Categories > TV > Without a Trace
Back From Egypt
"Danny + Martin + locked hotel room + hourly rate = fic. Yes," says Aesc. Who am I to say no? Set during S2x2 - 'Risen.' Slash, D/M.
?Blocked
It starts as they search Doyle's room when Martin finds the condoms inside the box of prison art. They've been not talking about what happened between them for almost a week now and, really, it probably all started a lot earlier than that. Danny simply smirks, saying something about finding anything or anyone once you're on the outside. His smirk hitches for a second when Martin pulls out the half used tube of lube a second later.
"You think they...?" Martin asks, no longer willing to look Danny in the eye.
"No way," Danny says immediately, but his gaze skitters back to the bloodied vestments and Roman collar sitting on the bed, "okay, maybe. But why break his vows now after all this time?" He nudges the trashcan sitting next to the bed and pokes around the contents with a latex gloved finger. There's nothing inside except a take out receipt dated almost 4 days earlier and empty cigarette packs.
"Well, if anything like that happened here, I don't think it happened recently. Doyle doesn't seem like the type to clean up that much after," Danny says finally.
"It's a possibility, maybe he joined the seminary to forget Doyle," Martin starts but is interrupted by a thud against the adjoining wall and a high-pitched moan. The moaning gets progressively louder for about 10 seconds before cutting off abruptly. Martin is looking anywhere but in Danny's direction, rifling through the rest of the drawer's contents. The muffled sound of talking can be heard within a minute, followed by a hallway door slamming.
"This isn't the kind of place where someone would bother to hide that," Danny says flatly as they hear heels click down the hallway and the sound of a TV being turned on next door. That Danny is in a bad enough mood that he doesn't even bother trying to turn it into a joke or a smart-ass comment tells Martin something is wrong. But Martin doesn't know what to say in response to that and he's guiltily relieved of having to answer when Danny's cell phone rings.
"Taylor," Danny snaps into the phone, pulling the phone back away from his ear to look at it before continuing, "I can barely hear you, Jack. I'll call you from outside in about 15 minutes." He hangs up and wanders towards the bed, staring down at the bedside table that's wedged up next to the front door.
"This isn't going to take 15 minutes, we're pretty much done here," Martin says finally, pushing the dresser drawer closed.
"Of course we are," Danny says in a tone entirely too bitter for the conversation Martin didn't realize they were having. Which is bad in all different kinds of ways because Martin thought they'd reached an unspoken understanding about what had happened at Danny's apartment last week. But judging by Danny's tone and the comments coming his way today, this seems less and less likely. It occurs to him that perhaps it wasn't so much an understanding as a willful blindness on his part; the various pointed looks and attempts to corner him in the break room suddenly all snap into a terrifying timeline in Martin's mind. Danny picks up the key ring he pulled off the landlord and hefts it in his hand. Without turning to look at Martin, he reaches out and flicks the deadbolt on the front door shut.
When Danny turns around, the look on his face frightens Martin more than the expressions he had been expecting. Danny looks almost fatalistic, like he's bet away all his reserves and decided to go all in on a crappy hand the whole table knows is bad. It's a shock, but Martin realizes this look on Danny scares him much more than the thought of trying to deal with this. With Danny.
"We should talk about this," Martin says, although he's not backing up, "about us."
"Fuck talking," Danny replies and closes the remaining space between them, "I gave you a week to start talking, recess is over." Even though Martin doesn't want to back up, Danny manages to hustle him backwards until he's up against the closet door. Danny's hands are busy, working to undo the button of Martin's jacket and pull his shirt out of the front of his pants. He kisses Martin almost forcefully, but that's not entirely true because it's not as if Martin isn't kissing back.
"Or you could just run back to the church to forget me," Danny says scathingly when he pulls away from Martin's mouth and bites at his neck.
"Taylor," Martin tries to speak against Danny's lips, his breath hitching as the other man palms him through his pants.
"Don't 'Taylor' me, Martin," Danny says and pauses to nip Martin's jaw, "and put your mouth to better use." Danny's hand curls around Martin's neck and tugs downward.
"Fuck," Martin gasps, swallowing compulsively. The thought of sucking Danny off while pinned down against the grimy wall of Doyle's apartment makes Martin even harder, especially since he knows they shouldn't be doing this here in a potential crime scene. But the frantic look in Danny's eyes scares Martin and he suspects that if he does what he's told, he'll just confirm whatever suspicions Danny has. Martin has to admit he's afraid Danny's going to take it as the closing blow on whatever it is between them and bolt after. Struggling to pull himself together, he looks directly at Danny before saying, "No."
Danny looks hurt and uncertain for a split second before he can cover it up with anger. Obviously he was hoping that Martin wouldn't outright refuse him, but his expression tells Martin he was probably expecting it. Which is like a sucker punch to Martin's gut, because it's becoming more and more clear that Danny doesn't trust him, so he pulls Danny closer by his tie and spins them around to pin him against the closet door.
