Fic: Thirty-Six Less Hours (WAT, Danny/Martin, NC17)
It may seem like I am already breaking my own rule by posting something that wasn't on my 'to be finished' list. It seems that way, but that's not the case. The fact is that I've had most of this fic written for weeks, but then I got wrapped up in "Lock and Key" and sort of forgot about it. Oops. So, although this has already been pretty much Jossed by canon, I'm finally finishing the post-"Our Sons and Daughters" WAT fic that I started...sometime before now.
Originally this was going to be longer, much more involved, and plot-tastic, but then I came to my senses and realized what a nightmare that would be. So I'm posting it as is, and I seriously doubt there will ever be any more, although in theory it certainly could continue. That's how I get myself into trouble, though, so we're calling this done and that's that. This is probably my last Without A Trace fic (as it is not on the list of Approved Fandoms), therefore I was not concerned with the 'in character' or the 'continuity' so much as I was with the 'done'. This may or may not be any good. I leave that judgment, as usual, to your discretion.
The title made sense when I started this, although for the life of me I cannot remember now where it came from.
Title: Thirty-Six Less Hours
Fandom: Without a Trace
Pairing: Danny/Martin
Rating: NC17
Summary: Martin tries to forget.
Warnings: Spoilers for "Our Sons and Daughters".
It didn't have to be this way. He's told himself that a hundred times -- a thousand times -- but knowing that doesn't make it any easier to deal with the fact that it is this way, and there's nothing he can do to change it. There's nothing he ever could have done, not when Ethan was already dead before they even got involved in the case.
That's the worst part of all, that feeling of total helplessness. It's a feeling Martin's never gotten used to, and he's pretty sure he never will. Sometimes he thinks about asking one of the others if it ever gets any better, but part of him will always be afraid that they look at him and see the rookie they thought he was when he first joined the team, so he keeps his mouth shut and pretends he's fine. And most of the time he is -- most of the time he can leave the bad cases behind him after a day or two.
He hasn't been able to put this one behind him yet, but he tells himself it's only been a few days and he just needs a little more time. A little time to let the details fade, to remind himself that he's not those kids and he left his own teen angst behind him years ago. He's not Alex or Ethan or any of those sad, mixed up kids, the ones with no hope and nobody to give a damn where they go or what they're doing.
When he finds himself at the funeral he tells himself it's just because he needs closure, that he's not here out of some imagined connection to Ethan or Alex. He tells himself he'll just stay for the service and then leave, but he's not really surprised to find himself following the processional out of the funeral home parking lot and to the cemetery.
Alex wasn't at the service, but Martin's not surprised to see him at the cemetery. He doesn't think anyone else notices; Alex is too far away to hear the minister's words, and he's partly obscured behind an old oak tree at the edge of the lawn. Martin almost misses him, but he feels out of place and he's hanging back from the rest of the crowd, and he's standing at just the right angle to catch a glimpse of slight shoulders and dark hair.
He thinks about going over there, asking how he's doing and telling Alex this isn't his fault. Only they'd both know it's a lie, and that's something Alex is going to have to find a way to live with. Martin doesn't know the kid -- not really -- but something tells him Alex is going to have a hard time with that. He wants to do something, to find a way somehow to fix it so maybe the kid has a chance at some kind of a life, but he can no more fix Alex's life than he can bring Ethan back from the dead.
By the time he looks again Alex is gone, and he tells himself it's just as well. Sure, he signed on with Missing Persons so he could make a difference, but he can't save everyone. His father's told him that so many times he hears it in his sleep, and as much as he hates to admit it, part of him knows it's true. Still, Alex isn't missing, but he's definitely lost, and it kills Martin that there's nothing anyone can do to help him find himself.
He smiles to himself at his own maudlin sense of humor and ducks out of the burial before Ethan's parents can thank him for coming. He's not here for them, he's not even here for Ethan or Alex. He's here for himself, because he needs...something, only he's not sure what and when he climbs back into his rental car he knows he still hasn't found it.
~
It takes Martin most of the day to realize that Danny's casting more curious looks than usual in his direction, but he chalks up his lack of attention to the fact that his mind's still on Ethan's funeral. When he finally does notice he scowls, shooting a suspicious glare in Danny's direction.
"What?" he demands, his tone sharp and defensive and inappropriate enough that Danny actually flinches.
"You okay?" Danny asks, and instantly Martin feels guilty for snapping. Less than a second later he's furious with Danny again, for no other reason than because he can make Martin feel guilty over nothing.
"I'm fine," Martin answers, turning back to the backlog of paperwork he's been pretending to work on all morning. At first he was grateful that they hadn't gotten a new case right after Ethan, but now that he's got too much time on his hands to think he wishes he was out in the field doing something.
He feels Danny's frown from two desks away, and when Danny stands up and strolls over to him Martin has to force himself not to look up. The last thing he needs right now is to deal with Danny's attempts at being friendly; it's not that he doesn't want to be friends with Danny, but everything about Danny screams 'sex' and Martin can't think about that right now. He can't think about how much he's wanted Danny since the moment they met, even when Danny was being a complete asshole just because he could. His chances with Danny are about as good as his chances with Sam, and he really doesn't need another humiliation like the Sam fiasco under his belt.
"So how was your day off?" Danny slides onto the corner of Martin's desk as he speaks, leaning forward just far enough for the words to hit Martin's skin. Anger flashes hot and bright in Martin, and he wants to shove Danny out of his personal space. He wants to tell him to go flirt with someone else, because Martin isn't falling for the charming smiles or the empty promises anymore. It's the worst kind of torture, and after the past few days he can't deal with Danny's mind games.
"Fine," he answers, hating himself just a little bit more for not having the courage to tell Danny to mind his own business. He can argue with Danny about cases and how to conduct interrogations and even whether or not the Knicks have a shot, but he knows he'll never be able to call Danny on his personality. He doesn't even have the right, because that's just the way Danny is and the problem lies completely with Martin.
He glances up at Danny, wishing as soon as he does that he hadn't. Danny's wearing that bemused little grin of his, the one that makes Martin want to press him up against the nearest flat surface and kiss him until he forgets his own name. Only Martin's pretty sure Danny's never been that far out of control, and he knows he's in far more danger than Danny of losing himself in this thing that isn't happening between them.
"Yeah? Because you don't look like somebody who's fine, Martin."
"And how do I look?" It's a challenge and they both know it. Martin leans back in his chair and meets Danny's gaze defiantly, congratulating himself silently on not backing down.
"Like somebody just ran over your dog," Danny answers. His expression shifts to something a little too serious, and Martin fights the urge to squirm in his chair. He's not going to let Danny get to him, not this time. He's fallen for the charm often enough, there's no denying that even to himself, but he knows better than to confide in Danny. Sure, Danny likes him well enough now, but he's not interested in Martin's personal problems. He just wants to know, the way they all want to know. It's in their nature, and even if it wasn't it's their job. He can't really fault Danny for that, but sometimes he resents feeling like he's under the microscope.
Martin lets out a laugh that's shakier than he intended and shakes his head, looking back down at his paperwork. "You're seeing things."
"Maybe." Danny stands up and Martin catches himself just before he lets out a relieved sigh. He holds his breath for a beat, then two, but Danny's not walking away. He's just...standing there, and the weight of his gaze is so heavy that finally Martin has to look up.
It feels like forever before he walks away, and by the time he goes Martin's hands are shaking. He has no idea when he became so transparent. He's not even sure what Danny thinks he knows, but something tells him he doesn't want to find out.
