"That'll be $21.79."
Balancing the pizza box on his fingertips, Danny handed the kid a twenty and a five with his free hand. "Keep the change, okay?"
He ignored the teenager's grunt of thanks and closed the door, breathing in the scent of sausage and garlic and cheese with the intensity of a man getting the first sniff of his last meal. He'd already been to the motel vending machine and purchased four cans of Coke at the ungodly price of two bucks each, placing them in a bucket filled with half-melted chunks of clear ice. Another three dollars in quarters had netted him one Kit Kat bar and a package of Junior Mints, now sitting side by side on the molded plastic tray that held a tiny coffee maker, four packages of generic French roast and two thick black mugs.
So far, this apology had cost him almost forty dollars, and he had no idea if it was going to work.
It'd been a long time since he'd seen Martin so angry. Check that—since he'd seen Martin so angry at him. Danny admitted he'd screwed up and had already apologized three times for being distracted, for getting hit on the head and for letting the uncooperative witness get away. As much as he hated being in the wrong, his inherent sense of honesty wouldn't let him just blow off the incident. The witness had eventually been found, interrogated and turned over to the local authorities, but not until the weather had turned bad and grounded all flights out of the local municipal airport. Martin had wanted to take the rental car all the way into Boston so they could wait out the storm at Logan, but Danny had talked him out of it, claiming that since his head hurt and they both needed sleep, a three hour drive in an ice storm wasn't the wisest idea. Martin had agreed and they'd found a small motel near the highway, where Martin had taken his key, told Danny to set his alarm for five a.m., and had stalked away.
Danny put the pizza down on the table before sitting on the edge of the bed to plan his next move. It was after eleven, but he knew that since neither of them had eaten any dinner, Martin had to be as hungry as he was. He also knew Martin was still awake; their rooms were next to each other and there was a tiny crack in the heavy drapes of Martin's that showed a sliver of light. Danny had peeked at it when the pizza had arrived, so he knew that he couldn't put it off any longer. He'd knock on Martin's door, offer to share the pizza, and hope that Martin had gotten over his snit and would agree to join him.
Or, he could just eat the pizza and let Martin fend for himself.
Who was he kidding, he thought with a silent laugh. How Martin felt, what Martin was doing—hell, what Martin was wearing—had become Danny's daily obsession. It was a screwy by-product of unrequited love, and Danny resented it because there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it except let it ride until the uncomfortable and inconvenient emotion passed.
Which didn't seem to be happening any time soon.
Danny took one last look around the room. Since they hadn't planned on an overnight stay, they'd had to find a 24-hour drug store for the basics. Danny had also picked up a New England Patriots tee shirt that he now pulled over his bare chest; his dress shirt and suit coat had suffered when he'd wrestled the rogue accountant to the ground in the middle of a muddy parking lot of a strip mall. He still had on his slacks, socks and shoes, so after a quick look in the mirror and a losing battle to smooth down his hair, he grabbed his key card, tucked it in his back pocket and headed to Martin's room.
When the door opened, Danny nearly lost his nerve. The scowl Martin was wearing had only deepened since they'd parted less than an hour earlier, but it didn't detract from the overall picture he presented. Untied shoes, blue shirt unbuttoned and loose over a white tee shirt and gray slacks and one of his uglier ties hanging around his neck, Martin stood inside the doorway with his hands on his hips, and Danny had to remind himself not to stare. Martin looked tired, rumpled and grumpy, but the falling sensation in Danny's stomach told him that this version of Martin was just as alarmingly attractive as any other he'd seen over the years. Even the unwelcoming expression on Martin's face wasn't daunting enough, so Danny gathered his wits and made his pitch.
"You hungry?" Danny asked. He nodded toward his own room. "I ordered pizza and there's enough for two."
"No, thanks."
The door started to close, so Danny stuck in his foot to stop it.
"Come on," he wheedled, "it's your favorite, the carnivore special with a side of macho. I told them to be sure to leave off anything that looked like a vegetable."
