|Drache-Königin (edincoat) wrote in makrothumia,|
@ 2009-01-11 03:12:00
|Entry tags:||ff-fandom: without a trace, ff-length: 1 to 5k, ff-rating: frao, ff-type: slash|
wat/ sunny side of his heart
Title: sunny side of his heart
Author: Kjata (edincoat)
Characters & Pairings: Martin Fitzgerald/Danny Taylor
Fandom: Without A Trace
Rating & Warnings: NC-17, not very descriptive boysmut.
Theme & Community: August 23rd 2008, Understand my hate for you, 31_days
Disclaimer: Characters, Setting, and Original Content that this fic is based upon belongs to those who own them - Namely, anyone but me.
Original Post: here
He is quite sure that if he had any less of a level of tolerance, he'd be crying and screaming and rocking back forth back forth right about now. Frustration is gnawing on his spinal cord, because it already worked through his ribcage and vital organs, so he sits here hollow and angry and wanting to hit something.
There should be something happy and bright about Martin Fitzgerald, something that people could hear about him and make them smile because oh isn't that wonderful? But there isn't, not right now.
And he still wants to hit something.
Danny is completely inside inside him, balls-deep and stretching just so, and is not moving. At all. He keens and claws and arches his back to try to spur on just a shift or anything that might get the ball rolling here, and hands on hips and rough laughter puffed out onto his neck puts a stop to any coordinated attempt. So he settles for gasping and clenching down, and hoping that does the job.
It always works out this way, go to his best friend for therapeutic sex and end up being tortured for his trouble. He wonders why he even bothers sometimes.
"Move," he thinks he almost wails in desperation.
"Not until I hear you beg."
He keens some more, knows there are misshapen and probably crass words falling from his lips, but they get Danny to withdraw and thrust back in, so he makes friends with the sparks behind his eyelids and forgives him.
There is a piano in Danny's flat, which is funny because Danny doesn't play. Not a piano, anyway, and on the multiple instances where he asked why the fuck a piano is in his apartment, he gets a blasé answer that doesn't really answer anything and only serves to further the frustration he feels at just life in general. Because it's just a question, damnit, and it deserves an answer one of these days.
So that night, after cleanup and kisses that leaves an aftertaste of apology, he sits at the bench and starts to play. Nothing intense, or anything he had to play over and over again in his youth to make his parents feel validated in their parenting methods. Just a small piece of jazz, unstructured music that sounds like heaven to his ears, even on a slightly out of key dusty instrument such as this.
He finds that he is humming along to the tune, forming words in his mind but not quite releasing them into the air. Danny is behind him, consisting of bemusement and affection as the older man watches him make the old wooden box full of cords sing, and he thinks that he really does forgive him for making him beg every time he gets over himself enough to come over here.
That doesn't stop it from furthering the feeling of imminent breakdown that lurks over his shoulder, peering down at whatever he is focusing on and whispering into his ear, "it isn't worth it and you know it."
A four year old girl is missing, a recent placement into foster care because her father liked to touch too much, and he is almost ready to scream again. This smacks of normal cases, where the biological parent lifts the child because they feel entitled to torture their spawn just because the kid is their spawn and no one else’s, but both parents have been in jail since last week and they have no leads because of it.
Jack has him running names, people from the girl's school and playground and grocery store who might have records and as such deserve a second look. All that leaves him to do is sit and watch the computer crunch away, because there is nothing to do after the initial typing, and he doesn't know why he was given such an easy job when Viviane is sick again and could use the lightening of the work load.
But all she is doing is sitting at the conference table and reviewing files, so he supposes she has the truly non-stressful job in this mission after all, and swallows his resentment towards Jack with a grimace.
And Danny walks into the bullpen carrying more folders, dumps them in front of Elena with a grin and something said in lilting Spanish, so he stands and leaves, the computer will beep at someone when there are results.
The hallway is clear of people, it being after three in the morning, so he walks the length and lets himself shake, lets himself rest against the door of the office supply closet when he comes to it and just breath, try to steady himself and ignore the frantic whispers saying over and over again, "itisn'tworthitandyouknowit."
Footsteps come up behind him, and Danny's hand rests on his shoulder. He reaches up to capture a bony wrist and just hold on, soaking in the good intentions and wondering if Danny ever forgives him for this, ever allows him these moments of weakness without judging and weighing options in that ever clicking in tandem to the universe mind of his.
He uses his free hand to swing open the door to the supply room, hauls himself and his best friend inside, closes the door with a click and a darkening of the general environment. Pulls himself upwards and drags his mouth up roughened skin stretched tight over a jaw and onto a smiling mouth, opening his own lips to taste and suck out the air from Danny's lungs so that he himself can breathe for him.
And the words are more frantic, skipping and stopping in certain places, but he whispers back with little thoughts of "it is worth it, it is" and leans into the feeling of Danny's hands threaded through his hair and thus cradling his head.
He tries to drown the inadequacy of his life by breathing for Danny in an office supply closet at work, and he still finds it to be a better thing to do with his time than sitting and staring at a photograph of another child missing where all he can do to help her is sit in front of a computer and wait for it to fucking beep.
Jack knocks on the door, says "We have a lead, come on," and then walks away.
They pull apart, Danny breathing for Danny again and he breathing for himself. He isn't shaking anymore, so this session helped, but he knows what will quiet everything for far longer, and he pushes a violent kiss onto Danny before leaving the room and his best friend spinning behind him.
For all the brutality of the situation, clothing stripped as soon as the door to the flat closes and eventually just bent over the back of a kitchen chair, Danny is almost reverent with kisses down his spine and slow strokes that make his entire body shudder and force an almost moan from his lips. He has one arm to steady himself, the other twisted around behind his back so that Danny can insert some punishment for earlier at work, bruising both their mouths and getting Jack to glare a little in knowing.
But he shouldn’t be thinking about Jack right now, and he doesn’t anymore because there is this thing that his best friend does with his tongue that he is doing right now and he forgets everything except the chair and the pressure and his gasping breath that may or may not get enough oxygen to his brain throughout this encounter.
Danny murmurs against his spine, “let me make you feel better, Martin,” said with steel underlying the words even though it almost comes out as a plea.
He just breathes back a “yes,” and focuses on loving the feel of Danny smiling against him.
He still wants to hit something, but he doubts that urge will ever stop.