|Drache-Königin (edincoat) wrote in makrothumia,|
@ 2009-01-11 03:38:00
|Entry tags:||ff-fandom: without a trace, ff-length: 1 to 5k, ff-rating: all, ff-type: slash|
wat/race of crazy half-monkeys
Title: race of crazy half-monkeys
Author: Kjata (makrothumia)
Characters & Pairings: Jack Malone, Danny Taylor/Martin Fitzgerald
Fandom: Without A Trace
Rating & Warnings: PG
Theme & Community: August 13th 08, Trigger space, 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
This spur-of-the-moment kiss of theirs tastes of soot and ash, brought forth by blind desperation to make sure that they are both still here, no matter what vital signs from a machine say. An urgent pressing of mouth to mouth, a fencing match with tongues instead of foils, and hands gripping biceps and waists, cradling heads with fingers threaded through hair.
This sudden collision where they both leave their inhibitions behind them and just merge like a quantum star, it happens outside of a burning building with eyes closed and breath heavy.
It isn’t until they break away from each other to think that maybe it wasn’t a good place or time.
Staring at one another with slightly dazed expressions, they look over at Jack Malone and aren’t thrilled to see him looking at them with mild disinterest masking a searching stare of steel.
Martin is the most jumpy out of both of them, looking stoic--and in turn, really, really guilty--whenever Jack enters the area with his head in a report or looking for an update on the latest case. Ignore the fact that the incident (as it is now categorised in Danny’s mind) happened well over a month ago, and they’ve hardly spoken to one another since. He’s still acting weird, and it isn’t helping Danny’s own disposition much.
And it probably doesn’t help that every time he looks over to see Martin’s back stiffen and his neck muscles tense, he thinks about that day when he saw Martin walking out of a blazing house with a grin and a story of hiding behind a refrigerator as the fireball erupted, covered with smears of ash and dripping with sweat. Every time he looks over at him with head bent and focused on something else entirely, he thinks about that day when he was so fucking relieved that his best friend was alive and still walking that he grabbed him by the singed and still smoking tie and stuck his tongue down his throat.
It makes him want to do it again, this time without the urgency of making sure his partner is alive, and more about seeing if Martin tastes as delicious without the overcoat of roasted flesh. He wants to corner him somewhere, in a place without cameras or people, and just have a taste to satisfy his curiosity.
But Martin won’t go anywhere with him alone, he is certain of that, and he’s pretty sure that if he were given the chance to lick Martin from nape to ear, he wouldn’t stop there without a bullet in the head to stop him.
He is partnered with Jack for this interview, and they work together well, they really do. Boss gets to act like the grand master of the FBI, sitting in the chair and staring deep into the mind of the suspect like this is just what he does, and he gets to sit beside him and chatter away, keeping the man off guard and guessing.
When they are done, the man released with instructions to stay in town, Jack doesn’t move, and neither does he.
“So, you and Martin, huh?”
He isn’t surprised of the topic, but he’s uncomfortable all the same. He doesn’t know what Martin would want him to say, he doesn’t know why he even cares about what Martin wants to be known and unknown, and he stares at the polished tabletop without saying anything.
“I thought about it for a while, you know,” Jack says, as if he got an answer instead of a spiralling into insanity silence. “And I really don’t think anything one way or another.”
He risks looking over at the Boss, and automatically relaxes at the laidback expression. Then tenses again, because damnit what if this is a trap?
“Just,” Jack continues softly, “just, try to not do that whole making out in public thing happen again, okay? I don’t need to explain it to Van Doren, and you two don’t need the problems with your careers.”
And Jack Malone, his most favourite person in the world--besides Martin, and right now that’s a little iffy--stands and leaves the interview room.
He slowly smiles to himself, and lets his shoulders relax.
Jack pairs him and Martin up the next day in monotone, ignoring their reactions and just expecting to be obeyed. This makes him think that the old Malone is a matchmaker at heart, and if they were on more equal terms he would really love to give him shit about it, but they aren’t so he won’t, he’ll instead smile and nod and turn to walk after Martin without really bothering to keep up.
Besides, a three hour car ride is plenty of time to talk.
As soon as they reach the city limits, he switches off the radio and decides to start with something he knows will get Martin’s attention.
“So, you and me, huh?”
Martin swerves a little, but using white-knuckle grip and a clench of the jaw, manages to correct without hitting anyone.
He’s a little giddy over the response, because actions speak louder than words, and that action was a big one, but he isn’t ready to die in a car crash rife with fire and metallic explosions, so he chooses his next words carefully.
“Jack told me he’s okay with it.”
Not the best words to follow-up with, but they’re good enough, because after he yells at Martin to watch the goddamn road, the horns from other motorists stop blaring quite so loud and their hearts stop pounding in terror, it finally gets his freaked out partner to say something.
“Jack talked to you about this?”
His grin is more of a grimace, and tries to pry his cramping fingers off of the door handle. There are sure to be imprints, and how the hell is he going to explain that to the car people back at the office? “Yeah, yesterday.”
“Jack talked to you about this yesterday, and he said nothing to me?”
Okay, that wasn’t expected. The car starts off of the freeway, and he wonders if that was intentional. “I don’t know, maybe he thought you’d freak out on him?”
Martin grits his teeth and veers off onto the side of the road, coming to a stop with the breaks screeching, and turns to look at him with murder in his eyes. “I was freaking out on him ever since the fire, so don’t give me that.”
He sighs in exasperation, and tosses his hands into the air. “Well, I’m not a mind reader. Besides, why are you focusing on Jack instead of what he said?”
Oh, that pissed him off. He grins as Martin tenses, and waits.
“I’m focusing on Jack because I’ve been spending the last month waiting for my father to kick down my door and force me back to D.C. using guns and possible explosives. I’m focusing on Jack, because if he had said something sooner then maybe I wouldn’t have the beginnings of an ulcer from worrying about what is going to happen to us the instant it got out!”
Martin continues on, including reasons for his anger stemming from brutal tactics SWAT teams employ and that he is sure his father is not above using, possible transfer to a very cold place that doesn’t need FBI but will get Danny there faster than you can say ’homosexual’ if things get out of hand, and more along that vein. He listens as well as he can, and then rolls his eyes as he undoes his seatbelt.
“Martin,” he says. “Shut up.”
And then he leans over to kiss him.
He finds that Martin tastes really wonderful, even without the ash and roasted human skin overlaying everything.