.ficlet: For Thought - D/M (PG)
Title: For Thought
By: HF
Fandom: Without a Trace
Pairing: Danny/Martin
Rating/Warnings: PGish.
Disclaimers: Not mine, not mine.
Advertisements: Beaches! Sunscreen! Very fleeting reference to "Life Rules," from S2. Written for a whole bunch of challenges: words_fly_up, philosophy_20's "Theorizing" challenge, and wordclaim50 challenge #05, "Fluff."
Notes: This fic went through a couple permutations, from odd to dark and angsty to this. Because right now I really need fluff and happiness. And Danny, Martin, and a beach, in that order. And did I say right now?
FOR THOUGHT
He thinks too much. Such men are dangerous. (Julius Caesar)
“You’re thinking again.” Careful tap on Martin’s temple to reinforce the words. “What did I tell you about thinking?”
“It’s dangerous, and not to do it?” Martin swats his hand away.
“Exactly. You’re going to hurt yourself one of these days, thinking too much.”
Danny stretches out alongside Martin, close even though the day is warm. Despite the crowded beach, Martin doesn’t seem to mind, even though he’s still nervous about being Seen in public like this, obviously with another guy. It’s a step, maybe, Danny thinks, watching Martin shift a bit, trying not to bunch his towel up, and the next is persuading Martin to let him rub sunscreen on his back.
For now, though, Danny will take Martin’s elbow brushing his, being close enough to see the fine line between his brows that says (unfortunately) Martin’s thinking, despite the fact that they’re spending the next two days at the beach.
Memorial Day, the official start of summer, and they’ve got the weekend off. There’s another team on call for the inevitable holiday tragedy this time, so Jack’s gone to Chicago to see his girls, Sam up to Vermont with her new boyfriend, Viv to a family reunion, Elena to Disney World with her daughter. Danny won’t have to see the inside of the office until Tuesday morning, though he’s sure Martin’s going through some kind of withdrawal.
The two of them, Danny and Martin, are at a beach house for the weekend - a beach house in the Hamptons - and Danny has no idea how Martin managed to get it - or find it, much less rent it for four days. He’d wondered if maybe it was some part of the Fitzgerald estate - maybe Martin hadn’t been joking back then, when he’d said he’d had two beach houses - and had actually gotten up the nerve to ask about what was usually a touchy subject.
“I have an old friend from White Collar,” Martin had said when Danny had asked, shrugging, no big deal, as though digging up a house in the Hamptons was like picking a shell up on the beach. The house they have isn’t exactly a shack, either, two stories and far too fancy to have sand and salt tracked inside it, actual china in the cupboards and expensive sheets Danny only feels vaguely bad about messing up when he’s got Martin panting and hard and wrapped around him.
Speaking of thinking… they’re in a public place at the moment - very public, hundreds upon hundreds of urban refugees clustered around them - and Danny tries very hard not to follow that train of thought. They’ve got their small patch of the beachfront staked out, kids running around screaming like maniacs, a few people swimming despite the cold water. The sky is clear, the sun warm on Danny’s face as he looks at Martin, who is obviously still - despite Danny’s prohibitions - thinking.
“What are you thinking about?” Danny asks finally, faintest hint of exasperation there to let Martin know he’s not going to let this go.
Martin shrugs, elegant shift of muscle under smooth skin, and there’s definitely something to be said for being able to see Martin with his shirt off during daylight hours. Distracting as hell, too, and Danny makes himself concentrate on Martin’s answer, not the mental vision of licking along Martin’s shoulder blade, where there’s this line of light and sweat he wants to taste.
“Thinking about Webber and his team stuck in the office this weekend,” Martin says after a minute.
“You mean thinking about how you want to be there to make sure Webber and his team get it right if someone goes missing.”
Martin shrugs again.
“You know, Luke’s been doing this longer than Jack has,” Danny tells him. It’s true; Luke Webber’s in line for Van Doren’s position, should she step down. “And if anything comes up, he’ll take care of it.”
“I know that.”
“I’ll put sand in your hair if you don’t stop obsessing about it,” Danny says. What he really wants to say is You can’t save everyone, no matter how hard you try, but he knows enough to keep this piece of advice to himself.
Martin manages to look affronted even behind his sunglasses. “I am not obsessing.”