~
Martin spends the whole weekend trying not to think about Alex's face just before he left the funeral, and by the time he gets back to work on Monday he's managed to push the Sawyer case mostly out of his mind. Every once in awhile a memory sneaks up on him of Ethan in that picture with his brother, or of Alex's expression when he admitted how much Ethan meant to him. When that happens he has to clench his hands into tight fists and wait for the wave of grief to pass, but it only lasts for a few seconds, and then he's okay again.
They'd told him about this when he signed on with Missing Persons -- about the cases that would hit him hard, on a personal level that would make it tough to let go. He knows all the procedures for letting go, all the exercises that are supposed to help him deal with his feelings and move on. And he's okay -- he's okay, and any day now he'll stop wanting to cry every time he pictures another sad, lonely kid with nobody in the world to hold on to.
Having a new case to focus on helps. This time they're looking for a missing father, and all signs point to a deadbeat dad who took off when the pressures of family life got to be too much. Martin feels for the family he's left behind, but he doesn't care too much about the missing guy himself, and it's almost a relief to work a case he isn't emotionally invested in. Lately they've seen way too many tragedies -- kids caught up in their parents' miserable lives, psychos with vendettas that they take out on innocent people, hopeless kids whose lives are over before they even start.
He lets out a heavy sigh as he walks back into the office, rubbing absently at his temples as the headache he's been fighting all day resurfaces. He's spent most of the day interviewing witnesses with Vivian, and he's grateful that she isn't the type to pry without good reason. He can't say the same for Danny, and he isn't sure he would have made it through an entire day of the other man's looks. Even Danny's silences are heavy -- they say more than most people's words, and that's the last thing Martin wants to deal with after a long day in the field.
So he's grateful to find the office mostly deserted when he and Vivian get back, and he heads back to his desk to write up his notes as quickly as possible. There's a small stack of messages sitting on his desk, and he frowns as he picks them up and sifts through them. Most of them are dead-end leads on their current case, but at the bottom of the stack is a message that makes his stomach turn.
He catches the name 'Sawyer' first, and when he reads the rest of the message he has to sit down before his legs give out on him. There's nothing particularly threatening about the message itself -- all it says is that Mrs. Sawyer called to say she was sorry they'd missed him on Wednesday, and to thank him for coming. She hadn't even mentioned the funeral specifically, but just knowing she'd called looking for him fills Martin with dread.
Attending Ethan's funeral was supposed to help him put the case behind him, not drag it out until he can't think of anything else. He glances at the bottom of the message slip to see who took it, but there are no initials there. He can't tell from the handwriting who wrote it down, and it isn't like he can ask around. Nobody knows he went to the funeral; nobody knows why he took a day off right in the middle of the week, and that's the way he wants it to stay. Maybe the rest of the team would understand, but admitting he can't let go is the same as admitting a weakness, and Martin isn't willing to do that.
He folds the message and tucks it into his pocket, pushing the rest of his messages aside to be dealt with in the morning. It's a struggle to focus on his notes long enough to make any sense out of them, but finally he manages to pull together a report to drop on Jack's desk on his way out of the building.
He's so preoccupied with the imaginary weight of the message still in his pocket that he almost doesn't hear his name being called, but when he stops in front of the elevators Danny catches up with him. "Hey. Where's the fire?"
Martin flinches and glances down at the hand on his shoulder before he forces himself to look up at Danny. "What?"
"I've been calling your name since you left Jack's office," Danny answers, and Martin can't help noticing how his hand lingers just a second too long before he finally pulls it away from Martin's shoulder. "What are you thinking so hard about?"
"Nothing," Martin lies, swallowing a relieved sigh when the elevator doors open. "Just the case."
"Right." It's obvious that Danny doesn't believe him, but he doesn't push it and Martin knows that's the best he can hope for. They ride down to the lobby in silence, and when they reach the sidewalk Martin turns to give Danny a cursory goodbye. He's expecting Danny to head in the other direction, but when he turns Danny's still right next to him.
"What are you doing?"
"You look like you could use somebody to talk to."
"I think you need to work on your observation skills," Martin answers.
"Right," Danny says again, smiling at the insult as though it's funny, "so I'm totally off base and everything's fine with you."
"That sounds about right," Martin says, stopping short when they reach the subway station and he realizes Danny's planning to follow him. "What, you're going to follow me all the way to Queens?"
"If that's what it takes," Danny answers, and God, he sounds so sure of himself that Martin wants to throttle him.
Martin lets out a frustrated sigh and turns to face the other man, not caring if he's blocking traffic or even that Danny's still laughing at him. "What do you want, Danny?"
"I told you, Martin, I'm just trying to be a friend here. It's pretty obvious you could use one."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"I know more than you think."
He isn't sure if it's the look on Danny's face or the way he says it, but suddenly Martin knows. He knows who was there to take the call he missed, and he knows Danny was the one who spoke to Mrs. Sawyer. It wouldn't take a professional investigator to figure out where Martin spent his day off even if she hadn't specifically mentioned the funeral; there was no way Danny would have missed it, and it just figures he was the one who took the call.
"We're not friends," Martin finally says, but his voice sounds defeated even to him, and he knows he's making Danny's case for him. "Just leave it alone."
He turns to walk away, but before he reaches the stairs leading to the subway Danny's hand is on his shoulder again, holding him back. "Martin, come on. There's nothing to be ashamed of here."
Heat creeps up his neck but he ignores it, pulling his shoulder out of Danny's grip. "I mean it. Let it go."
Danny doesn't try to stop him a second time, and by the time Martin's on the train headed home he isn't sure whether or not he's relieved or disappointed.
~
The next morning Martin tells himself that he's not going to let Danny get to him. He vows to act as normal as possible at the office, and he manages somehow to avoid Danny for most of the day. He's not even sure why he's avoiding the other man, because they have to work together and eventually he's going to have to talk to Danny again. Still, there's no reason to talk to him right now, and it's easier to breathe when Danny's not casting measuring looks at him every three minutes.
He makes it through the entire work day without more than a few words to Danny, and as he packs up his things at the end of the day he finds himself looking forward to a night away from the office. He's almost to the elevators when someone says his name, and his heart sinks as he recognizes the voice. For a second he thinks about getting on the elevator and pretending he didn't hear Danny, but he's already turning in the other man's direction before he can stop himself. And he really is pathetic; like Pavlov's fucking dog, jumping at the mere sound of Danny's voice.
"Hey, Martin," Danny says when he reaches the elevators, "wait up, I'll ride down with you."
"Yeah, sure," Martin says, stepping into the empty elevator ahead of Danny.
They ride in silence for a couple floors, but Martin knows better than to think it'll last. He's almost gratified when Danny moves a little closer and leans into him, invading his personal space in the way only Danny can do. "So I haven't seen much of you today."
"I've been knee deep in paperwork," Martin answers, the words tumbling out of his mouth on automatic pilot. He doesn't really care if Danny believes him; he's more interested in why it matters to Danny that Martin's been keeping a low profile.
"So you're not avoiding me."
"Of course not." Liar, a voice in his head tells him, but he ignores it and focuses on keeping his expression neutral. "Why would I be avoiding you?"
Danny shrugs, but he's smirking at Martin like he knows something. "I figured maybe it had something to do with the way you've been acting for the past few days."
"And how have I been acting?" Martin asks before he can stop himself. He knows better than to do this; he should have ignored the question, laughed it off or told Danny he was crazy. But Danny's known how to push his buttons practically since the moment they met, and Martin falls for it every time.
