"Hey, Taylor!"
Danny looked up as Martin approached his desk. On any other day, his heart rate would've picked up automatically at Martin's proximity, but today not even his ever-present but unfulfilled fantasies concerning this particular co-worker could distract him from the task at hand.
"What?" he said absently, looking back at the stack of overstuffed envelopes on his desk.
"Got some three-ball going down at the Y in about an hour, except right now it's three on two and we need a warm body. Last time I checked, you qualified."
Despite himself, Danny leaned back in his chair and grinned up at Martin. "Yeah? Whose team needs the killer jump shot—yours or the other guys'?"
Martin grinned back. "If my team needed a killer jump shot, I'd be asking Sam. Nah, it's Boyd and Lewis—Damon can't make it. You up for it?"
"Boyd and Lewis? You kidding? They need more than a jump shot, they need the basket lowered, then maybe they'd score more than ten points a game."
Martin leaned forward conspiratorially. "Why do you think I like playing them?"
Danny's smile faded. The thought of playing basketball with Martin—no, the thought of watching Martin play basketball—was a hell of a temptation. Just sitting there, his imagination strayed to a place he seldom allowed it go—from Martin Fitzgerald, uptight WASP in a cheap suit, to Martin the weekend athlete in a torn, sweaty tee shirt over thin jersey shorts that clung in all the right places. Oh, yeah, those long legs would stretch upward for a three-pointer, arms arched over his head as the tee rucked up to reveal a flat abdomen—it was all right there and all completely out of the question.
Hunching over his desk as he resolutely banished the temptation, he shook his head regretfully. "Sorry, man, I can't."
Martin hitched his thigh onto the edge of the desk, letting his knee bump Danny's chair. "Why not?"
Danny swallowed at the sound of sincere regret in Martin's voice. He jerked his thumb toward the envelopes. "That's why not. Nothing for me tonight but pizza and that bad boy." He pointed toward a large black and yellow book behind Martin's hip. Martin reached around and grabbed it, holding it up to read the title.
"'Tax Filing For Dummies'?" he said with a laugh. "Well, they got the title right, anyway." He blocked the swat aimed at his shin with the book before tossing it aside. "Jesus, Danny, it's April 14th and you haven't filed yet?"
Stung by Martin's laughter, Danny got up and began shoving the envelopes into a shoebox. "No, as a matter of fact, I haven't filed yet, and if I don't get out of here, I'll be doing this all weekend. So, if you'll—"
"Hey, hey, wait a minute." Martin grasped his arm in brief apology. "Look—you want some help?"
The unexpected offer stopped Danny in his tracks. He gave Martin a searching look and saw only sincerity in the wide blue eyes, mixed with just a little leftover amusement.
"Help? What kind of help?"
Martin tugged at his earlobe, suddenly looking a little self-conscious. "I can, uh, you know—do them for you."
Danny stared at him. This offer came right out of left field, since the two of them hadn't done anything even remotely social together beyond a few pickup games and a lunch or two. That hadn't stopped Danny from developing some surprisingly intimate feelings for Martin Fitzgerald, but he'd relegated those feelings to a pile labeled unrealized dreams, because Martin hadn't shown the slightest interest in anything between them beyond what the job required.
"What about the game?" Danny asked carefully—he wasn't really sure what was being offered and didn't want to reveal just how appealing it sounded.
Martin shrugged as he straightened up. "If I don't show up, numbers are even again—two on two. So c'mon—grab that sophisticated filing system of yours and we'll head over to my place. You can buy dinner."
Still feeling stunned by this turn of events, Danny hurriedly finished gathering the envelopes containing his receipts. "Why your place?"
"Two reasons," Martin replied as he picked up the book and tossed it into the trash. "One, we can use my laptop to file electronically and two, there's a great Thai place a block away. You can run over there while I download a filing program and go through your records."
Danny slid the lid on the shoebox and reached for his suit coat. "I don't know, Martin—I'm gonna owe you big time for this. Not sure I can pay you back any time soon."
Martin returned his teasing grin with a small, unreadable smile of his own.
"I'm sure we'll figure something out."
Danny sat his empty plate aside, chewing through his last mouthful of cold phad thai as he scooted closer to Martin. They were sitting on Martin's living room floor, receipts and other pieces of paper in several neat piles around them. Martin had his laptop propped up to a comfortable height by three editions of the Manhattan Yellow Pages, his knees bent on either side and his back against a worn corduroy couch. Danny settled next him and looked at the laptop screen with a suspicious eye.
"You sure a work wardrobe isn't deductible?" he asked, pulling off an already loose tie and tossing it onto a nearby chair.
