annundriel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
annundriel) wrote2008-04-10 12:45 am
annundriel) wrote2008-04-10 12:45 am
Entry tags:
Without a Trace Fic - Untitled
Yes, that's right. I've gone and written fanfiction for Without a Trace. I don't know whether to be excited or scared. Mostly I'm both. It's fun getting into something new, even if you're the only one. Or people are seasons ahead of you. But many thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
trademybike for giving this a read and helping me out even though, once again, she doesn't watch the show. She's just cool like that.
Untitled. Danny/Martin. A small change in routine.
Some cases are worse than others. Some leave Danny with the need to get out, get away, be alone; others leave him with the desire to be near someone, to spend time in some semblance of comfort and home. So this time, when Martin invites Danny over with a promise of pizza and ESPN, he doesn’t refuse.
Danny likes Martin’s place, mostly just because it reminds him of Martin, contains Martin’s things. He’s spent time there in the past when they’ve both needed to get out of the office but neither of them has wanted to really be around people or be alone. Being with Martin is somewhere in between. He’s good company and he doesn’t push Danny to talk unless there’s something else, something deeper than just a bad case, going on. In which case Danny pushes right back, so it works out.
As Martin promised, he orders pizza as soon as they’re through the door. Danny slides his jacket off, loosens his tie even more, and pops another button below his collar. Sitting on the couch, he leans back and relaxes into the cushions, closes his eyes and listens to Martin place the order and then hang up before he begins puttering around his apartment.
“Hey,” Danny hears. He lifts his head to see Martin standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He looks strangely amused and fond and shy and Danny takes a moment to wonder at that before he realizes Martin’s just asked him if he wants anything to drink. “Water’s good,” he says, smiling when Martin nods and turns around.
Martin’s back a minute later, handing Danny his water and sitting near him on the couch, close enough that Danny can feel the soft heat radiating off of him. Martin picks up the remote, thumbing the television on, and they both sit there, letting the sound of the commentators wash over them. Though Danny can’t say he’s really paying much attention. He’s more aware of Martin sitting beside him; warm, rumpled Martin who’s become so much more than a colleague in the time they’ve known each other, who’s exceeded every one of Danny’s silly expectations since the day they met.
When the pizza arrives it’s hot and delicious. They eat it over napkins in front of the TV, commenting every now and then on the game, often lapsing into comfortable silence. It’s odd, another expectation Martin’s blown away, because Danny never expected to be this comfortable with Martin. He was sure that Martin would be good for poking and prodding, for teasing and winding up, but he’d had no clue that these moments of silence would be just as easy.
They’ve been sitting for quite awhile when Danny notices that Martin’s become completely quiet. When he looks over, Martin’s head is tipped back, eyes closed, lips parted ever so slightly, face completely relaxed. Asleep. Danny takes a moment to look his fill, eyes running over the features he’s come to know so well, amazed at the wealth of emotion that hits him square in the chest in unguarded moments.
Danny’s not sure how long he looks, but eventually he thinks about how late it is and how tired Martin must really be and that he should probably go. Shifting slightly on the couch, he looks for the remote only to find it on the other side of Martin. He leans over him to reach it; left hand compressing the cushion where he leans on it, his wrist pressed warm against Martin’s thigh, right arm reaching across his sleeping body, bringing them in closer contact. And just as Danny’s leaning back, remote in hand, he looks down to find sleepy blue eyes watching him. Suddenly he’s pinned in place, half-standing, half-sitting, his breath caught, and all he can do is watch Martin watch him.
Danny’s not used to being unbalanced, but Martin does things to him, renders him uncertain.
That is until he feels Martin’s hand on the arm keeping him steady; Martin’s hand traveling up past his elbow, over his bicep, around his shoulder until Martin’s hand is pressed against the curve of his neck and Danny’s being pulled forward and all he can do is meet Martin’s mouth with his own.
It’s one of the sweeter kisses Danny’s ever had and he doesn’t really want it to end, but he still has to pull away, needs to know that this is really what they both want. “Martin,” he starts, voice hushed.
But Martin’s hand on the back of his neck is insistent, his voice husky and faux-annoyed when he says, “Shut up, Danny,” and draws him back down.