The elevator stops and they step off together, crossing the lobby in silence. Danny waits until they're outside to answer him, falling into step beside Martin as he makes his way toward the subway. "You've been moping around the office like you lost your best friend, Martin. Ever since you came back from your day off you've been acting weird."
He knows where this is going as soon as Danny mentions the day of the funeral; he knows, and he wants to make sure Martin knows it. Danny's the kind of guy who gets off on having something over people, Martin's known that about him since the first day. But this is different than insults about his heritage and insinuations about how Martin got his job -- this is personal, and he's not going to let Danny use his weakness against him.
"I told you, you're imagining things." And he feels like he's stuck in a time warp, because they're back out on the sidewalk again and they're having the exact same conversation they had the day before. He turns and walks away before Danny has a chance to stop him, fighting the urge to look back until he's down the stairs and in the subway terminal. Once he drops a token in the slot he does look back, but Danny's not following him and he lets out a sigh that's as much disappointment as it is relief.
~
By the time he reaches his apartment Martin's thoroughly confused. He's managed to stop thinking about Ethan and Alex and his own demons, though, so in a way he's almost grateful to Danny. Or he would be, if he could figure out what exactly the other man was trying to prove. But he's never been any good at figuring Danny out, and he has no idea if there's a reason Danny's so interested in what's going on with him or if he's just playing a game.
He tells himself he trusts Danny more than that. He wants to trust Danny, and when it comes to cases and instincts he does. Only this is about Martin, and Danny doesn't really know him. For all the time they spend together discussing cases and theories, Danny doesn't really know anything about him. Maybe he thinks he does, but there's no way he could. He's never asked, and Martin doesn't offer that kind of information to Danny or anybody else. Most of the time he doesn't even think about it, because it's in the past and he's not that kid anymore. But ever since Ethan -- or, more precisely, Alex -- he can't seem to stop thinking about what would have happened if he hadn't resented his father so much that he made something out of himself just to spite Victor.
He's pretty close to giving up the fight against a flood of old memories when the doorbell rings, and even though he's not expecting anyone he's so thankful for the interruption that he doesn't even look before he opens the door. It's a stupid thing to do; this is New York, after all, and there could be any number of dangers lurking behind his door. When he catches sight of Danny leaning against his doorframe he almost wishes for a second that it had been a door-to-door mugger instead.
"This is starting to qualify as stalking, you know."
Danny just smirks at that and lets himself in, and instantly Martin's temperature spikes. "How did you know where I live?"
"I'd be a pretty sad agent if I couldn't find that out," Danny answers, turning as soon as Martin closes the door and crossing his arms over his chest. "Jesus, Martin, when's the last time you got any sleep?"
"I keep telling you, I'm fine," Martin says. He knows it's not an answer, but he's not about to tell Danny that he hasn't slept much at all since the Sawyer case. He's never needed all that much sleep to function anyway, so it's really nobody's business.
Danny shakes his head and Martin knows he's not buying it. Anger flares hot in the center of his chest, and his fingers curl into fists at his sides. "Why'd you go to Ethan Sawyer's funeral?"
There are a dozen answers to that question, but he's not going to say any of them to Danny. He's not about to admit anything, because it's nobody's business and that's how he wants it to stay. "What do you want?"
"Look, Martin, it was a tough case. So you went looking for a little closure." Danny pauses and shrugs, his mouth quirking into the half-smile that Martin usually finds irresistible. "We've all got cases that hit home, the trick is figuring out a way to let them go."
He laughs at that, harsh and shallow in the back of his throat. "Save the speech, Danny. I went through the same training you did."
Danny smiles at that like he gets the joke, and Martin wishes Danny would let him in on it, because he's not even sure he gets it. "There are some things they don't cover in training."
And God, he wishes 'instantly hard' wasn't his body's default setting around Danny, because it's bad enough when there's a case to distract him, but when Danny's standing in his living room Martin doesn't have a prayer. Any second now he's going to do something stupid just to shut Danny up, to shock him into getting out and leaving Martin to his misery. He doesn't even know if Danny means to sound like he's coming on to Martin or if that's just the way he talks, but he's not sure there was ever a difference.
"Look," he says, and now he's starting to sound desperate, "I'm fine, okay? I keep telling you I'm fine."
"Right. You're so fine that you took a vacation day to schlep all the way to The Hamptons to attend Ethan Sawyer's funeral. You're so fine you haven't slept since. Come on, Martin, I know better. I've been there."
He wants to tell Danny that he doesn't know, that he couldn't know anything about Martin's life. But he knows that's not fair, because Danny probably has been there. Martin saw him the morning after they found Claire Metcalf, and even though he never asked he could tell something about that case got to Danny. So instead he shakes his head and looks away -- at the floor, the wall, anything but Danny's intense expression.
"What was it? That Ethan was a lonely rich kid, or that all those parents don't know what the hell their kids are doing?"
Martin flinches at the memory of all those kids -- kids he might as well have grown up with. Not that any of the kids he grew up with got that kind of action, but if he'd been born a couple decades later that could have been him. He's shaking his head before he even realizes it, his gaze fixed on the wall just over Danny's shoulder. "That kid didn't stand a chance."
"It's not your fault, Martin," Danny says, and Martin finds himself smiling because Danny sounds so damn sincere, like he really thinks Martin blames himself. "Ethan..."
"I'm not talking about Ethan." He almost wishes he was; he almost wishes it was Ethan's face he can't stop picturing, because at least he knows they never had a prayer of finding him alive. That would be easier to live with than the look on Alex's face when he said I didn't want to lose him. It would be easier to live with than knowing what he'd said to get the truth out of Alex, how he'd thrown Alex's mother and then his uncle in his face because he knew that would be enough to get the truth out of a scared kid.
"Then who?" Danny asks, and when Martin looks at him he wonders if maybe Danny really does know more about him than Martin wants to believe.
"Alex. He didn't kill Ethan, but if he hadn't tried so hard to hold onto him Ethan would still be alive. How's a kid like him supposed to live with that? What chance has he got now?"
For a second Danny looks confused, then something clicks behind his eyes and before Martin knows what's happening Danny's moving forward, hands on Martin's shoulders and that half-smile looking almost sad for once. "You're not that kid, Martin."
"I know that." And he does, but he remembers how it feels to be that kid, and no matter how hard he tries he knows he'll never forget. Nothing will ever completely erase those memories, not Danny's flirtatious grin or the hand that leaves Martin's shoulder to slide down the front of his shirt.
"You're not," Danny says again, with conviction this time, like maybe he's given himself this speech once or twice before. But it's hard to focus with Danny's hand resting on his chest, fingering the buttons of Martin's shirt. He thinks he should say something, maybe ask what Danny thinks he's doing, but then Danny leans in and Martin doesn't have to ask anymore.
He couldn't even if he wanted to, because Danny's mouth is moving against his and he's pressed up hard against Martin, one hand on the back of his neck and the other clenched around the front of his shirt. There's nothing for Martin to do but kiss him back, his hands under Danny's jacket and before he knows it he's pushing until Danny finally lets go long enough to help Martin slide it off.
His tie hits the floor next, followed by Martin's shirt until there's a trail of clothes behind them, and Martin finds himself naked and flat on his back in his bed. He doesn't remember how they got here, doesn't remember telling Danny where the bedroom is or even pointing in the right direction. What he does remember is hands on his skin, pushing up under his shirt and working open buttons and zippers with an expert touch. He remembers a hot mouth on his neck, worrying his earlobe and then later on his mouth again, pausing in the hallway to push him up against a wall and kiss him hard while those hands push his slacks down over his hips.