Martin spared him a sideways glance. "Should be, the amount of money you spend on those crayon-colored dress shirts you wear." He pointed to the subdued check fabric of his own rolled cuff. "See this? You know how much this cost?"
Trying to ignore the tan forearm revealed by the scrunched up fabric, Danny shook his head in disdain. "Yeah. I'm thinking two for one sale at Macy's, right? Twenty bucks, tops."
"Hey, that's not—" Martin broke in with a mock scowl, but he stopped when Danny raised a silencing finger.
"And—and," he paused to bestow a knowing smile, "—I bet you even had a coupon."
Danny watched as Martin tried to suppress the smile that played around his mouth. He loved seeing Martin like this, when the job was just a job and they could lay down their burdens for a couple of hours. They both knew that the next hour or day or week could bring a multitude of fresh tragedies, so getting down time like this was incredibly precious.
And for Danny, it was also torture, bittersweet and irresistible.
Martin finally gave in and laughed softly, shaking his head as he turned his attention back to the screen. Danny remained quiet while Martin worked, content to watch the long fingers dance over the keyboard or sift through a stack of receipts. A few minutes passed and then Martin turned to Danny with a puzzled look on his face.
"Wait a minute. Who usually does your taxes? I mean, if you don't know a W-2 from a W-4, how've you gotten through this in the past?"
"Ah, now that's a good story." Danny grabbed his water bottle and took a drink as Martin propped his elbows on the couch behind him. "See, my landlady used to do it when I lived in Brooklyn. She ran an accounting business out of the basement of my building, along with a dog-walking business, a tattoo parlor and a psychic hotline. Now, the tattoo thing was a little shady but I'm pretty sure the rest of it was legit."
Danny was rewarded with Martin's full attention and he made the most of it, taking another leisurely swallow of water as he propped his elbow on one bended knee.
"Okay, I'll bite. What happened to this CPA slash dog walker slash tattoo artist slash psychic?"
"You're not gonna believe it—"
"I don't believe it already."
"—but she ran off with a Ph.D. from Harvard. Oh, did I mention she's about seventy years old and missing a leg?"
"No, but at this point I'm not surprised. And I suppose she's the one who told you about vampires who live on the first floor?"
Danny nodded like a teacher with a particularly slow pupil. "That's right, that's right. She was very educational and a damn fine accountant. Got me a huge return every year."
"Yeah, well, if she was deducting stuff like over-priced shirts, she's probably on the IRS Ten Most Wanted List."
"Very funny. Hey, so tell me—how do you know so much about all this?"
"All what?"
Danny gestured toward the laptop. "That. What are you—mild-mannered FBI agent by day and superhero CPA by night?"
Martin shook his head. "Nah," he said as he peered at the screen and made an entry. "Dated an accountant back in Seattle. Swear to God, the guy used to quote the Tax Code in his sleep."
Automatically, Danny began to grin, preparing to respond with some kind of clever comeback. Then Martin's words sunk in and he faltered, his eyes seeking out Martin's averted gaze as he quickly tried to re-order his thoughts. When he saw the soft color that tinted Martin's cheeks, he took a deep breath and sat back, stunned with the realization that despite his seeming indifference, Martin had said exactly what he'd wanted to say, but with a whole lot of fear along for the ride. It was that fear that touched Danny the most, and his grin softened into a smile of understanding—and burgeoning hope.
"So," he said, his voice soft with contemplation as he shot Martin a look out of the corner of his eye. "What you're saying is that, uh, you're—"
"Hey, c'mere." Martin gestured sharply, his eyes still resolutely on his laptop. "I need you to look this over and tell me if you see anything I'm missing."
"Yeah, okay." The abrupt change of subject didn't bother Danny in the least; he and Martin used the same tactic in the interrogation rooms—you say something provocative and then switch gears, hoping to catch someone off guard when you hit them again with the hard stuff. He slid over obediently until they were shoulder to shoulder, looking down at the final analysis of Danny's tax return. His eyes went to the bottom line and promptly widened at the amount he saw there.
"Twenty-two hundred bucks?" He turned his disbelieving gaze to Martin who looked back with a pleased expression hidden beneath his blandest smile. Not even a huge refund could completely distract Danny from the realization that they were now sitting so close he could smell the remnants of Martin's aftershave, but he forced himself to settle for slowly shaking his head. "I've never gotten that much back! How'd you do that?"
Martin shrugged. "It's not so hard. You just have to read the instructions." He made another entry and pointed at the screen. "Okay, it's on its way. You'll get an email notification when the IRS accepts it. Just don't let anyone know we shared salary info—I think we can get fired for that."
Danny's eyebrows quirked upward. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. Then it's selling shoes for real." He bent his knee and carefully pushed back the stack of telephone books with one sock-clad foot.