“Whatever you say,” Danny says, smile reflected and then amplified by Martin’s own.
It’s harder to kiss while grinning, but somehow they manage.
trademybike for giving this a read and helping me out even though, once again, she doesn't watch the show. She's just cool like that.Untitled. Danny/Martin. A small change in routine.
Some cases are worse than others. Some leave Danny with the need to get out, get away, be alone; others leave him with the desire to be near someone, to spend time in some semblance of comfort and home. So this time, when Martin invites Danny over with a promise of pizza and ESPN, he doesn’t refuse.
Danny likes Martin’s place, mostly just because it reminds him of Martin, contains Martin’s things. He’s spent time there in the past when they’ve both needed to get out of the office but neither of them has wanted to really be around people or be alone. Being with Martin is somewhere in between. He’s good company and he doesn’t push Danny to talk unless there’s something else, something deeper than just a bad case, going on. In which case Danny pushes right back, so it works out.
As Martin promised, he orders pizza as soon as they’re through the door. Danny slides his jacket off, loosens his tie even more, and pops another button below his collar. Sitting on the couch, he leans back and relaxes into the cushions, closes his eyes and listens to Martin place the order and then hang up before he begins puttering around his apartment.
“Hey,” Danny hears. He lifts his head to see Martin standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He looks strangely amused and fond and shy and Danny takes a moment to wonder at that before he realizes Martin’s just asked him if he wants anything to drink. “Water’s good,” he says, smiling when Martin nods and turns around.
Martin’s back a minute later, handing Danny his water and sitting near him on the couch, close enough that Danny can feel the soft heat radiating off of him. Martin picks up the remote, thumbing the television on, and they both sit there, letting the sound of the commentators wash over them. Though Danny can’t say he’s really paying much attention. He’s more aware of Martin sitting beside him; warm, rumpled Martin who’s become so much more than a colleague in the time they’ve known each other, who’s exceeded every one of Danny’s silly expectations since the day they met.
When the pizza arrives it’s hot and delicious. They eat it over napkins in front of the TV, commenting every now and then on the game, often lapsing into comfortable silence. It’s odd, another expectation Martin’s blown away, because Danny never expected to be this comfortable with Martin. He was sure that Martin would be good for poking and prodding, for teasing and winding up, but he’d had no clue that these moments of silence would be just as easy.
They’ve been sitting for quite awhile when Danny notices that Martin’s become completely quiet. When he looks over, Martin’s head is tipped back, eyes closed, lips parted ever so slightly, face completely relaxed. Asleep. Danny takes a moment to look his fill, eyes running over the features he’s come to know so well, amazed at the wealth of emotion that hits him square in the chest in unguarded moments.
Danny’s not sure how long he looks, but eventually he thinks about how late it is and how tired Martin must really be and that he should probably go. Shifting slightly on the couch, he looks for the remote only to find it on the other side of Martin. He leans over him to reach it; left hand compressing the cushion where he leans on it, his wrist pressed warm against Martin’s thigh, right arm reaching across his sleeping body, bringing them in closer contact. And just as Danny’s leaning back, remote in hand, he looks down to find sleepy blue eyes watching him. Suddenly he’s pinned in place, half-standing, half-sitting, his breath caught, and all he can do is watch Martin watch him.
Danny’s not used to being unbalanced, but Martin does things to him, renders him uncertain.
That is until he feels Martin’s hand on the arm keeping him steady; Martin’s hand traveling up past his elbow, over his bicep, around his shoulder until Martin’s hand is pressed against the curve of his neck and Danny’s being pulled forward and all he can do is meet Martin’s mouth with his own.
It’s one of the sweeter kisses Danny’s ever had and he doesn’t really want it to end, but he still has to pull away, needs to know that this is really what they both want. “Martin,” he starts, voice hushed.
But Martin’s hand on the back of his neck is insistent, his voice husky and faux-annoyed when he says, “Shut up, Danny,” and draws him back down.
“Whatever you say,” Danny says, smile reflected and then amplified by Martin’s own.
It’s harder to kiss while grinning, but somehow they manage.