"The floor here is disgusting and I'm not going to ruin the knees of my pants on it," he says by way of explanation before Danny can say anything.
"You're suit's ugly, no would notice either way," Danny quips, watching Martin warily, still on edge.
"And I still think we need to talk," Martin says between open mouthed kisses, "just, later."
"You said that the first time too," Danny pants. "I'm beginning to think you're a man of cheap words." It's a small comfort to Martin that Danny is at least being sarcastic again, even if the undertone of distrust is still there. Earning Danny's trust in the first place was difficult enough, but he thinks he's willing to try again if it means Danny never looks at him like that again.
Martin undoes Danny's belt buckle in an attempt to hide the tremors in his hands and he thinks his hands have stopped noticeably shaking by the time he pulls the zipper to Danny's dark pants down. Danny leans forward a little seeking Martin's mouth as Martin pulls him out of his pants. He wraps a hand around the base of Danny's cock, pulling up slowly. If the groan that escapes Danny as his hips thrust a little into Martin's hand is any indication, Martin's doing just fine. And it's Martin's turn to groan when Danny starts slowly fucking his mouth with his tongue in time with the movement of his hips.
Danny's fingers are trying to open his belt and Martin is moments away from swearing off belts forever before Danny finally pries the buckle open. It's a miracle his pants don't fall down as Danny pulls his boxers out of the way to pull his cock out, perhaps because they're pressed so close together. They stroke each other in tandem for a few moments, their knuckles brushing against each other on every stroke. They'd been better about this the first time, less fumbling and acting as if they were 16. But the nervous tension running between them right now is of an entirely different sort than the first time.
Martin is sure he could come from this alone, but a better idea occurs to him. Danny protests with an almost whine when Martin lets go of him. A whine that turns into a gasped Jesus when Martin takes Danny's hand and wraps it around the both of them.
"Fuck, /Martin/," Danny groans. Martin is panting now too, so he leans forward across the nonexistent space between them and buries his face in the crook of Danny's neck. His neck smells faintly of aftershave and sweat. It's a struggle for Martin not to just simply pant openmouthed against Danny's collar and neck, because he's pretty sure Danny won't appreciate a wet spot on his burgundy shirt.
"I, I'm gonna," Martin starts, but coherency seems to have left him, "We can't..." Martin knows they need to be careful and make sure they don't ruin their own clothes or leave traces in the apartment they're in, but he can't seem to find enough brain functions to actually say it when he can feel Danny's cock against his own. Danny, /wonderful, wonderful, Danny/, seems to understand though, because his other hand unlatches itself from Martin's hip and quickly rifles through the insides pockets of Martin's jacket before pulling out the white, cotton handkerchief he had stuffed in there.
And, Jesus, he'd kind of liked that handkerchief, it was on the verge of wearing out, so it was nice and soft. But even if he washed it a thousand more times, he wouldn't be able to look at it ever again without thinking of this moment: Danny's breath hot against his neck as he urged him on, their hands intertwined around both of their cocks and the weight of his other hand back on Martin's hip just waiting with the handkerchief to clean them up.
A moment later and he's coming, moaning into the smooth, shaven skin of Danny's neck. His fingers are slack but still intertwined with Danny's as they continue to stroke, milking Martin dry and bringing Danny over the edge. He can feel Danny pulsing against him and, fuck, if it isn't the hottest thing he's ever seen. Not entirely sure how he's going to think of anything ever again without thinking of this.
It takes a couple moments to finally pull away from Danny, but Martin does eventually and pulls the used handkerchief from Danny's slack grip. Carefully refolding the fabric to hide the mess under several other layers of cloth, he stuffs it back into his jacket and wonders how he's going to even make it through the rest of the day with the evidence of what they just did pressed into his jacket.
Danny is still sprawled spinelessly up against Doyle's closet door and he's lazily watching Martin, but the subtle clench in his jaw is back. The sight of Danny in such a debauched state makes Martin smile slightly and he leans forward to kiss Danny again. Their tongues intertwine much more lazily this time as Martin reaches down to help Danny straighten his clothes.
When Martin pulls back again to straighten his own clothes, Danny looks like he wants to say something. For the second time, the moment is interrupted by the shrill of a cell phone.
"Fitzgerald," Martin answers, smiling apologetically at Danny. It's Jack again, but the reception on his phone seems just as bad as Danny's because he can barely make what Jack is saying. "Jack, you're cutting out. We're leaving right now; I'll call you from outside." Clicking the phone shut, he just looks at Danny.
Danny finally pushes himself off the door and reaches out to straighten Martin's tie.
