Spoilers: Innuendo is fun, innuendo is fun, innuendo is fun, innuendo is fun!

Disclaimer: Nuttin'.

Author's Note: Umm, here's chapter two! Enjoy! I know I did… (In a not-dirty way).


Sucking in a deep breath, Danny squirmed; he shoved his head further into his pillow, wondering absently why it smelled so good. He stretched, not quite ready to open his eyes just yet, and arched his back like a cat. He frowned a little when he came into contact with something. Someone.

Someone who was very close, and very – enticingly – warm. Making a fuzzy mental note to remember who his bed-partner was – later, not now – he arched his back again. And didn't that feel so much better than stretching? Apparently his companion agreed with that. Very much so.

That was definitely a reaction he knew how to deal with. Smiling hazily, he turned to face the still-sleeping someone. Fully intent on waking him up, Danny opened his eyes as he hooked a leg around Martin's hip.

Martin.

Something akin to horror struck him, and Danny dragged himself away from Martin, now entirely too awake. In more ways than one.

Cursing, he double-checked that Martin was still sleeping before opting for leaving the room silently, in search of the bathroom. He paused as Martin's eyes fluttered sleepily, and he rolled onto his stomach. Danny's heart beat a little faster at the thought that Martin was looking for someone. For him.

But hell, Martin couldn't have known it was him, let alone anything more than a dream. A damned good dream, at that. Cursing his segueing mind, he panicked, leaning over Martin.

"Go back to sleep, Fitz," he tried quietly, wondering which would be worse: Martin waking up on his own and seeing Danny, or Martin waking up because of him and seeing Danny.

He pictured the clolour Martin's cheeks would turn when he realized the… state he was in.

And no. This would not do. At all.

"Go back to sleep, Martin," he said more sternly, as if commanding would work better than cajoling. And, apparently, it did. Danny made a mental note to remember that, his still-aware – and apparently traitorous – mind running through all the instances in which that could be utilized. Seeing Martin's body relax, Danny sighed, leaving the room as quickly as he could without making any noise.

He padded to the bathroom, then to the kitchen.

It didn't take him very long to find everything he needed; Martin was possibly the most organized person he'd ever met. And an organized coffee fanatic, at that. Everything that could possibly be required – or even considered – for making coffee was within reach if one stood next to the coffee maker.

Danny smiled at that, dug out a few coffee mugs, and moved into the lounge room. Spotting the novel that he'd begun the night before, Danny picked it up. Anything to keep his mind off that all-too-familiar feeling his body seemed intent on reminding him of.


Martin drifted in and out of consciousness in the most pleasurable of ways. Never quite making it to reality, his mind fluttered with images that meant everything and nothing. Not that he particularly cared. He was content – somewhere in the more conscious part of his brain – with the fact that they were not, for a change, nightmares.

It had been too long since he'd had a relatively undisturbed sleep; been too long since he'd felt this.

And, God help him, that.

Now that was something that he would willingly replace sleep with, but he knew – somewhere – that if he woke up, that sensation would disappear. So he let himself remain semi-conscious for a few minutes.

He felt movement next to him, and registered vaguely that his imagination had somehow gotten much, much better. He could feel a back pressing against his chest, then other things pressing against much more keen places. Then it was gone, and he cursed his masochistic imagination for teasing him so effectively.

And that appeared to work, because then the weight was back, and man, his imagination had really, truly, improved since last time.

Martin began to drift into consciousness, intent on making the most of this dream while he could, but as he did, the weight was gone. And didn't that just suck? Martin rolled over, not yet ready to lose his imaginary lover. His eyes opened, and he shut them again, holding onto the last dregs of sleep. He knew that once he was fully awake, this would be over.

And then he saw Danny's face in his mind's eye. And that in itself was enough reason to go back to sleep; having the dreamt apparition turn into Danny wasn't a particularly rare occurrence, but it made the dreams all the more… enticing. He heard Danny's voice – slightly clearer than it usually was in his dreams – telling him to sleep.

The first time, it was almost imploring. And hey, who was Martin to say no? But then it was a command, and Martin was one who took commands. Especially if they lead to the places Martin intended.


