Title: Personally Fouled

Rating: FRT
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Just the idea.
Spoilers: 4.11 'Child's Play' to 5.09 'The Box'
Summary: Another version of what could have happened after the rain walk in 4.19 Person Foul. For FanForum's 50 DLThreads.

Written for FanForum's 50 Threads of DL celebration.

"Hey."

"Hey. Where are you?"

"I'm taking a rain walk. It's a Montana thing. You wouldn't understand."

"Yeah, maybe I would. Maybe there's a lot of things I understand now, about that."

"Yeah, like what?"

"How sorry I am for pushing you away."

"Danny, I tried to give you your space. I don't know who much longer I can be alone. It's messing with my work; it's breaking my heart. "

"I know, no I do. I swear to God it won't happen again. The truth is… that I miss you. I miss you more than I can say... even if I don't know how to say it."

"Do you have any idea how hard you are to love?"

"Why don't you come over and tell me that in person. Please?"

"I gotta go."

"It's getting late. I better go," she said, rising and heading for the little, barely-there foyer of his one bedroom apartment. The shuffling of fabric and the groaning of springs told her he had risen as well, following her to the door like any host would do.

"It's still rainin'," he pointed out; the pitter patter of raindrops tinkered agreement against the windows.

"It's just rain," she shrugged, retrieving her damp coat from the hook she usually took.

"You sure? It's-"

"I'll manage," was her reply. "It was raining when I arrived; what's the difference?"

Even she couldn't answer that.

She had no idea why she was here, or how she got here. Yeah, there was something about rain, a closed station, and a city fearful of the Taxi Cab Killer, but how she got herself here, she wasn't sure.

One minute she was aimlessly walking through an oddly empty city, the next, she was face to face with the dull, familiar, three-digit numbers placed exactly 12 inches from the frame on a green door.

She didn't remember passing the cafe around the corner; nor could she vaguely recall the elevator ride, and the 47 practiced steps to his front door. Knocking also became a mystery when she couldn't even remember her three customary ratta-tat-tats with index and middle knuckle.

He shrugged, failing to answer her question. Satisfied with his lack of counter-argument, she slipped on her shoes, sticking her index finger in to unbind the back against her heel.

Briefly checking her person for any forgotten effects, she turned from his silent, still form and put one foot in front of the other. Keeping her eyes locked on the doorknob, she reached for it, and twisted.

But the door did not budge. Her eyes flickered up and it was this time that she registered the left hand on the door, and the body behind her.

Heat radiated off of him like a fire stocked with thick maple timbers, licking at her still slightly dampened clothes and warming the flesh underneath.

She froze.

This was a position she had tried hard not to get into since the evening began. She had been careful to stay at least 3 feet from him at all times. She had sat on a bar stool at the counter, while he had sat on the far end of the sofa. Obviously, he had intended for her to sit at the other, but she made no move to join him throughout the night. When he offered to get her a drink, she insisted on doing it herself. Not simply for the fact that she knew his apartment almost as good as her own, but for the reason of when he would hand her that drink, their fingers might have touched. The closest they had gotten was when he had let her in, briefly passing at the threshold, quickly homing in on the stool.

But now, what was she to do?

Her body was already reacting to him, as it always unfailingly did; without question; without debate; without consulting the mind and the heart of its owner. And the warm breath at the base of her neck was already wrecking havoc with her equilibrium, quickly disabling her mobility, and making standing far more of a chore then it should be. But this was usually the case.

Why should she have expected anything less? Anything different?

Because she hadn't been on a physical basis with him for, what, two months? Was she really that naive enough to believe that her body would have been so used to being alone, that she wouldn't be affected by the warmth and familiarity he offered?

She should never have come here.

But it was too late for coulda-shoulda-woulda's, and she was now paying the price.

"Stay."

His voice was thick, burdened, imploring, maybe even a little desperate, as he loosely boxed her in against the door; her back to his chest.

"I- I can't," she wavered.

"Please."

"No, I don't think-"

"Then don't," he softly said, puffs of air filtering through her hair as he apparently moved closer, and buried his nose in her short locks.

"I…"

"Stay," he asked again, this time moving to nip once – twice, at her earlobe.

"Danny, no-"

"Yes," warm breath cascaded down the slope of her neck, nose nuzzling any flesh it found.

"Please, don-", her plea was cutoff in the most agonizingly blissful manner when he placed openmouthed kisses down the column of her throat, warm breath cooling the skin, shivers running down her spine.

Damn him.

She knew that he knew that she could never resist him; never could, never would. And now he was playing on her submissiveness, making her feel like a fool for even believing she could be alone with him.

Oh God, she was doomed.

Against her will, she sighed when she felt his right hand thread through her hair, pulling just gently enough to give him further access to her throat.

"Stay," he mumbled again against her burning skin, still feasting on the flesh like some sort of Vampiric being, crippling her where she stood.

For fear of falling, she gripped the door handle so tight she thought it would break off.

Oh God.


What a fool she was.

This was a mistake; a horrendous, monstrosity of a mistake.

"Please stay, Linds," he asked again at the base of her throat, before reversing and slowly dragging his lower lip up the slender column.

Closing her eyes, she leaned her forehead against the door; the cool surface a sharp contrast to her inflamed flesh. Against her will, she whimpered when he kissed just below her ear.

"No… no….no…." she mumbled, rocking her forehead back and forth against the painted surface, the action causing his hand to fall from her hair to brace itself back against the door.

What was she saying no to? But more importantly, who was she trying to convince?

"Please…"

Steeling herself, though marginally, with the fact that he sounded almost as pathetic as she was acting, she readied herself to push him, however weakly, away and bolt for it.

"…Montana."

She stopped.

That word.

That one word.

That one horrid, manipulative, awful, wonderful word breathed against skin, was all it took.

Sharply, she looked at him for the first time since he encased her against the door. Bright (though oddly enough dull at the same time), blue eyes pleaded back at her own lifeless brown ones.

Without stopping to think of her previous plan, or what she was doing in the first place, she gave in.

Threw caution to the wind

Caved like a ceramic mold.

Called 'Uncle'.

Bowed out gracefully.

Whatever.

She just… gave in.

Leaning towards him, she almost gasped when her lips gently meshed with his.

It had been so long. Too long.

Leaning more against him than anything, she relished the feeling of his hands as they cautiously cupped her face, strong fingers tangling in her strands.

Damn him.

They were still a perfect fit.

Author's Note: Wow, my first DL in a l-o-n-g time... and ugh, it shows. And don't get me started on the ending; I am well aware it sucks. It just wasn't writing itself. Well, this was written for FanForum's 50 Threads of DL celebration. AU-ish.