|Drache-Königin (edincoat) wrote in makrothumia,|
@ 2009-01-11 03:27:00
|Entry tags:||ff-fandom: without a trace, ff-length: 1 to 5k, ff-rating: frao, ff-type: slash|
wat/ banishing the pictures of war
Title: banishing the pictures of war
Author: Kjata (makrothumia)
Characters & Pairings: Danny Taylor/Martin Fitzgerald
Fandom: Without A Trace
Rating & Warnings: FRAO, explicit sexual content and considerable use of crass language.
Theme & Community: August 17th 08, Stop whispering; start shouting, 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
There is this feeling of just being caught that he has dealt with off and on since he was a child. Choking on apron strings he desperately wants to be free from, tangled in a spider web that holds tight as he struggles, ropes binding him to the floor and just pressing while all he wants to do is breathe.
It's why he can't keep relationships clean, family, friends or lovers included. All he can do is try, and try again, then run away gasping for air leaving the person staring after in complete anger and confusion.
Restriction makes his teeth itch, causes his eyes to go wild and force his arms into flailing about to express how terrifying this all is. He reverts to animalistic instincts when he's trapped, even if he put himself there, and doesn't turn back into a human until he's safe again.
It isn't fun being a social Werewolf, but he does his best to deal with it. And Danny does too.
They have a sort of routine that really does work, for the most part. Leave work separately, meet up at Danny's flat without saying anything to one another beforehand. Talk about their day a little perhaps as soon as they are inside, eat something be it leftovers or takeout, wind up in the bedroom biting and bruising and participating in a general pounding into the mattress.
Whoever has the worst day gets to fuck the other, whoever marks skin the most gets to perform reparations in the shower afterwards.
Martin leaves, goes back to his flat leaving a sleeping Danny in bed, passes out on his own sofa until it is time to wake up and jog a little Get all that running out of his system because the collar around his neck is turning into a choker chain, and it is attached to a leash that leads to his best friend.
They get into work, Danny looking sombre because yet again he wakes up alone, Martin looking frantic because yet again he feels the cords binding him and pulling him in. And then they go to work, get through the shift, and repeat.
In the course of the investigation, a woman is discovered to have worked in a Sweat Shop, New York City style. They clear out the warehouse that the illegal business is running from, inspect the equipment, find a few leads, and disperse.
He and Danny stay behind to look for more clues, as per Jack's orders, and he is a bit nervous because not only is their relationship on the verge of breaking and he just fucking knows it, but because his best friend is looking at him with an odd glint in his eye, and that always spells trouble when it comes to Danny Taylor.
So he edges away, making a show of peering at a brick wall as if there is something interesting there to see.
Danny slams into him, shoves him against the wall roughly and he groans as the man's erection presses against his back and teeth sinks into the junction of his shoulder and neck. Rests his forehead on the cool brick, and forces himself to relax as hands work around to his belt and fumble with the buckle.
"We need to have a conversation," Danny says as he laps at the bite mark he just made with his teeth, sweet and considerate and passive Danny says as he shoves Martin's trousers down and forces his legs apart with a well-placed knee. "I want you to know, we need to have a conversation."
He nods in agreement, moans something like god yes as fingers slick with saliva stretch him just so, and sees the passing thought that they are about to fuck on government time just fly off into the nether verse.
"And we will have that conversation," Danny continues, stretching him wide and leaning over to speak next to his ear, "just not right now."
Pleasurepain hits him as Danny slides in completely, makes him gasp and pant, and he scrabbles at the stone with his fingers to find purchase, something to hold on to. Pull out, thrust in at a different angle, still a burn there because they’ve never done it like this before and he wonders (in a haze of lust) if this means something because doing it raw against a wall in a warehouse should not be a predecessor to Danny and Martin not being Danny and Martin anymore.
Yet another different angle, and he hears himself keen a little as he rocks back into Danny, lets go of the wall to throw his arms backwards and put a bruising grip on the hips that are currently snapping into him. Danny licks him from collar to neck, relishing the new opportunity, nibbles at his jaw, and wraps his hands around Martin’s cock and just squeezes.
He loses himself against the wall, choking off a cry that is swallowed by Danny’s mouth, and feels the shudder sigh release that flows white hot into him.
Leans his forehead against the cool stone and breathes, and when the older man’s hips finally slow to a stop, Danny does the same.
Ever since they got into that fight six months ago, screaming and hitting and trying to in general kill one another right there in the centre of the bullpen, no one looks at them oddly if their suits are a bit crumpled. Because that just means they got touchy and screaming again, that the once close friends are now adversaries who still work together well, so long as they’re not left to their own devices.
If they only knew.
Martin sends thanks to the atmosphere that before he and Danny started this thing they have going, they had that public outburst, because he doesn’t think he could handle the curious looks that they would get otherwise. There are bruises on his neck, merging into one another, and they probably think Danny tried to choke him. Danny’s suit jacket has a rip on the lapel, and they probably think Martin tossed him somewhere by the collar.
They exchange looks, Danny smug and satiated, Martin flat and unemotional, and then adjust their attention to Jack who’s explaining where they might find this girl based on the multiple locations the accredited kidnapper liked to dump his victims.
Parks are out, warehouses are out (he starts a little at this, then winces as the heel of Danny’s shoe digs into his shin under the table), and their most likely location is one of four abandoned stores that used to push the illegal goods.
They get up, agree to their individual assignments with no one teamed up and all going solo, then head out.
Danny is the one who finds the dead woman, and he calls it in carefully via five-way connection, like he’s covering her corpse with something and trying to not disrespect her at the same time.
Case closed, they can finish up and head home now.
Martin sits in the dusty darkness as the call clicks out on his cell phone, and watches the dust motes dance in the dimming light. Wonders what the hell he’s doing, what he’s going to tell Danny, what they’re going to do about all of this.
Danny looks unhappy when he sees him back at the office, the pleased expression gone and replaced with mourning for the dead victim. He approaches him cautiously, stands next to him for a minute, then bumps his shoulder against him softly.
Looks up at his best friend, gives a sympathetic grin, and tilts his head to the side. Says, “You going to be all right, man?”
Danny grins a little back, and nods his head in response.
They’re back at Danny’s flat four hours later, exchanging rough kisses as the leftover pizza heats up, and they only stop groping one another to scarf down the food and then start at it again. Nothing of the promised conversation is made good on, instead of talking they just touch and press close for the comfort. They stumble into the bedroom, landing on the unmade bed with Martin on top so he can lick Danny wherever he wants without anything stopping him.
They fall back into routine, sinking into one another until merged, then Danny falls asleep and Martin stays awake, sticky and freaked and shaking just a little because he doesn‘t know what to do.
He sits up in bed, sheet pooling at his waist, and he just looks at his best friend sleeping the sleep of the exhausted next to him. Just watching the man is enough to make him feel the choker chain tighten, crush his windpipe and remove air from his lungs. He’s being dragged against his will towards Danny in the metaphorical sense, and he fidgets, thinks about leaving, swings his legs over the side and then stops.
Remembers Danny’s whispered words in the warehouse, a mixture of Spanish and chanting mine against his neck breathing hot and hard. Looks over, stares, says do I really want to stop this in his thoughts.
Pulls his legs back up under the sheet, lays down and slides close, then closes his eyes.
Feels sleep approach, and answers the question with a firm no.
The next morning is interesting, because Danny doesn’t know what to do and fumbles through making breakfast, looking at Martin as if he’s afraid he’ll disappear any moment now.
Martin finds himself smiling reassuringly at the older man, and marvelling at the feeling of the choker chain loosening.
He hopes that it will go away completely some day.