When he woke, it was to the smell of coffee and the frustration of his dream going in totally the wrong direction. As soon as he'd lulled himself back to sleep – with not a little help from dream-Danny – he had found himself in the east wing of his childhood home in Washington, being chased by their neighbors' dog. Toto; the Rottweiler. It was ironic even in his dream.

And then he sat upright much faster then he thought possible. Coffee. His apartment smelled like coffee. He felt the familiar wave of panic rising in his chest before he remembered the events of the previous night. And then the panic rose again.

Danny had fallen asleep with him. In his apartment; in his bed. At the time, he'd been so far gone that he probably would have fallen asleep with Jack - perhaps even Toto the Rottweiler –in his bed, but oh, God. He recalled – without much effort – his dream, and the very physical reaction he'd had to that dream.

Oh, crap.

He told himself that there was a possibility that Danny had already been awake; or that even if he wasn't, there's no way he'd have noticed. He would have had to have been incredibly close to notice that. And Martin was pretty damned sure he would have noticed if Danny was that close.

The thought gave him enough courage to convince himself to get out of bed. There was a chance that Danny was gone, anyway, having left the coffee as a friendly gesture. He smiled at the thought; that was definitely something Danny would do.


He heard Martin enter the room before he saw him. As graceful as Martin sometimes looked, he was a klutz. And Danny figured that their early-morning adventures hadn't really helped at all. At the thought, he turned to see a bed-ruffled Martin wander into the room, having neglected to don the safety device Danny liked to call a 'shirt'.

Oh, God.

This was going to be a long day.

Despite his still-sleepy appearance, Martin appraised him with what was almost skepticism; as if he were surprised that Danny hadn't left.

Danny looked at Martin in what he assumed must be a similar way, trying to figure out if Martin had actually been awake earlier – at least, awake enough to notice something. From the suddenly calm expression on Martin's face, Danny figured not. Apparently Martin had come to the conclusion he had wanted as well, because he relaxed, almost in synch with Danny.

Martin moved a little further into the room, smiling a good morning. "You made coffee?" he asked, amusement and confusion in his voice. Danny held up his mug as evidence and put down the book he had been reading – he had to admit that it was much more interesting when he was awake – and followed Martin into the kitchen. He smirked at his partner's bare back, watching him reach for the coffee pot.

He couldn't help it. "How'd you sleep?"

Turning to meet Danny's smirk, Martin's face registered shock for a very – very – brief moment before becoming a mask of indifference. "Fine," he said noncommittally, shrugging one shoulder. "You?"

Danny smirked. "Best sleep I've had in way too long," he admitted. Which, really, was the truth. Though, for once, the waking up hadn't sucked, either. Martin looked a little taken aback before taking a sip of coffee.

Instantly, his features relaxed and he leaned against the bench, sighing. Danny raised an eyebrow, and as soon as Martin opened his eyes, he blushed. "Good coffee," he explained a little too quickly.

Danny only smirked, because teasing Martin was much, much simpler than making awkward conversation.

Martin glanced around the kitchen, as if Superman-ing the cupboards to see what was in them. He sighed. "I'd, uh… I'd offer you some breakfast, but, uh, there's not really anything here," he explained. Danny honestly couldn't see what was so difficult about admitting to having no food, but the blush that Martin's awkwardness caused was enough reason for Danny to not care.

Danny smiled. "Tell me about it. I haven't eaten a full meal in at least four days," he agreed, suddenly realizing that he was incredibly, incredibly hungry. Martin laughed.

"Well, maybe if you had have actually gone home during the Randall case, you'd be okay," Martin countered. And there - that was why Danny preferred teasing to seriousness. He'd tease, Martin would reciprocate, and everything would be okay; normal. Well, as normal as it ever got with the two of them.

"Me? At least I slept," he argued. "And vending machine junk does not count as a meal, Fitz," he chastised. It was true enough. Martin hadn't consumed anything but chocolate bars, bad coffee and the occasional bag of potato chips since their last case began. Martin snorted.