He remembers Danny murmuring his name like he's been thinking about this for a long time, and when Martin looks up to find Danny just watching him he's pretty sure he's not the only one who's spent nights imagining what this would be like. He wants to ask if this is Danny's way of helping him let the case go, if this is just some alternate form of therapy that they don't talk about at Quantico. Only he's afraid if he asks Danny just might tell him the truth, so he keeps his mouth shut and reaches up, threading his fingers through dark hair and pulling down hard enough to brush their lips together again.
Danny's weight feels good pressing him into the mattress; it's been a long time since he's done this, and he didn't realize until now how much he's missed it. It's one thing to jerk off to a fantasy of Danny's mouth on his cock, but it's nothing compared to the feeling of Danny's skin against his, Danny's mouth on his neck sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Martin has a feeling he'll regret that in the morning, but for now he's too busy arching up into the hot suction to care.
A hand slides down his side to grip his hip, thumb moving in little circles on his skin as Danny's mouth leaves his neck with an audible 'pop'. It makes him laugh, the sound a little hysterical around the edges as it escapes his throat. He knows he's out of control, that this shouldn't be happening and if he was in his right mind it wouldn't be. But he's wanted it for as long as he's known Danny, and it's way too late to turn back now. Besides, Danny's grinning down at him like he knows exactly how Martin feels, only he's positive Danny's never been this out of control before. Or maybe he has, and maybe that's why he understands even when Martin doesn't.
Lips brush against his again, Danny's free hand trailing through his hair before he pulls back to look at Martin. "Protection?"
"Bathroom," Martin answers, gesturing vaguely over his head. He lets his hand trail across Danny's skin as the other man stands up, fingers tracing the sharp line of Danny's pelvic bone as he leans down for another kiss. And it's close enough to affectionate to make Martin wonder, but as soon as the thought surfaces he pushes it away. He's not thinking about those things; he's not going to start wondering about Danny's motivation, because if he does he'll just drive himself crazy. It's just sex -- comfort sex or a distraction, it doesn't really matter -- and he's not going to start wanting what Danny doesn't have to give.
Before he has time to think too much about it Danny's back, dropping condoms and lube on the mattress next to Martin before he swings one leg over Martin's hips, leaning forward and brushing their cocks together as he presses another kiss to Martin's mouth. Martin moans into the kiss, gripping Danny's ass with one hand as he thrusts up against the other man. And this is better than he ever imagined, just like this, but it's nowhere near enough, so when Danny reaches for the lube and coats his fingers Martin swallows another moan and spreads his legs in invitation.
A hand slides under his hip, pushing up just a little and then Danny's fingers slide inside, tiny thrusts that leave Martin panting for more as Danny licks his way down the center of Martin's chest. He stops to explore each new inch of skin, dipping his tongue into the hollow of Martin's collarbone, then the inside of his elbow, and back up to tease his nipples to stiffness. He nips at the sensitive skin before he moves on, chuckling against Martin's stomach when the other man gasps and presses up in search of something to ease the ache in his groin.
He wonders if he'll come before Danny ever touches his cock, but as soon as he thinks it Danny's mouth closes around the head and Martin moans and struggles against the urge to thrust up into wet heat. And he always suspected Danny would be good at this, but he's still not prepared for the first slide of that tongue along the underside of his cock. Danny's fingers are still working in and out of him, and he knows he's going to come long before he's ready. But he wants to come with Danny inside him, so he threads shaking fingers through dark hair and tugs hard enough to get Danny's attention.
"Wait," he manages to choke out, and somehow Danny understands, because he nods and pulls his fingers out. Martin chokes back a frustrated groan at the sudden loss, focusing on the sight of Danny rolling a condom down his length and then reaching for the lube again. He runs a slick hand over his cock, closing his eyes and hissing against the almost painful pleasure, and Martin thinks he could come from that sight alone.
It's almost a shame when Danny lets go and opens his eyes, but when he pushes Martin's knees up toward his chest and angles his hips up Martin forgets all about regret. He arches his back when Danny presses inside him, closing his eyes against the sudden intrusion. And it's been way too long since he let himself have this, way too long since he let himself get so wrapped up in his job that he forgot what it was like to have a life.
He's not sure if casual sex with a coworker counts as having a life, strictly speaking, but he'll take what he can get, especially when it involves Danny sliding slowly inside him, his arms shaking with the struggle not to thrust too hard. When he's buried as deep as he can get Danny stops, and Martin reaches out to run his hands down Danny's arms, tracing the taut muscles that tremble under Danny's skin. He's not sure how long they stay like that -- it feels like an eternity, but he knows it's just a few seconds -- and then Danny pulls out again and pushes back in slowly, as though he's got all the time in the world.
Martin opens his eyes to look at the other man, and when he does Danny's smiling like he knows a secret the rest of the world would kill to hear. It's impossible not to smile back, and when he does Danny just shakes his head and leans forward, pulling almost all the way out of him as he brushes his lips across Martin's jaw. "Jesus, Martin," he murmurs, his voice buzzing in Martin's ear before straightens up and slides inside Martin again. "All this time..."
He never finishes the sentence, but Martin has a feeling he knows exactly what Danny means. All this time wasted, all the time he's spent chasing after Sam because she needs somebody to save her from herself. And that's always been his problem; the whole reason he wound up in Missing Persons is because he wants to save everyone from themselves, but the one thing this job has taught him is that he can't save people who don't want to be saved.
Danny doesn't need saving, and that's the thing that scares Martin the most about him. But it's the thing Martin likes best too, and when Danny catches one of Martin's hands in his and starts thrusting harder Martin closes his eyes and presses up into each stroke. They find a rhythm that leaves Martin panting and flushed, and when Danny angles his hips just a little Martin gasps and arches even harder into the other man's thrusts. Danny finds that spot again on the next stroke, then again and Martin's vision flashes white as his orgasm takes him by surprise.
He can't remember the last time he came without even needing to be touched, but he can't even bring himself to be embarrassed about how easy he is. Not when he feels this good, and not when Danny's still thrusting into him, harder now and Martin shudders when Danny's cock brushes his prostate again. One more thrust and Danny comes inside him, his whole body tensing for a few long seconds before he collapses on Martin's chest. They're drenched in sweat and Martin's skin is sticky between them, and he knows if he doesn't get Danny off him they're going to stick together.
He reaches up with one boneless arm to stroke Danny's skin, but instead of moving off him Danny burrows even closer, turning his head to press hot kisses against Martin's neck. And even that feels good -- good enough that he has to bite back a disappointed sigh when Danny finally pulls out of him and climbs off the bed. He listens to the sounds of Danny stumbling into the bathroom, then the water running before he sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.
As soon as the mattress dips again and a hand lands on his shoulder to trail down his back he starts to wonder if this was all a mistake, but when he starts to pull out of Danny's grip the other man pulls him back down onto the mattress. "Where are you going?"
"Shower."
"Mmm," Danny murmurs, which Martin knows from experience means Danny isn't actually listening to him. He leans in and brushes his lips across Martin's jaw, then his neck, mouthing his way to Martin's collarbone before he pulls back again. "Hurry back."