“What do you call it then?”
Predictably, Martin doesn’t say anything, only pushes his sunglasses down so he can glare at Danny more effectively. Danny stares back, not put off in the least, and really, Martin should have learned by now that Danny’s pretty much immune to all manifestations of irritation and anger on Martin’s part. It’s probably, he reflects, why Martin likes him so much.
“I call it not obsessing, “Martin says finally. “And anyway, you wouldn’t let me bring my book out here. What else am I supposed to do?”
“Martin, it’s a holiday weekend.” Danny’s already explained to Martin that a massive biography of J. Robert Oppenheimer does not count as beach reading; beach reading is a cheap paperback, the kind you usually wouldn’t be caught dead reading, the kind you don’t mind getting sand in or accidentally leaving for someone else to pick up. “Sleep. Go for a swim. Your brain can take a vacation, too.”
“Doubtful.”
Danny has to bite back the comment he wants to make, a split second before his mouth takes over from his brain. “Humor your boyfriend, okay?” he says, once he’s sure what’s going to come out isn’t a smart remark, has room enough to be surprised that he’s actually said boyfriend, a definition, acknowledgment of what they’re doing that startles him.
“Will do.” Typical, dry half-smile, the thought-line smoothing out, and if Martin’s taken aback by the boyfriend comment, he’s not showing it. Or maybe it was the boyfriend comment that did it, Danny isn’t sure, but he makes himself not ask what Martin had been thinking about.
A trio of young girls go screaming by, kicking sand all over the place, their mother in hot pursuit and shouting orders at them to come back here right this instant. Martin winces as he watches them weave in between towels and umbrellas, pained expression shifting to a quick, rueful grin when Danny looks back at him.
He has to, Danny realizes, kiss Martin. Right this instant.
And, miraculously, Martin doesn’t seem to mind, mouth relaxed under Danny’s, warm and lazy, the kiss hovering between something casual and something more.
“Next time we find a quieter beach,” Danny tells him when they break apart. Sunscreen is bitter on his tongue, mixed with salt and sun, Martin’s sudden contentment. “I know a place.”
“I’m sure you do,” Martin says.
-end-
By: HF
Fandom: Without a Trace
Pairing: Danny/Martin
Rating/Warnings: PGish.
Disclaimers: Not mine, not mine.
Advertisements: Beaches! Sunscreen! Very fleeting reference to "Life Rules," from S2. Written for a whole bunch of challenges: words_fly_up, philosophy_20's "Theorizing" challenge, and wordclaim50 challenge #05, "Fluff."
Notes: This fic went through a couple permutations, from odd to dark and angsty to this. Because right now I really need fluff and happiness. And Danny, Martin, and a beach, in that order. And did I say right now?
FOR THOUGHT
He thinks too much. Such men are dangerous. (Julius Caesar)
“You’re thinking again.” Careful tap on Martin’s temple to reinforce the words. “What did I tell you about thinking?”
“It’s dangerous, and not to do it?” Martin swats his hand away.
“Exactly. You’re going to hurt yourself one of these days, thinking too much.”
Danny stretches out alongside Martin, close even though the day is warm. Despite the crowded beach, Martin doesn’t seem to mind, even though he’s still nervous about being Seen in public like this, obviously with another guy. It’s a step, maybe, Danny thinks, watching Martin shift a bit, trying not to bunch his towel up, and the next is persuading Martin to let him rub sunscreen on his back.
For now, though, Danny will take Martin’s elbow brushing his, being close enough to see the fine line between his brows that says (unfortunately) Martin’s thinking, despite the fact that they’re spending the next two days at the beach.
Memorial Day, the official start of summer, and they’ve got the weekend off. There’s another team on call for the inevitable holiday tragedy this time, so Jack’s gone to Chicago to see his girls, Sam up to Vermont with her new boyfriend, Viv to a family reunion, Elena to Disney World with her daughter. Danny won’t have to see the inside of the office until Tuesday morning, though he’s sure Martin’s going through some kind of withdrawal.
The two of them, Danny and Martin, are at a beach house for the weekend - a beach house in the Hamptons - and Danny has no idea how Martin managed to get it - or find it, much less rent it for four days. He’d wondered if maybe it was some part of the Fitzgerald estate - maybe Martin hadn’t been joking back then, when he’d said he’d had two beach houses - and had actually gotten up the nerve to ask about what was usually a touchy subject.