"Actually, come to think about it, something that isn't chocolate doesn't sound too bad right about now," he said, almost to himself. Martin turned abruptly and opened the closest cupboard, as if to double check that there wasn't, indeed, any food there. "God, it's like college all over again…"

Danny laughed as Martin closed the cupboard dejectedly, trying not to remember the bottles that had stocked his kitchen throughout most of college. Instead, he decided to poke a little fun at Martin.

"When it comes to food, Fitz, I don't think you ever left college," he said, mock-wistfully. He barely dodged the tea-towel that was hurtled at him from across the room. And yes, this was how they were supposed to be. Flirting-but-not. It was what they did.

And, Danny had to admit, they did it incredibly well.

Martin's face was lit with a rare grin as he spoke.

"I'm going to have a shower, and then we're going to get something to eat," he told Danny decisively. Danny just smirked.


Martin sighed as the hot water hit him; the first real shower he'd had in days. Rolling his shoulders, he let his head hang down, the water drumming his neck soothingly. He'd been tense for as long as he had been showerless – probably longer, really – and the feeling of muscles relaxing was one that he swore he'd never take for granted again.

He shampooed his hair and soaped himself methodically, the same way he'd been doing for years. He pictured how Danny would laugh if he knew that Martin even showered systematically, and that was not a good idea. Danny's laugh was one of those sounds that tended to cause unexpected reactions in Martin, and after this morning, his body was not letting him get away with much.

If he was lucky, the reaction would be merely physical. And that was how bad it was: the physical reaction was almost welcomed if it meant he didn't have to deal with the confusing-as-hell emotions that Danny's happiness tended to evoke.

He turned the shower onto cold.


Danny forced his eyes to stay on Martin's as he wandered into the lounge room wearing only a towel. His hair was even more mussed than it had been when Martin had gotten out of bed, but now droplets of water trailed – more tantalizingly than was strictly necessary – down his chest. The first thing that came into Danny's mind was something along the lines of licking.

Holy hell, the man was trying to kill him, he was sure of it. There wasn't one other explanation that he could think of that made sense.

Except, perhaps, that Martin was really as oblivious as Danny had previously thought.

"Bathroom's all yours," Martin told him casually. Danny smiled in thanks, put down the book he was reading – really, it was getting interesting – and headed for the bathroom.

As he started the water, he watched the steam rise off the spray and smirked. He hadn't realized until that moment that there hadn't already been any steam in the room. That meant one of three things: Martin's fan worked unusually well, Martin didn't like his water too hot, or Martin had taken a cold shower.

Stripping out of his wrinkled work-clothes, Danny chuckled at that. He knew Martin had been just as affected by this morning's adventures as he was – it was kind of hard not to know – but this was just amusing. And a little comforting. And a little annoying. At least Martin had the luxury of thinking he had been dreaming; of not knowing what had really happened.

Not that Danny intended to forget. He intended on simply filing the memory away under the label of Things That Will Never Happen #5: Martin.

This thought brought a smirk, and a whole barrage of memories that Danny was pretty sure he shouldn't be having right now. Not with Martin in the other room. Not with Martin in the same building. The possibility of jumping the man was too great. In more than one way.

No, there was not going to be any hot anything today.

And that, unfortunately, included showers.


Martin shuffled around his bedroom, trying – and failing rather miserably – not to think about his partner. His currently very close and very naked partner. Well, it would have been close, was he able to walk through walls. Distance versus displacement, the part of his brain that stored 'high school' chimed in.

And yes, that, there, was a safe topic. Calculus. There were only so many places his mind could take calculus. There were fabulously few ways of making calculus dirty. Because that's what thinking of Danny like this was; dirty. Not dirty in the Catholic-preacher sense, but dirty in the Fitzgerald-family sense.

Not that Martin believed any of that crap that his father had spouted at him. But it was hard not to use his sheltered childhood as an excuse sometimes. Pathetic, he knew, but it was easier than lusting after his partner with less than a guilty conscience.

Hearing the water shut off, Martin flung a few items of clothing on – there were only so many ways one could make jeans-and a-tee-shirt look bad, and not even Martin could manage those – and vacated his bedroom to knock on the bathroom door.