By the time Martin turns the shower on he can hear Danny snoring in the next room, and he has a feeling when he wakes up in the morning his partner will still be sprawled in his bed. He's not sure how he feels about that; sleeping with Danny just adds a whole new set of complications to his life, and it doesn't really solve any of the problems he was having before Danny showed up at his door. But it's easy to stop thinking while Danny's kissing him, and maybe if Danny kisses him long enough he'll stop seeing a lost, hopeless kid every time he closes his eyes.
Originally this was going to be longer, much more involved, and plot-tastic, but then I came to my senses and realized what a nightmare that would be. So I'm posting it as is, and I seriously doubt there will ever be any more, although in theory it certainly could continue. That's how I get myself into trouble, though, so we're calling this done and that's that. This is probably my last Without A Trace fic (as it is not on the list of Approved Fandoms), therefore I was not concerned with the 'in character' or the 'continuity' so much as I was with the 'done'. This may or may not be any good. I leave that judgment, as usual, to your discretion.
The title made sense when I started this, although for the life of me I cannot remember now where it came from.
Title: Thirty-Six Less Hours
Fandom: Without a Trace
Pairing: Danny/Martin
Rating: NC17
Summary: Martin tries to forget.
Warnings: Spoilers for "Our Sons and Daughters".
It didn't have to be this way. He's told himself that a hundred times -- a thousand times -- but knowing that doesn't make it any easier to deal with the fact that it is this way, and there's nothing he can do to change it. There's nothing he ever could have done, not when Ethan was already dead before they even got involved in the case.
That's the worst part of all, that feeling of total helplessness. It's a feeling Martin's never gotten used to, and he's pretty sure he never will. Sometimes he thinks about asking one of the others if it ever gets any better, but part of him will always be afraid that they look at him and see the rookie they thought he was when he first joined the team, so he keeps his mouth shut and pretends he's fine. And most of the time he is -- most of the time he can leave the bad cases behind him after a day or two.
He hasn't been able to put this one behind him yet, but he tells himself it's only been a few days and he just needs a little more time. A little time to let the details fade, to remind himself that he's not those kids and he left his own teen angst behind him years ago. He's not Alex or Ethan or any of those sad, mixed up kids, the ones with no hope and nobody to give a damn where they go or what they're doing.
When he finds himself at the funeral he tells himself it's just because he needs closure, that he's not here out of some imagined connection to Ethan or Alex. He tells himself he'll just stay for the service and then leave, but he's not really surprised to find himself following the processional out of the funeral home parking lot and to the cemetery.
Alex wasn't at the service, but Martin's not surprised to see him at the cemetery. He doesn't think anyone else notices; Alex is too far away to hear the minister's words, and he's partly obscured behind an old oak tree at the edge of the lawn. Martin almost misses him, but he feels out of place and he's hanging back from the rest of the crowd, and he's standing at just the right angle to catch a glimpse of slight shoulders and dark hair.
He thinks about going over there, asking how he's doing and telling Alex this isn't his fault. Only they'd both know it's a lie, and that's something Alex is going to have to find a way to live with. Martin doesn't know the kid -- not really -- but something tells him Alex is going to have a hard time with that. He wants to do something, to find a way somehow to fix it so maybe the kid has a chance at some kind of a life, but he can no more fix Alex's life than he can bring Ethan back from the dead.
By the time he looks again Alex is gone, and he tells himself it's just as well. Sure, he signed on with Missing Persons so he could make a difference, but he can't save everyone. His father's told him that so many times he hears it in his sleep, and as much as he hates to admit it, part of him knows it's true. Still, Alex isn't missing, but he's definitely lost, and it kills Martin that there's nothing anyone can do to help him find himself.
He smiles to himself at his own maudlin sense of humor and ducks out of the burial before Ethan's parents can thank him for coming. He's not here for them, he's not even here for Ethan or Alex. He's here for himself, because he needs...something, only he's not sure what and when he climbs back into his rental car he knows he still hasn't found it.
~
It takes Martin most of the day to realize that Danny's casting more curious looks than usual in his direction, but he chalks up his lack of attention to the fact that his mind's still on Ethan's funeral. When he finally does notice he scowls, shooting a suspicious glare in Danny's direction.
"What?" he demands, his tone sharp and defensive and inappropriate enough that Danny actually flinches.
"You okay?" Danny asks, and instantly Martin feels guilty for snapping. Less than a second later he's furious with Danny again, for no other reason than because he can make Martin feel guilty over nothing.
"I'm fine," Martin answers, turning back to the backlog of paperwork he's been pretending to work on all morning. At first he was grateful that they hadn't gotten a new case right after Ethan, but now that he's got too much time on his hands to think he wishes he was out in the field doing something.
He feels Danny's frown from two desks away, and when Danny stands up and strolls over to him Martin has to force himself not to look up. The last thing he needs right now is to deal with Danny's attempts at being friendly; it's not that he doesn't want to be friends with Danny, but everything about Danny screams 'sex' and Martin can't think about that right now. He can't think about how much he's wanted Danny since the moment they met, even when Danny was being a complete asshole just because he could. His chances with Danny are about as good as his chances with Sam, and he really doesn't need another humiliation like the Sam fiasco under his belt.
"So how was your day off?" Danny slides onto the corner of Martin's desk as he speaks, leaning forward just far enough for the words to hit Martin's skin. Anger flashes hot and bright in Martin, and he wants to shove Danny out of his personal space. He wants to tell him to go flirt with someone else, because Martin isn't falling for the charming smiles or the empty promises anymore. It's the worst kind of torture, and after the past few days he can't deal with Danny's mind games.
"Fine," he answers, hating himself just a little bit more for not having the courage to tell Danny to mind his own business. He can argue with Danny about cases and how to conduct interrogations and even whether or not the Knicks have a shot, but he knows he'll never be able to call Danny on his personality. He doesn't even have the right, because that's just the way Danny is and the problem lies completely with Martin.
He glances up at Danny, wishing as soon as he does that he hadn't. Danny's wearing that bemused little grin of his, the one that makes Martin want to press him up against the nearest flat surface and kiss him until he forgets his own name. Only Martin's pretty sure Danny's never been that far out of control, and he knows he's in far more danger than Danny of losing himself in this thing that isn't happening between them.
"Yeah? Because you don't look like somebody who's fine, Martin."
"And how do I look?" It's a challenge and they both know it. Martin leans back in his chair and meets Danny's gaze defiantly, congratulating himself silently on not backing down.
"Like somebody just ran over your dog," Danny answers. His expression shifts to something a little too serious, and Martin fights the urge to squirm in his chair. He's not going to let Danny get to him, not this time. He's fallen for the charm often enough, there's no denying that even to himself, but he knows better than to confide in Danny. Sure, Danny likes him well enough now, but he's not interested in Martin's personal problems. He just wants to know, the way they all want to know. It's in their nature, and even if it wasn't it's their job. He can't really fault Danny for that, but sometimes he resents feeling like he's under the microscope.
Martin lets out a laugh that's shakier than he intended and shakes his head, looking back down at his paperwork. "You're seeing things."
"Maybe." Danny stands up and Martin catches himself just before he lets out a relieved sigh. He holds his breath for a beat, then two, but Danny's not walking away. He's just...standing there, and the weight of his gaze is so heavy that finally Martin has to look up.
It feels like forever before he walks away, and by the time he goes Martin's hands are shaking. He has no idea when he became so transparent. He's not even sure what Danny thinks he knows, but something tells him he doesn't want to find out.