"You're coming home with me for dinner tonight," Danny says as he walks past to unlock the door. He doesn't turn around, but Martin can see the tension in the set of his shoulders.
"All right," Martin replies with a smile Danny can't see, "but I want to go home first to get a change of clothes." Danny looks over his shoulder at that, surprise clearly outlined in his face before he grins back.
"You think they...?" Martin asks, no longer willing to look Danny in the eye.
"No way," Danny says immediately, but his gaze skitters back to the bloodied vestments and Roman collar sitting on the bed, "okay, maybe. But why break his vows now after all this time?" He nudges the trashcan sitting next to the bed and pokes around the contents with a latex gloved finger. There's nothing inside except a take out receipt dated almost 4 days earlier and empty cigarette packs.
"Well, if anything like that happened here, I don't think it happened recently. Doyle doesn't seem like the type to clean up that much after," Danny says finally.
"It's a possibility, maybe he joined the seminary to forget Doyle," Martin starts but is interrupted by a thud against the adjoining wall and a high-pitched moan. The moaning gets progressively louder for about 10 seconds before cutting off abruptly. Martin is looking anywhere but in Danny's direction, rifling through the rest of the drawer's contents. The muffled sound of talking can be heard within a minute, followed by a hallway door slamming.
"This isn't the kind of place where someone would bother to hide that," Danny says flatly as they hear heels click down the hallway and the sound of a TV being turned on next door. That Danny is in a bad enough mood that he doesn't even bother trying to turn it into a joke or a smart-ass comment tells Martin something is wrong. But Martin doesn't know what to say in response to that and he's guiltily relieved of having to answer when Danny's cell phone rings.
"Taylor," Danny snaps into the phone, pulling the phone back away from his ear to look at it before continuing, "I can barely hear you, Jack. I'll call you from outside in about 15 minutes." He hangs up and wanders towards the bed, staring down at the bedside table that's wedged up next to the front door.
"This isn't going to take 15 minutes, we're pretty much done here," Martin says finally, pushing the dresser drawer closed.
"Of course we are," Danny says in a tone entirely too bitter for the conversation Martin didn't realize they were having. Which is bad in all different kinds of ways because Martin thought they'd reached an unspoken understanding about what had happened at Danny's apartment last week. But judging by Danny's tone and the comments coming his way today, this seems less and less likely. It occurs to him that perhaps it wasn't so much an understanding as a willful blindness on his part; the various pointed looks and attempts to corner him in the break room suddenly all snap into a terrifying timeline in Martin's mind. Danny picks up the key ring he pulled off the landlord and hefts it in his hand. Without turning to look at Martin, he reaches out and flicks the deadbolt on the front door shut.
When Danny turns around, the look on his face frightens Martin more than the expressions he had been expecting. Danny looks almost fatalistic, like he's bet away all his reserves and decided to go all in on a crappy hand the whole table knows is bad. It's a shock, but Martin realizes this look on Danny scares him much more than the thought of trying to deal with this. With Danny.
"We should talk about this," Martin says, although he's not backing up, "about us."
"Fuck talking," Danny replies and closes the remaining space between them, "I gave you a week to start talking, recess is over." Even though Martin doesn't want to back up, Danny manages to hustle him backwards until he's up against the closet door. Danny's hands are busy, working to undo the button of Martin's jacket and pull his shirt out of the front of his pants. He kisses Martin almost forcefully, but that's not entirely true because it's not as if Martin isn't kissing back.
"Or you could just run back to the church to forget me," Danny says scathingly when he pulls away from Martin's mouth and bites at his neck.
"Taylor," Martin tries to speak against Danny's lips, his breath hitching as the other man palms him through his pants.
"Don't 'Taylor' me, Martin," Danny says and pauses to nip Martin's jaw, "and put your mouth to better use." Danny's hand curls around Martin's neck and tugs downward.
"Fuck," Martin gasps, swallowing compulsively. The thought of sucking Danny off while pinned down against the grimy wall of Doyle's apartment makes Martin even harder, especially since he knows they shouldn't be doing this here in a potential crime scene. But the frantic look in Danny's eyes scares Martin and he suspects that if he does what he's told, he'll just confirm whatever suspicions Danny has. Martin has to admit he's afraid Danny's going to take it as the closing blow on whatever it is between them and bolt after. Struggling to pull himself together, he looks directly at Danny before saying, "No."
Danny looks hurt and uncertain for a split second before he can cover it up with anger. Obviously he was hoping that Martin wouldn't outright refuse him, but his expression tells Martin he was probably expecting it. Which is like a sucker punch to Martin's gut, because it's becoming more and more clear that Danny doesn't trust him, so he pulls Danny closer by his tie and spins them around to pin him against the closet door.
"The floor here is disgusting and I'm not going to ruin the knees of my pants on it," he says by way of explanation before Danny can say anything.