He heard a whack then a muffled grunt. He smirked.

"Uh, if you want to, uh, borrow some clothes, feel free," he called through the bathroom door, glad that Danny couldn't see just how red his face was. He figured he probably knew anyway, the same way that Martin knew Danny was smirking right now.

"Yeah," was all he got in response.


Danny moved out of Martin's room, having grabbed a pair of Martin's pants – the irony of literally getting into Martin's pants didn't go unnoticed – and headed into the living room. Martin looked up from the book that Danny had been reading earlier, appraising Danny's bare torso with what he could only assume was supposed to be subtlety.

That or he was making things up to compensate for his own attraction.

He moved over to his bag, feeling Martin's eyes follow him, and pulled out a clean undershirt that he had been meaning to change into for a few days but never quite got around to. Eager for a distraction because Martin's eyes all but burned, Danny nodded his head towards the book as he slipped his shirt on.

"Good book," was all he managed. Yep, smooth charmer, alright. He mentally hit himself. Martin actually physically brightened at that, as though he couldn't wait to talk about it. Then Danny reminded himself that this was Martin, and forgot to be shocked.

"Yeah," Martin agreed, standing up to get his keys. "It's uh… I've read it about a dozen times," he admitted, face reddening in that all-too-endearing way. Danny grinned.

"I think I was supposed to read it a couple of times in high school but was too busy not going that I never got 'round to it," he stated, almost surprised by the fact that the bitterness that usually came from talking about his past wasn't there. Martin grinned back; a grin that Danny really, really wanted to kiss.

"A couple of times?" he asked, casually curious. Danny shrugged.

"I went to about four different schools every year," he said indifferently, again surprised by the lack of resentment he felt. "I swear the curriculums are consecutive. One school does one novel, then passes it to the next, then the next…"

Martin looked uncertain whether to laugh or try and comfort Danny, so he smiled, letting Martin know he hadn't pushed too far. Martin relaxed, but still didn't smile. Danny sighed.

"It's okay, Fitz," he said quietly. Martin didn't look convinced so Danny took a step closer. "Martin, I don't mind talking about it," he said, only half-lying. "There are some things I'd rather not discuss; but this isn't one of them."

He put as much honesty into his statement as he was capable of, and Martin relaxed a little.

"Besides, I figure if I want to hear all your dirty little boarding school tales, I gotta give a little first."

Martin's face reddened despite the smile that played at his lips. "Sure, Danny," he said, rolling his eyes and heading out the door, waiting for Danny to follow him. "Like I'd ever tell you," he quipped, seeming to relish in the fact that Danny's step faltered just enough to be noticeable.


Martin fought back a laugh as Danny gestured with his food. There were very few people who could do that and still look dignified, and apparently his partner was one of them. Danny's hand gestures usually warranted some amount of personal-space, just to be safe, but this morning, Danny seemed to be even more excitable than usual. Martin allowed himself to entertain the possibility that this had something to do with him for a few minutes before shoving the thought back down.

"…so the professor babbled on for almost twenty minutes about the ramifications of pumpkin farming on Native American culture," Danny concluded, and Martin laughed because Danny's stories were actually surprisingly funny. "I tell you, man: that was the best reason I ever had not to study history."

Martin grinned at him and took another sip of coffee. When he looked back at Danny, he saw a kind of curiosity that he hadn't seen on him before. It was unnerving.

"What about you?" Danny asked casually, despite his expression. "I wasn't joking about the dirty tales, you know." Martin almost choked on his pancakes. There was one incident in particular that came to mind when Danny mentioned that, and it wasn't one he particularly wanted to share with Danny.

Well, that was sort of a lie; he probably would have if circumstances were different. Say, if Danny were actually attracted to him.

"Really, Danny," he said, rolling his eyes for effect, "nothing interesting ever happened to me in high school." Not even he was convinced.

"Oh, come on, Fitz! There's got to be something…" he informed him. Martin was beginning to get a little annoyed by Danny's persistence. It was almost as if he knew exactly which 'experience' Martin was thinking of. His next comment, however, shoved that idea right out of his head. "No sneaking girls into the dorms…?"