~
Martin spends the whole weekend trying not to think about Alex's face just before he left the funeral, and by the time he gets back to work on Monday he's managed to push the Sawyer case mostly out of his mind. Every once in awhile a memory sneaks up on him of Ethan in that picture with his brother, or of Alex's expression when he admitted how much Ethan meant to him. When that happens he has to clench his hands into tight fists and wait for the wave of grief to pass, but it only lasts for a few seconds, and then he's okay again.
They'd told him about this when he signed on with Missing Persons -- about the cases that would hit him hard, on a personal level that would make it tough to let go. He knows all the procedures for letting go, all the exercises that are supposed to help him deal with his feelings and move on. And he's okay -- he's okay, and any day now he'll stop wanting to cry every time he pictures another sad, lonely kid with nobody in the world to hold on to.
Having a new case to focus on helps. This time they're looking for a missing father, and all signs point to a deadbeat dad who took off when the pressures of family life got to be too much. Martin feels for the family he's left behind, but he doesn't care too much about the missing guy himself, and it's almost a relief to work a case he isn't emotionally invested in. Lately they've seen way too many tragedies -- kids caught up in their parents' miserable lives, psychos with vendettas that they take out on innocent people, hopeless kids whose lives are over before they even start.
He lets out a heavy sigh as he walks back into the office, rubbing absently at his temples as the headache he's been fighting all day resurfaces. He's spent most of the day interviewing witnesses with Vivian, and he's grateful that she isn't the type to pry without good reason. He can't say the same for Danny, and he isn't sure he would have made it through an entire day of the other man's looks. Even Danny's silences are heavy -- they say more than most people's words, and that's the last thing Martin wants to deal with after a long day in the field.
So he's grateful to find the office mostly deserted when he and Vivian get back, and he heads back to his desk to write up his notes as quickly as possible. There's a small stack of messages sitting on his desk, and he frowns as he picks them up and sifts through them. Most of them are dead-end leads on their current case, but at the bottom of the stack is a message that makes his stomach turn.
He catches the name 'Sawyer' first, and when he reads the rest of the message he has to sit down before his legs give out on him. There's nothing particularly threatening about the message itself -- all it says is that Mrs. Sawyer called to say she was sorry they'd missed him on Wednesday, and to thank him for coming. She hadn't even mentioned the funeral specifically, but just knowing she'd called looking for him fills Martin with dread.
Attending Ethan's funeral was supposed to help him put the case behind him, not drag it out until he can't think of anything else. He glances at the bottom of the message slip to see who took it, but there are no initials there. He can't tell from the handwriting who wrote it down, and it isn't like he can ask around. Nobody knows he went to the funeral; nobody knows why he took a day off right in the middle of the week, and that's the way he wants it to stay. Maybe the rest of the team would understand, but admitting he can't let go is the same as admitting a weakness, and Martin isn't willing to do that.
He folds the message and tucks it into his pocket, pushing the rest of his messages aside to be dealt with in the morning. It's a struggle to focus on his notes long enough to make any sense out of them, but finally he manages to pull together a report to drop on Jack's desk on his way out of the building.
He's so preoccupied with the imaginary weight of the message still in his pocket that he almost doesn't hear his name being called, but when he stops in front of the elevators Danny catches up with him. "Hey. Where's the fire?"
Martin flinches and glances down at the hand on his shoulder before he forces himself to look up at Danny. "What?"
"I've been calling your name since you left Jack's office," Danny answers, and Martin can't help noticing how his hand lingers just a second too long before he finally pulls it away from Martin's shoulder. "What are you thinking so hard about?"
"Nothing," Martin lies, swallowing a relieved sigh when the elevator doors open. "Just the case."
"Right." It's obvious that Danny doesn't believe him, but he doesn't push it and Martin knows that's the best he can hope for. They ride down to the lobby in silence, and when they reach the sidewalk Martin turns to give Danny a cursory goodbye. He's expecting Danny to head in the other direction, but when he turns Danny's still right next to him.
"What are you doing?"
"You look like you could use somebody to talk to."
"I think you need to work on your observation skills," Martin answers.
"Right," Danny says again, smiling at the insult as though it's funny, "so I'm totally off base and everything's fine with you."
"That sounds about right," Martin says, stopping short when they reach the subway station and he realizes Danny's planning to follow him. "What, you're going to follow me all the way to Queens?"
"If that's what it takes," Danny answers, and God, he sounds so sure of himself that Martin wants to throttle him.
Martin lets out a frustrated sigh and turns to face the other man, not caring if he's blocking traffic or even that Danny's still laughing at him. "What do you want, Danny?"
"I told you, Martin, I'm just trying to be a friend here. It's pretty obvious you could use one."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"I know more than you think."
He isn't sure if it's the look on Danny's face or the way he says it, but suddenly Martin knows. He knows who was there to take the call he missed, and he knows Danny was the one who spoke to Mrs. Sawyer. It wouldn't take a professional investigator to figure out where Martin spent his day off even if she hadn't specifically mentioned the funeral; there was no way Danny would have missed it, and it just figures he was the one who took the call.
"We're not friends," Martin finally says, but his voice sounds defeated even to him, and he knows he's making Danny's case for him. "Just leave it alone."
He turns to walk away, but before he reaches the stairs leading to the subway Danny's hand is on his shoulder again, holding him back. "Martin, come on. There's nothing to be ashamed of here."
Heat creeps up his neck but he ignores it, pulling his shoulder out of Danny's grip. "I mean it. Let it go."
Danny doesn't try to stop him a second time, and by the time Martin's on the train headed home he isn't sure whether or not he's relieved or disappointed.
~
The next morning Martin tells himself that he's not going to let Danny get to him. He vows to act as normal as possible at the office, and he manages somehow to avoid Danny for most of the day. He's not even sure why he's avoiding the other man, because they have to work together and eventually he's going to have to talk to Danny again. Still, there's no reason to talk to him right now, and it's easier to breathe when Danny's not casting measuring looks at him every three minutes.
He makes it through the entire work day without more than a few words to Danny, and as he packs up his things at the end of the day he finds himself looking forward to a night away from the office. He's almost to the elevators when someone says his name, and his heart sinks as he recognizes the voice. For a second he thinks about getting on the elevator and pretending he didn't hear Danny, but he's already turning in the other man's direction before he can stop himself. And he really is pathetic; like Pavlov's fucking dog, jumping at the mere sound of Danny's voice.
"Hey, Martin," Danny says when he reaches the elevators, "wait up, I'll ride down with you."
"Yeah, sure," Martin says, stepping into the empty elevator ahead of Danny.
They ride in silence for a couple floors, but Martin knows better than to think it'll last. He's almost gratified when Danny moves a little closer and leans into him, invading his personal space in the way only Danny can do. "So I haven't seen much of you today."
"I've been knee deep in paperwork," Martin answers, the words tumbling out of his mouth on automatic pilot. He doesn't really care if Danny believes him; he's more interested in why it matters to Danny that Martin's been keeping a low profile.
"So you're not avoiding me."
"Of course not." Liar, a voice in his head tells him, but he ignores it and focuses on keeping his expression neutral. "Why would I be avoiding you?"
Danny shrugs, but he's smirking at Martin like he knows something. "I figured maybe it had something to do with the way you've been acting for the past few days."
"And how have I been acting?" Martin asks before he can stop himself. He knows better than to do this; he should have ignored the question, laughed it off or told Danny he was crazy. But Danny's known how to push his buttons practically since the moment they met, and Martin falls for it every time.
The elevator stops and they step off together, crossing the lobby in silence. Danny waits until they're outside to answer him, falling into step beside Martin as he makes his way toward the subway. "You've been moping around the office like you lost your best friend, Martin. Ever since you came back from your day off you've been acting weird."