“I have an old friend from White Collar,” Martin had said when Danny had asked, shrugging, no big deal, as though digging up a house in the Hamptons was like picking a shell up on the beach. The house they have isn’t exactly a shack, either, two stories and far too fancy to have sand and salt tracked inside it, actual china in the cupboards and expensive sheets Danny only feels vaguely bad about messing up when he’s got Martin panting and hard and wrapped around him.
Speaking of thinking… they’re in a public place at the moment - very public, hundreds upon hundreds of urban refugees clustered around them - and Danny tries very hard not to follow that train of thought. They’ve got their small patch of the beachfront staked out, kids running around screaming like maniacs, a few people swimming despite the cold water. The sky is clear, the sun warm on Danny’s face as he looks at Martin, who is obviously still - despite Danny’s prohibitions - thinking.
“What are you thinking about?” Danny asks finally, faintest hint of exasperation there to let Martin know he’s not going to let this go.
Martin shrugs, elegant shift of muscle under smooth skin, and there’s definitely something to be said for being able to see Martin with his shirt off during daylight hours. Distracting as hell, too, and Danny makes himself concentrate on Martin’s answer, not the mental vision of licking along Martin’s shoulder blade, where there’s this line of light and sweat he wants to taste.
“Thinking about Webber and his team stuck in the office this weekend,” Martin says after a minute.
“You mean thinking about how you want to be there to make sure Webber and his team get it right if someone goes missing.”
Martin shrugs again.
“You know, Luke’s been doing this longer than Jack has,” Danny tells him. It’s true; Luke Webber’s in line for Van Doren’s position, should she step down. “And if anything comes up, he’ll take care of it.”
“I know that.”
“I’ll put sand in your hair if you don’t stop obsessing about it,” Danny says. What he really wants to say is You can’t save everyone, no matter how hard you try, but he knows enough to keep this piece of advice to himself.
Martin manages to look affronted even behind his sunglasses. “I am not obsessing.”
“What do you call it then?”
Predictably, Martin doesn’t say anything, only pushes his sunglasses down so he can glare at Danny more effectively. Danny stares back, not put off in the least, and really, Martin should have learned by now that Danny’s pretty much immune to all manifestations of irritation and anger on Martin’s part. It’s probably, he reflects, why Martin likes him so much.
“I call it not obsessing, “Martin says finally. “And anyway, you wouldn’t let me bring my book out here. What else am I supposed to do?”
“Martin, it’s a holiday weekend.” Danny’s already explained to Martin that a massive biography of J. Robert Oppenheimer does not count as beach reading; beach reading is a cheap paperback, the kind you usually wouldn’t be caught dead reading, the kind you don’t mind getting sand in or accidentally leaving for someone else to pick up. “Sleep. Go for a swim. Your brain can take a vacation, too.”
“Doubtful.”
Danny has to bite back the comment he wants to make, a split second before his mouth takes over from his brain. “Humor your boyfriend, okay?” he says, once he’s sure what’s going to come out isn’t a smart remark, has room enough to be surprised that he’s actually said boyfriend, a definition, acknowledgment of what they’re doing that startles him.
“Will do.” Typical, dry half-smile, the thought-line smoothing out, and if Martin’s taken aback by the boyfriend comment, he’s not showing it. Or maybe it was the boyfriend comment that did it, Danny isn’t sure, but he makes himself not ask what Martin had been thinking about.
A trio of young girls go screaming by, kicking sand all over the place, their mother in hot pursuit and shouting orders at them to come back here right this instant. Martin winces as he watches them weave in between towels and umbrellas, pained expression shifting to a quick, rueful grin when Danny looks back at him.
He has to, Danny realizes, kiss Martin. Right this instant.
And, miraculously, Martin doesn’t seem to mind, mouth relaxed under Danny’s, warm and lazy, the kiss hovering between something casual and something more.
“Next time we find a quieter beach,” Danny tells him when they break apart. Sunscreen is bitter on his tongue, mixed with salt and sun, Martin’s sudden contentment. “I know a place.”
“I’m sure you do,” Martin says.
-end-