Title: Cocaine 1/1
Author: Elina
Pairing: Martin/Danny
Rating: PG-13
Archive: Pretty FBI Boys; yes, to the list archive if there ever is one; others - ask first
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, they belong to their rightful owners. I'm not making any money out of this.
Dedication: Happy 86th birthday, Suomi! (What can I say? I give... ummm, nice gifts... *g*)
***
Like any addiction, it started with a mere taste.
At first, it was just flirting. Danny played with him, anywhere he could, anyway he could - because that was what he did, with everyone. Because he could. No one told him to stop, and he didn't hide it. It was just testing the new guy, probing, poking, trying to find a way under his skin, a way to unnerve him. A touch there, another one here, glance or two and a smile, off-handed, teasing banter when he could. Bold, shameless, anything but subtle. And no one said anything because it was just Danny, it didn't mean anything. It was just meant to be testing, to make the rookie crack. Just a game.
Until Martin started flirting back.
Now, the way Martin flirted... It was far more dangerous. Because Martin didn't do it like Danny did; he didn't have a grin plastered on his face and double-minded lines sitting on the tip of his tongue just waiting for the right moment. Oh, no, not at all -- Martin was subtle in a way Danny could probably never be. Martin didn't go public like he did -- his surname must've taught him that. Instead he edged his way in little by little when they were alone. Dug in slow and carefully. Lured him delicately. First it was just banter. Light comments in response to Danny's own. Crooked grins, teasing smiles. But always, always in private. Never when the rest of the team was around. And maybe that was why Danny never realized; because there were no one else's reactions to compare to.
Slowly, almost as if planned, Danny was beaten in his own game of cat and mouse. And this was nothing he would have expected from Martin Fitzgerald; in work, in public, he wore a facade, always seeming so uncertain and controlled, trying to please whatever demons he carried around, hiding behind the curtain of efficiency and professionalism, behind walls seemingly impossible to bring down. But this game? This game Martin could play. And after the initial shock of finding this new side of Martin, Danny found himself liking it, probably more than he should've.
There was a soft touch here, a lean-in there, a whisper into his ear wherever it was appropriate, and it was far too late before Danny realized that he was being seduced. It was the night he found himself pinned against the door of the men's bathroom with a stare that had his insides melting that it finally sunk in.
Mere seconds later he had burning hot lips on his own. He knew he should be protesting or at least trying to, and the most disturbing thing of all was that the only thing he was disturbed about was the fact that he'd never been kissed like that before.
(Synthetic drug into his system and he didn't even object.)
Danny didn't know whether Martin had been planning that all along. Probably not, because for the next week, he seemed unceremoniously distant, all work and no play. And maybe Danny should've left it at that, maybe he should've just given Martin a grin and a wink and thrown some half-joke and gone back to normal.
But he couldn't get Martin's taste off of his lips, no matter how much he licked, so he ended up taking him to bed instead.
They didn't talk about what it was, so he assumed it was just a buddy-fuck the first time around. Letting some steam off, as it had been a particularly rough case they'd been solving. Even when Martin's touch felt like divine alchemy, even when he found it thrilling beyond belief to hear him moan his name, even when Martin didn't leave the bed after the actual act of sex was done as expected, curling against his back instead, that was what Danny told himself. A buddy-fuck.
(It's just a one time deal. Once can't make you hooked.)
But the next day he caught himself licking his lips more often than was completely sane, stealing glances at Martin, devouring his scent as he stood next to him, his fingers aching to touch. He hid it all behind a grin and a flirting demeanor, putting his charm on to anything that moved.
And found himself going down on Martin in some dark alleyway, in the car, on their way back from interviewing an eyewitness. That night he spent in the same bed with Martin, again.
After that he gave in, accepted that sex was just something that would exist between them, pure and simple. Danny never thought about it that much, didn't find it particularly strange that they would find comfort in each other, but still, it was just buddy-fucking. They'd go on for days without hardly touching, just falling back into the comfortable routine of easy banter and being friends, until a heavy case or the burden of needing skin on skin would become too much to bear and they'd find themselves trying to crawl inside each other's skin again.
(And even though he promised, never again, there's always "one last fix" that is never even close to being the final one.)
When sex became more than just casual, he'll never know. He has no idea when once a month became once a week, and once a week became waking up next to Martin every morning. He has no idea when the taste of Martin's skin had become his nectar, an essence of life to him, when the feeling of Martin's body enveloping him, Martin pressing inside of him, Martin claiming his mouth, had become something to crave during the day. When the absence of his touch had started to hurt.
It's now that Martin has him pinned against the wall after two days of painful withdrawal that Danny realizes how much he's addicted because the mere feel of Martin's lips grazing his throat is taking away the ache that has been manifesting its ownership on Danny's body for the past days. Because when he kisses him, it's like heroine shooting up his veins, making him euphoric and dizzy, his spine melting, his every nerve-ending caught on fire, the feeling invading every corner of his body and diffusing all rational thought from his head. And it's probably dangerous and reckless and unbelievably, undeniably, unaccountably stupid and one day he'll probably come crashing down from the skies, yet Danny is certain that he would give anything just to be able to touch Martin like this every day for the rest of his life. Certain that he can never. Ever. Get. Enough.
There's nothing that can take him off this cocaine.