He knows where this is going as soon as Danny mentions the day of the funeral; he knows, and he wants to make sure Martin knows it. Danny's the kind of guy who gets off on having something over people, Martin's known that about him since the first day. But this is different than insults about his heritage and insinuations about how Martin got his job -- this is personal, and he's not going to let Danny use his weakness against him.
"I told you, you're imagining things." And he feels like he's stuck in a time warp, because they're back out on the sidewalk again and they're having the exact same conversation they had the day before. He turns and walks away before Danny has a chance to stop him, fighting the urge to look back until he's down the stairs and in the subway terminal. Once he drops a token in the slot he does look back, but Danny's not following him and he lets out a sigh that's as much disappointment as it is relief.
~
By the time he reaches his apartment Martin's thoroughly confused. He's managed to stop thinking about Ethan and Alex and his own demons, though, so in a way he's almost grateful to Danny. Or he would be, if he could figure out what exactly the other man was trying to prove. But he's never been any good at figuring Danny out, and he has no idea if there's a reason Danny's so interested in what's going on with him or if he's just playing a game.
He tells himself he trusts Danny more than that. He wants to trust Danny, and when it comes to cases and instincts he does. Only this is about Martin, and Danny doesn't really know him. For all the time they spend together discussing cases and theories, Danny doesn't really know anything about him. Maybe he thinks he does, but there's no way he could. He's never asked, and Martin doesn't offer that kind of information to Danny or anybody else. Most of the time he doesn't even think about it, because it's in the past and he's not that kid anymore. But ever since Ethan -- or, more precisely, Alex -- he can't seem to stop thinking about what would have happened if he hadn't resented his father so much that he made something out of himself just to spite Victor.
He's pretty close to giving up the fight against a flood of old memories when the doorbell rings, and even though he's not expecting anyone he's so thankful for the interruption that he doesn't even look before he opens the door. It's a stupid thing to do; this is New York, after all, and there could be any number of dangers lurking behind his door. When he catches sight of Danny leaning against his doorframe he almost wishes for a second that it had been a door-to-door mugger instead.
"This is starting to qualify as stalking, you know."
Danny just smirks at that and lets himself in, and instantly Martin's temperature spikes. "How did you know where I live?"
"I'd be a pretty sad agent if I couldn't find that out," Danny answers, turning as soon as Martin closes the door and crossing his arms over his chest. "Jesus, Martin, when's the last time you got any sleep?"
"I keep telling you, I'm fine," Martin says. He knows it's not an answer, but he's not about to tell Danny that he hasn't slept much at all since the Sawyer case. He's never needed all that much sleep to function anyway, so it's really nobody's business.
Danny shakes his head and Martin knows he's not buying it. Anger flares hot in the center of his chest, and his fingers curl into fists at his sides. "Why'd you go to Ethan Sawyer's funeral?"
There are a dozen answers to that question, but he's not going to say any of them to Danny. He's not about to admit anything, because it's nobody's business and that's how he wants it to stay. "What do you want?"
"Look, Martin, it was a tough case. So you went looking for a little closure." Danny pauses and shrugs, his mouth quirking into the half-smile that Martin usually finds irresistible. "We've all got cases that hit home, the trick is figuring out a way to let them go."
He laughs at that, harsh and shallow in the back of his throat. "Save the speech, Danny. I went through the same training you did."
Danny smiles at that like he gets the joke, and Martin wishes Danny would let him in on it, because he's not even sure he gets it. "There are some things they don't cover in training."
And God, he wishes 'instantly hard' wasn't his body's default setting around Danny, because it's bad enough when there's a case to distract him, but when Danny's standing in his living room Martin doesn't have a prayer. Any second now he's going to do something stupid just to shut Danny up, to shock him into getting out and leaving Martin to his misery. He doesn't even know if Danny means to sound like he's coming on to Martin or if that's just the way he talks, but he's not sure there was ever a difference.
"Look," he says, and now he's starting to sound desperate, "I'm fine, okay? I keep telling you I'm fine."
"Right. You're so fine that you took a vacation day to schlep all the way to The Hamptons to attend Ethan Sawyer's funeral. You're so fine you haven't slept since. Come on, Martin, I know better. I've been there."
He wants to tell Danny that he doesn't know, that he couldn't know anything about Martin's life. But he knows that's not fair, because Danny probably has been there. Martin saw him the morning after they found Claire Metcalf, and even though he never asked he could tell something about that case got to Danny. So instead he shakes his head and looks away -- at the floor, the wall, anything but Danny's intense expression.
"What was it? That Ethan was a lonely rich kid, or that all those parents don't know what the hell their kids are doing?"
Martin flinches at the memory of all those kids -- kids he might as well have grown up with. Not that any of the kids he grew up with got that kind of action, but if he'd been born a couple decades later that could have been him. He's shaking his head before he even realizes it, his gaze fixed on the wall just over Danny's shoulder. "That kid didn't stand a chance."
"It's not your fault, Martin," Danny says, and Martin finds himself smiling because Danny sounds so damn sincere, like he really thinks Martin blames himself. "Ethan..."
"I'm not talking about Ethan." He almost wishes he was; he almost wishes it was Ethan's face he can't stop picturing, because at least he knows they never had a prayer of finding him alive. That would be easier to live with than the look on Alex's face when he said I didn't want to lose him. It would be easier to live with than knowing what he'd said to get the truth out of Alex, how he'd thrown Alex's mother and then his uncle in his face because he knew that would be enough to get the truth out of a scared kid.
"Then who?" Danny asks, and when Martin looks at him he wonders if maybe Danny really does know more about him than Martin wants to believe.
"Alex. He didn't kill Ethan, but if he hadn't tried so hard to hold onto him Ethan would still be alive. How's a kid like him supposed to live with that? What chance has he got now?"
For a second Danny looks confused, then something clicks behind his eyes and before Martin knows what's happening Danny's moving forward, hands on Martin's shoulders and that half-smile looking almost sad for once. "You're not that kid, Martin."
"I know that." And he does, but he remembers how it feels to be that kid, and no matter how hard he tries he knows he'll never forget. Nothing will ever completely erase those memories, not Danny's flirtatious grin or the hand that leaves Martin's shoulder to slide down the front of his shirt.
"You're not," Danny says again, with conviction this time, like maybe he's given himself this speech once or twice before. But it's hard to focus with Danny's hand resting on his chest, fingering the buttons of Martin's shirt. He thinks he should say something, maybe ask what Danny thinks he's doing, but then Danny leans in and Martin doesn't have to ask anymore.
He couldn't even if he wanted to, because Danny's mouth is moving against his and he's pressed up hard against Martin, one hand on the back of his neck and the other clenched around the front of his shirt. There's nothing for Martin to do but kiss him back, his hands under Danny's jacket and before he knows it he's pushing until Danny finally lets go long enough to help Martin slide it off.
His tie hits the floor next, followed by Martin's shirt until there's a trail of clothes behind them, and Martin finds himself naked and flat on his back in his bed. He doesn't remember how they got here, doesn't remember telling Danny where the bedroom is or even pointing in the right direction. What he does remember is hands on his skin, pushing up under his shirt and working open buttons and zippers with an expert touch. He remembers a hot mouth on his neck, worrying his earlobe and then later on his mouth again, pausing in the hallway to push him up against a wall and kiss him hard while those hands push his slacks down over his hips.