"You're suit's ugly, no would notice either way," Danny quips, watching Martin warily, still on edge.
"And I still think we need to talk," Martin says between open mouthed kisses, "just, later."
"You said that the first time too," Danny pants. "I'm beginning to think you're a man of cheap words." It's a small comfort to Martin that Danny is at least being sarcastic again, even if the undertone of distrust is still there. Earning Danny's trust in the first place was difficult enough, but he thinks he's willing to try again if it means Danny never looks at him like that again.
Martin undoes Danny's belt buckle in an attempt to hide the tremors in his hands and he thinks his hands have stopped noticeably shaking by the time he pulls the zipper to Danny's dark pants down. Danny leans forward a little seeking Martin's mouth as Martin pulls him out of his pants. He wraps a hand around the base of Danny's cock, pulling up slowly. If the groan that escapes Danny as his hips thrust a little into Martin's hand is any indication, Martin's doing just fine. And it's Martin's turn to groan when Danny starts slowly fucking his mouth with his tongue in time with the movement of his hips.
Danny's fingers are trying to open his belt and Martin is moments away from swearing off belts forever before Danny finally pries the buckle open. It's a miracle his pants don't fall down as Danny pulls his boxers out of the way to pull his cock out, perhaps because they're pressed so close together. They stroke each other in tandem for a few moments, their knuckles brushing against each other on every stroke. They'd been better about this the first time, less fumbling and acting as if they were 16. But the nervous tension running between them right now is of an entirely different sort than the first time.
Martin is sure he could come from this alone, but a better idea occurs to him. Danny protests with an almost whine when Martin lets go of him. A whine that turns into a gasped Jesus when Martin takes Danny's hand and wraps it around the both of them.
"Fuck, /Martin/," Danny groans. Martin is panting now too, so he leans forward across the nonexistent space between them and buries his face in the crook of Danny's neck. His neck smells faintly of aftershave and sweat. It's a struggle for Martin not to just simply pant openmouthed against Danny's collar and neck, because he's pretty sure Danny won't appreciate a wet spot on his burgundy shirt.
"I, I'm gonna," Martin starts, but coherency seems to have left him, "We can't..." Martin knows they need to be careful and make sure they don't ruin their own clothes or leave traces in the apartment they're in, but he can't seem to find enough brain functions to actually say it when he can feel Danny's cock against his own. Danny, /wonderful, wonderful, Danny/, seems to understand though, because his other hand unlatches itself from Martin's hip and quickly rifles through the insides pockets of Martin's jacket before pulling out the white, cotton handkerchief he had stuffed in there.
And, Jesus, he'd kind of liked that handkerchief, it was on the verge of wearing out, so it was nice and soft. But even if he washed it a thousand more times, he wouldn't be able to look at it ever again without thinking of this moment: Danny's breath hot against his neck as he urged him on, their hands intertwined around both of their cocks and the weight of his other hand back on Martin's hip just waiting with the handkerchief to clean them up.
A moment later and he's coming, moaning into the smooth, shaven skin of Danny's neck. His fingers are slack but still intertwined with Danny's as they continue to stroke, milking Martin dry and bringing Danny over the edge. He can feel Danny pulsing against him and, fuck, if it isn't the hottest thing he's ever seen. Not entirely sure how he's going to think of anything ever again without thinking of this.
It takes a couple moments to finally pull away from Danny, but Martin does eventually and pulls the used handkerchief from Danny's slack grip. Carefully refolding the fabric to hide the mess under several other layers of cloth, he stuffs it back into his jacket and wonders how he's going to even make it through the rest of the day with the evidence of what they just did pressed into his jacket.
Danny is still sprawled spinelessly up against Doyle's closet door and he's lazily watching Martin, but the subtle clench in his jaw is back. The sight of Danny in such a debauched state makes Martin smile slightly and he leans forward to kiss Danny again. Their tongues intertwine much more lazily this time as Martin reaches down to help Danny straighten his clothes.
When Martin pulls back again to straighten his own clothes, Danny looks like he wants to say something. For the second time, the moment is interrupted by the shrill of a cell phone.
"Fitzgerald," Martin answers, smiling apologetically at Danny. It's Jack again, but the reception on his phone seems just as bad as Danny's because he can barely make what Jack is saying. "Jack, you're cutting out. We're leaving right now; I'll call you from outside." Clicking the phone shut, he just looks at Danny.
Danny finally pushes himself off the door and reaches out to straighten Martin's tie.
"You're coming home with me for dinner tonight," Danny says as he walks past to unlock the door. He doesn't turn around, but Martin can see the tension in the set of his shoulders.
"All right," Martin replies with a smile Danny can't see, "but I want to go home first to get a change of clothes." Danny looks over his shoulder at that, surprise clearly outlined in his face before he grins back.
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