A Trace - Danny/Martin
Rating: Light R
Summary: Martin needs to keep control.
Beta: The fabulous lillyjk
Feedback: I am a whore for it.
Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me and I won't make any money from them.
Notes: This is my first attempt at writing Danny/Martin (it was bound to happen eventually they're too pretty to ignore!) so erm be kind!
Curb
How does it look to those around them? Martin wonders. Can people see the subtle change in the tension between him and Danny? How the looks and touches have a weight to them now, a meaning? Martin likes things to look disciplined, in their place. Doesn’t like it when things look out of control. He thinks it makes him vulnerable, makes him look weak in the eyes of others, and, this thing with Danny, this war to rip apart his composure that Danny is waging stands to shatter Martin’s grip on things, send his world spinning into chaos and he is not willing to let that happen.
He can feel the weight of Danny’s eyes on him right now. Feel them as they settle on the back of his neck. Feel them rest there for a moment before moving slowly down his spine. They make him feel exposed, as though Danny’s eyes have stripped him naked, showing the rest of the office the sight that Danny sees when they are alone. Suddenly, Martin can no longer feel the floor under his feet, but, instead, the memory of a mattress under his knees, against the palms of his hands, the pressure of Danny’s body resting over his and, it’s no longer eyes on the back of his neck, it’s a mouth. A mouth that moves down his body, vertebrae by vertebrae, dipping ever downwards until he thinks he will bite through his lip in an effort to keep the moan building up inside of him from breaking free.
And then it’s gone. Martin has to shake his head to clear it as he reaches an unsteady hand out to his coffee cup and listens in on the conversation that has drawn Danny’s attention away from him. Most of him is grateful for the interruption but there is a part of him that wishes it hadn’t come, wishes his daydream hadn’t ended when it did. Wishes he could stand up right now and grab Danny by the collar and drag him into the nearest closet and fuck him through the wall. But that wouldn’t do. That would mean losing control.
He knows that’s what Danny is trying to do. Break him. Crack the brittle veneer that Martin surrounds himself with. Danny who feels everything around him on an emotional level, no matter the pain it brings, wants to make him do the same. But he won’t, he can’t, he knows the cost of letting himself feel, knows the bitterness it can bring and he doesn’t want that with Danny. Not after all these years of waiting. Not now that he is finally where he wants to be.
Martin thinks he would like to film the two of them together. Then he could watch later and see how they look. See the contrast of their skin tones, cinnamon on cream. See the way that Danny arches into his every touch; see the way he writhes, and, see him gasp as Martin sinks slowly inside. Rewind and replay the frames over and over until the images no longer affect him and he feels sure that he won’t slip and let Danny and his emotions in.
The case is closed, the person found safe and well, and, once the paperwork is finished, they have two days off. Martin knows that no matter what he says, what excuses he gives, he will end up knocking on the door of Danny’s apartment. He knows that Danny will open up and let him in, not saying a word, only an arch of an eyebrow and a sly grin letting Martin know that Danny has no doubt at all as to why he is there. He knows there will be no pretence of polite conversation, no small talk about the office. Just Danny pushing him back against the wall and then sinking down to kneel before him, those eyes raking his body as he does. He knows he won’t feel Danny’s hands on his hips, holding him still, as the wet heat of Danny’s mouth surrounds him. He knows that Danny likes to ride the bucking of his hips, knows that Danny is aware of the response that the feel of his tongue and soft scrape of his teeth will create. Martin knows that later, in the bedroom, Danny will moan and babble to himself in Spanish, the volume growing, until he shouts his release and Martin will taste blood in his mouth as his teeth tear away another portion of his lip in an attempt to keep his own cry from sounding out. Martin knows that as he feels muscles clench around him, he will grip Danny’s hips so hard he’ll leave bruises behind. And most of all he knows that Danny will see those bruises as a sign of victory in his war to break Martin down.
Martin figures he has somewhere in the region of twelve hours before he gives in and starts the journey to Danny’s apartment block. Time enough to prepare. Time to add another layer to the wall, to paper over the cracks that are starting to show. Time to steel himself against the force of Danny’s will, time to regain control