He remembers Danny murmuring his name like he's been thinking about this for a long time, and when Martin looks up to find Danny just watching him he's pretty sure he's not the only one who's spent nights imagining what this would be like. He wants to ask if this is Danny's way of helping him let the case go, if this is just some alternate form of therapy that they don't talk about at Quantico. Only he's afraid if he asks Danny just might tell him the truth, so he keeps his mouth shut and reaches up, threading his fingers through dark hair and pulling down hard enough to brush their lips together again.
Danny's weight feels good pressing him into the mattress; it's been a long time since he's done this, and he didn't realize until now how much he's missed it. It's one thing to jerk off to a fantasy of Danny's mouth on his cock, but it's nothing compared to the feeling of Danny's skin against his, Danny's mouth on his neck sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Martin has a feeling he'll regret that in the morning, but for now he's too busy arching up into the hot suction to care.
A hand slides down his side to grip his hip, thumb moving in little circles on his skin as Danny's mouth leaves his neck with an audible 'pop'. It makes him laugh, the sound a little hysterical around the edges as it escapes his throat. He knows he's out of control, that this shouldn't be happening and if he was in his right mind it wouldn't be. But he's wanted it for as long as he's known Danny, and it's way too late to turn back now. Besides, Danny's grinning down at him like he knows exactly how Martin feels, only he's positive Danny's never been this out of control before. Or maybe he has, and maybe that's why he understands even when Martin doesn't.
Lips brush against his again, Danny's free hand trailing through his hair before he pulls back to look at Martin. "Protection?"
"Bathroom," Martin answers, gesturing vaguely over his head. He lets his hand trail across Danny's skin as the other man stands up, fingers tracing the sharp line of Danny's pelvic bone as he leans down for another kiss. And it's close enough to affectionate to make Martin wonder, but as soon as the thought surfaces he pushes it away. He's not thinking about those things; he's not going to start wondering about Danny's motivation, because if he does he'll just drive himself crazy. It's just sex -- comfort sex or a distraction, it doesn't really matter -- and he's not going to start wanting what Danny doesn't have to give.
Before he has time to think too much about it Danny's back, dropping condoms and lube on the mattress next to Martin before he swings one leg over Martin's hips, leaning forward and brushing their cocks together as he presses another kiss to Martin's mouth. Martin moans into the kiss, gripping Danny's ass with one hand as he thrusts up against the other man. And this is better than he ever imagined, just like this, but it's nowhere near enough, so when Danny reaches for the lube and coats his fingers Martin swallows another moan and spreads his legs in invitation.
A hand slides under his hip, pushing up just a little and then Danny's fingers slide inside, tiny thrusts that leave Martin panting for more as Danny licks his way down the center of Martin's chest. He stops to explore each new inch of skin, dipping his tongue into the hollow of Martin's collarbone, then the inside of his elbow, and back up to tease his nipples to stiffness. He nips at the sensitive skin before he moves on, chuckling against Martin's stomach when the other man gasps and presses up in search of something to ease the ache in his groin.
He wonders if he'll come before Danny ever touches his cock, but as soon as he thinks it Danny's mouth closes around the head and Martin moans and struggles against the urge to thrust up into wet heat. And he always suspected Danny would be good at this, but he's still not prepared for the first slide of that tongue along the underside of his cock. Danny's fingers are still working in and out of him, and he knows he's going to come long before he's ready. But he wants to come with Danny inside him, so he threads shaking fingers through dark hair and tugs hard enough to get Danny's attention.
"Wait," he manages to choke out, and somehow Danny understands, because he nods and pulls his fingers out. Martin chokes back a frustrated groan at the sudden loss, focusing on the sight of Danny rolling a condom down his length and then reaching for the lube again. He runs a slick hand over his cock, closing his eyes and hissing against the almost painful pleasure, and Martin thinks he could come from that sight alone.
It's almost a shame when Danny lets go and opens his eyes, but when he pushes Martin's knees up toward his chest and angles his hips up Martin forgets all about regret. He arches his back when Danny presses inside him, closing his eyes against the sudden intrusion. And it's been way too long since he let himself have this, way too long since he let himself get so wrapped up in his job that he forgot what it was like to have a life.
He's not sure if casual sex with a coworker counts as having a life, strictly speaking, but he'll take what he can get, especially when it involves Danny sliding slowly inside him, his arms shaking with the struggle not to thrust too hard. When he's buried as deep as he can get Danny stops, and Martin reaches out to run his hands down Danny's arms, tracing the taut muscles that tremble under Danny's skin. He's not sure how long they stay like that -- it feels like an eternity, but he knows it's just a few seconds -- and then Danny pulls out again and pushes back in slowly, as though he's got all the time in the world.
Martin opens his eyes to look at the other man, and when he does Danny's smiling like he knows a secret the rest of the world would kill to hear. It's impossible not to smile back, and when he does Danny just shakes his head and leans forward, pulling almost all the way out of him as he brushes his lips across Martin's jaw. "Jesus, Martin," he murmurs, his voice buzzing in Martin's ear before straightens up and slides inside Martin again. "All this time..."
He never finishes the sentence, but Martin has a feeling he knows exactly what Danny means. All this time wasted, all the time he's spent chasing after Sam because she needs somebody to save her from herself. And that's always been his problem; the whole reason he wound up in Missing Persons is because he wants to save everyone from themselves, but the one thing this job has taught him is that he can't save people who don't want to be saved.
Danny doesn't need saving, and that's the thing that scares Martin the most about him. But it's the thing Martin likes best too, and when Danny catches one of Martin's hands in his and starts thrusting harder Martin closes his eyes and presses up into each stroke. They find a rhythm that leaves Martin panting and flushed, and when Danny angles his hips just a little Martin gasps and arches even harder into the other man's thrusts. Danny finds that spot again on the next stroke, then again and Martin's vision flashes white as his orgasm takes him by surprise.
He can't remember the last time he came without even needing to be touched, but he can't even bring himself to be embarrassed about how easy he is. Not when he feels this good, and not when Danny's still thrusting into him, harder now and Martin shudders when Danny's cock brushes his prostate again. One more thrust and Danny comes inside him, his whole body tensing for a few long seconds before he collapses on Martin's chest. They're drenched in sweat and Martin's skin is sticky between them, and he knows if he doesn't get Danny off him they're going to stick together.
He reaches up with one boneless arm to stroke Danny's skin, but instead of moving off him Danny burrows even closer, turning his head to press hot kisses against Martin's neck. And even that feels good -- good enough that he has to bite back a disappointed sigh when Danny finally pulls out of him and climbs off the bed. He listens to the sounds of Danny stumbling into the bathroom, then the water running before he sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.
As soon as the mattress dips again and a hand lands on his shoulder to trail down his back he starts to wonder if this was all a mistake, but when he starts to pull out of Danny's grip the other man pulls him back down onto the mattress. "Where are you going?"
"Shower."
"Mmm," Danny murmurs, which Martin knows from experience means Danny isn't actually listening to him. He leans in and brushes his lips across Martin's jaw, then his neck, mouthing his way to Martin's collarbone before he pulls back again. "Hurry back."
By the time Martin turns the shower on he can hear Danny snoring in the next room, and he has a feeling when he wakes up in the morning his partner will still be sprawled in his bed. He's not sure how he feels about that; sleeping with Danny just adds a whole new set of complications to his life, and it doesn't really solve any of the problems he was having before Danny showed up at his door. But it's easy to stop thinking while Danny's kissing him, and maybe if Danny kisses him long enough he'll stop seeing a lost, hopeless kid every time he closes his eyes.