Danny's expression was just a little apprehensive, and wasn't that odd? Martin blushed again, this time for a multitude of reasons.

"No. I can honestly tell you I never snuck a girl into the dorms," he said. Apparently Danny was contented by this, because he just nodded and picked up his coffee.

"You ever sneak a guy into the dorms?" he asked almost casually.

This time, Martin did choke.

Dear God, how could this be happening? Was he that obvious, or was Danny just screwing with him? It wasn't like it would be the first time. A look at Danny told Martin that there was definitely some not-so-indifferent curiosity there. He wasn't even smirking like usual, and this really couldn't be happening.

Martin suddenly realized that his silence – and the fact that he probably looked like he'd just seen Santa get eaten by the Loch Ness monster – was probably as telltale as anything he could have said. Severely embarrassed by all of this, Martin looked intently around the room, refusing to look at Danny. He knew he was blushing furiously.

Deciding whether or not to just get up and leave, Martin felt a weight on his hand. He looked down to see Danny's hand on his own, and forced himself not to jerk away from the touch. When he finally made himself to look at Danny, he was shocked to see a smirk firmly in place.

"It's alright, Martin," Danny said when their eyes met, as if that were a perfectly reasonable response. Because it wasn't a reasonable response, not in the least. Danny could not have just asked that, and Martin could not have just admitted that, and they were simply not having this conversation.

Danny squeezed his hand, and he realized – with not a little panic – that they were indeed having this conversation. In the back of his mind, Martin registered that this meant something, but was too preoccupied with the way Danny was looking at him to make much sense of it. And now – damn that look Danny was giving him – he was incapable of lying.

"It's not alright, Danny," he countered. Not being able to lie didn't mean he couldn't hold back a little. And at that, Danny's eyes flashed with something like pain, then a distant sort of regret.

Martin couldn't stay here any longer. This was going nowhere he wanted to go, especially not with Danny.

"I… I can't," he said, wondering whether or not Danny would pick up on his reasons without him having to voice them. Whether or not he wanted him to. Martin stood, not quite registering exactly what he was doing beyond getting away.

As he reached the sidewalk outside, he felt a hand on his arm. He almost laughed; he should have known that Danny would follow him; knew him well enough to expect that and nothing less.

"I'm sorry, Fitz," he said quietly. And that was unexpected. Very unexpected, because there wasn't a trace of pity or disgust in his voice, only… something else. Something Martin didn't really want to name; wasn't sure if he really could.

"Why… why did you ask me?" he questioned finally, sounding far too pathetic for his liking. "Why that?"

There were a few seconds of silence, and then Danny was kissing him.

And wow, that was unexpected. Never had he considered this anything more than an unrequited and entirely surreal attraction on his part. But with the way Danny was kissing him now, there was nothing unrequited about it at all. Surreal, yes, but Danny was kissing him with a vigor he was sure no one had ever kissed him with before. Never in his thirty-five odd years of life had anyone apparently wanted him so much.

And that thought was enough to make him pull away from his newfound – and already favorite – activity.

"You didn't answer my question," he managed if a little petulantly, proud of the fact that he'd formed a cohesive sentence. "Why did you ask me that?"

Danny rolled his eyes as if Martin were the densest person alive. And perhaps he was. He wasn't sure of very much at the moment.

"Fitz, if you really have to ask me that, I clearly didn't kiss you obviously enough," Danny teased, smirk back in place. Piecing together most of what Danny had just said to him, and a few fragments of what he remembered of the night before, Martin cautioned a smile.

"Then shut up and tell me."

Danny laughed at him, but complied all too willingly. As Danny moved ever so slightly against him in a way that was far too sexual for public, a memory flashed through Martin's head, and he was struck with the rather exhilarating notion that he hadn't, after all, been dreaming. Exhilaration quickly replaced by annoyance because Danny hadn't told him. Or, for that matter, hadn't had the decency to wake him up.

Martin was suddenly very sure that getting into bed would be much quicker tonight.


Sorry the second chapter took so long; hope it was worth the wait!

Giorgia