Danny let his head drop back against the seat cushion. "Oh, man. Like I said, I don't know how I'm gonna pay you back for this."
Martin shrugged again. "Well, what did you used to pay the one-legged dog walking tatt artist?"
Danny lifted his head to answer, then paused. Martin's tone had been so painfully casual, he knew that there was more being said here. This was definitely an opportunity—but was it to get a bloody nose or something infinitely more desirable?
He rubbed his chin as if trying to remember. "Let's see. If I remember correctly, there was a six pack of Budweiser and a crisp fifty dollar bill involved."
The flicker of disappointment on Martin's face was gone so quickly, Danny almost missed it. He waited a beat, then snapped his fingers.
"Oh, yeah—and a kiss on the cheek." He dug his elbow into Martin's ribs. "I kinda think she had a thing for me, you know?"
Martin rolled his eyes. "A six pack of Bud, hunh? Well, two out of three ain't bad." He shifted his hips to face Danny directly, tapping his own cheek with his finger. "You ready to start paying?"
The breath caught in Danny's throat at the look in Martin's eyes—fear, challenge, completely serious and utterly vulnerable. Danny felt the events of the past few hours connect, like a jigsaw puzzle flowing together effortlessly beneath his fingers. And yet there was enough doubt that he had to make sure, had to try and give them both an out before teasing turned into something far more dangerous.
Pinning a smile to his face, he tilted his head to an angle that bespoke mild skepticism. "You're kidding, right? You don't—"
One negative shake of Martin's head stopped him cold, but when he spoke, his voice was slow and sweet and seductive. "No way, man. No way am I gonna let you get off with anything less than what you paid your landlady, especially since I found an extra couple hundred bucks for you." His voice dropped even lower, sending an anticipatory quiver along Danny's shoulders. "So pay up."
"Sure," Danny said hoarsely, then before he lost his nerve, he leaned in close to Martin's cheek. There was a fine sprinkling of stubble outlining the sensitive mouth but the skin above his jaw was almost totally smooth. It would have only been a quick peck, barely a kiss at all, if Martin hadn't turned at the last second. Danny's mouth landed on the soft curve of Martin's lower lip and he jerked back a little, then froze with a swift brush of Martin's fingertips against his thigh. He let his mouth linger, allowing himself to inhale the clean scent of Martin's skin as his heart pounded wildly inside his chest. When he felt he could hold the moment no longer, he pulled back slowly eyes downcast, unsure if he was ready to see whatever awaited him in Martin's expression.
"Nice." The whispered word, flush with pleasure, forced his gaze upward. Martin was staring at his mouth with eyes luminous with unmistakable longing. "Now do it like you mean it."
There was no time to weigh the consequences. Danny's body reacted before he had a chance to think it through, sliding his hands around Martin's waist to span the small of his back. Martin arched toward him, their mouths meeting in a gentle collision as Martin looped his arm around his neck and guided him closer. Danny's mind became a warm, blank space as Martin opened his mouth beneath his and let him deepen the kiss. Demanding hands stroked down the length of his back and tugged at his belt, encouraging him to straddle Martin's hips as he leaned back and braced himself against the couch. Long legs came up to support him, cradling him firmly in the curve of Martin's body, a breathtaking caress all its own. Danny cupped Martin's face between his hands and explored his mouth with a leisurely, indulgent touch before moving along the strong jaw line to taste skin that warmed beneath his lips. Martin's hands were slipping inside his collar when Danny broke the kiss to look directly down into his eyes, now unafraid of what he'd find there.
"Why?" he murmured.
Martin ran his fingertips through the spiky hair that shot up behind Danny's ear. "Thought it was obvious," he said, canting his head to the side and giving him a sweet, uncomplicated smile. Danny shook his head and leaned forward to capture Martin's lips in a teasing kiss.
"Oh, really," he responded with an answering smile as he sat back. "Maybe you need to explain it to me, then."
Martin nodded. "Okay." He shifted his legs a little, giving Danny a stronger support for his back. Resting his hands on Danny's thighs, he set up a rhythmic stroking with the balls of his thumbs. "First thing I noticed about you were your eyes."
"My...eyes?"
"Oh, yeah. Hate to tell you this, but they give you away every time. Good case, bad case—" he paused, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Good date, bad date. And, man, you had a lot of bad dates."
They shared a grin as Danny ducked his head in acknowledgment. He had been on a lot of lousy dates lately, but that was primarily due to the man whose body was currently pressed so intimately to his.
Martin continued, his hands straying upward toward the juncture of Danny's thighs. "That's how I figured out that for all the crap you gave me when I first came on board, you didn't really mean it—well, most of it, anyway. Then when I started noticing that more often than not, those eyes were looking my way, I began to believe maybe you and I—well, that I—"
He stumbled to a stop and lowered his eyes, that same telltale blush tingeing his cheeks. Danny lifted his chin with his forefinger and he rolled his eyes before meeting Danny's amused gaze.
"That you—what?" he promptly gently. He was captivated by Martin's quick cuts between self-assured bravado and pink-cheeked awkwardness—that kind of vulnerability couldn't be faked and assured him far more than any smooth speech ever would.
"Sorry, man." Martin looked past Danny's shoulder with a rueful laugh. "This all sounded a lot better in my head."
Danny grinned and captured Martin's traveling hands, clasping them between his own and bringing them to his chest. "Okay, let me see if I can bail you out. Hate to admit it, but you're absolutely right. I was rough on you when you first got here because I could tell you were trouble—the kind of trouble I didn't need."
Danny watched as his unintentionally harsh words sank in. Martin swallowed and tugged his hands away, but Danny was ready for him and let the momentum pull him forward. He braced his forearms on either side of Martin's head, the give of the couch cushions bringing their mouths close together.
"Then again," he whispered, "my life has been all about trouble—but something tells me my luck has finally changed."
And because suddenly it didn't matter how they'd gotten this far, Danny kissed him hard, telling Martin without words that right now, he didn't care. There'd be time for the why of things later, but this moment was for what they were on the way to becoming. Going from casual flirting during work hours to the feel of Martin's fingers tugging at his shirt buttons may not have been the way Danny had fantasized things, but experience had taught him to take the moment for what it was worth and work out the details later.
Martin seemed to have the same idea as he gave in to Danny's fierce kiss and then responded with one of his own, twisting until he had them both prone on the floor with Danny beneath him. Questing hands and ragged sighs assured them both that dominance wasn't the goal here—it was pure tactile communication that left them breathless on the scratchy hi-lo carpet, tangled in each others' arms and drunk on the sensation of touch.
Eventually, Martin lifted his head and gave him a lopsided grin. They were both bare-chested, their shirts rolled into balls and tucked beneath Danny's head.
"So what happens next?" he murmured.
Danny ran his hand over Martin's mussed hair, smoothing it away from his temple. "What do you mean?"
"Just wondering. Need the oil changed in your car?"
"Ah, I get it. Nope, don't have a car."
"Damn. I'm really good at oil changes."
"I'll keep that in mind." Danny hesitated, wondering if he had the guts to ask if he could stay the night. When Martin bent down to kiss his shoulder, he took a deep breath. "Um—how good are you at making beds?"
Martin's head jerked up. Danny's heart sank when he saw no answering smile, but the world righted itself when Martin replied.
"Terrible," came the gruff whisper. "Flunked it every year at summer camp. Pretty good at messing them up, though. Wanna see?"
A handful of replies flashed through Danny's head, all of them flippant enough to send the deepening mood right back to a safe playfulness, but Martin's watchful eyes were requiring more from him than just an answer to his glib question. He licked at his bottom lip and nodded.
"Yeah. Yeah, I do."
Martin stood up and reached a hand down to pull Danny to his feet. He was starting to step back when Danny placed his fingertips lightly on the smooth skin above Martin's heart. He tried to smile but the smile broke as their gazes connected.
"Hey—you do realize—" He tried to smile again, only this time he made sure Martin saw every bit of his own defenselessness. "It's more than just your boyish good looks and winning personality, okay?"
Martin's eyes narrowed in confusion. "What?"
"You, Martin. You make it bearable. Every day I see you, all serious and acting so cynical about life—you try and hide behind all that crap but I see past it, you know? I see this." He stroked his knuckles down Martin's chest and then gathered his hand, tangling their fingers together as he shrugged. "Although you hid the accounting expertise pretty well, I'll grant you that."
Martin bit the side of his mouth, lowering his eyes to their intertwined hands. "I am a man of many talents."
"Show me."
Martin kept his head down, looking at Danny through his lashes. "May take a while."
Danny flipped his hand and grasped Martin's wrist, reeling him into his arms. Touching his nose lightly to Martin's, he lowered his voice to a smooth purr.
"That's exactly what I'm counting on." He brought Martin's hand up to his mouth and kissed it. "So—you ready for a little one-on-one?"
Martin laughed, an open, easy sound that Danny seldom heard. "Think that's what got me in trouble in the first place."
Danny's eyes widened. "Trouble? I got you out of playing b-ball with two of the worst players in our building!"
He tipped his head until his lips were even with Martin's ear.
"And I think it's time you started thanking me."
Also for Aithine, because she remembers when no one else does. Fandoms may come and go, but slivovitza is forever!
(And thanks to Tricia for checking things out for me to make sure I wasn't making an idiot of myself...)
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