The stern lines around Martin's eyes eased a bit. "Yeah? Thick or thin?"
"Thick," Danny said promptly. "You up for it?"
Martin looked down at his feet, and when he looked up, Danny's hope that he'd made progress with his stubborn partner wilted and died.
"Pass."
The tersely worded refusal ignited Danny's anger. He'd tried to set aside the belief that Martin's attitude was entirely out of proportion to the situation, plus he'd never known Martin to hold a grudge, especially after an apology. The injustice of it all made him reckless, and as Martin began closing the door once more, he pressed his shoulder against it and pushed his way in.
"Okay, let's hear it." He shut the door and turned to face Martin, who'd backed up into the room until his legs were pressed against the bed. Martin had picked up his room's key card and was running his fingers around the edges, his gaze fixed steadfastly on the worn green carpeting.
"Hear what?"
"Don't give me that crap. You've been pissed off at me all day and I'm tired of it. I've apologized, I've tried to make nice by offering pizza, and all I'm getting from you is this holier than thou attitude, like you never made a mistake in your life."
Martin looked up, his expression carefully blank. "Is that all you've got to say? That you're tired of me being mad because you screwed up?"
"I'm not denying that I screwed up, but Jesus, it wasn't that big a deal. We got the CPA, got our answers, and now we're stuck in the Sleepy Time motel during an ice storm." He tried offering a smile, hoping to see a glimmer of light in the cool blue eyes. "At least you're not the one who got hit on the head with the Tax Code. That thing must weigh five pounds."
If he was hoping for a cessation of hostilities, he was disappointed. At the mention of Danny's injury, Martin drew himself up and jabbed an accusing finger his way.
"Yeah, let's talk about that. Let's talk about you being too busy flirting with that detective they assigned as our liaison to pay attention to the job."
Danny's outraged laugh had no humor in it. "Flirting? Is that what you thought I was doing?"
Martin nodded firmly. "Looked like it to me."
"Okay, for the record? I wasn't flirting, I was just passing the time. I think we were talking about the weather. Hardly what I'd call flirting."
"I hate to tell you this, but you could be reading the phone book out loud and it'd sound like flirting." The key card was tossed away, aimed at the dresser but falling short and landing on the carpet.
"What the hell do you mean by that?"
"What I mean is—" Martin threw up his hands. "Look, just forget it. Go eat your pizza and get some sleep."
"No, no, you tell me what you meant by that."
"Figure it out, Danny," Martin said, his voice fading on a tired sigh. "God. You know, some days I'd just like to kiss some sense into that thick head of yours."
Danny noticed the tone before the words and his anger flared hotter. "Oh, yeah? Well, maybe if that detective didn't look so much like you, I wouldn't have been flirting with him at—what did you just say?"
"Wait—what did you say?"
They stared at each other, both men wearing identical expressions of shock on their faces as their stances reflected their desire to flee or fight or both. Martin's hands were balled into fists, his arms stiff at his side, as Danny crossed his arms tightly over his chest.
"You said—"
"Kick," Martin interjected quickly. "I meant kick."
"Kick. Right." Danny willed his swiftly beating heart to slow as he tried to connect the unspoken dots of this conversation. Martin was mad because he'd thought Danny had been flirting with someone? A male someone? And Danny's own runaway tongue had revealed why he'd shown that kind of interest in the detective, although until he'd actually voiced the observation, he hadn't made that particular connection himself. "Martin, maybe we need to talk."
Danny's words shook Martin out of his frozen stance. He strode toward the door and reached for the knob.
"Not tonight. It's late and we both need—"
"Don't tell me what I need." Danny shoved aside Martin's hand and stepped into him until their chests brushed together. Martin stood his ground, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he stared defiantly into Danny's eyes.
"What's your problem, Taylor?"
"You are." Danny spoke softly, every nerve in his body alive to the man who stood so rigidly in front of him. Golden stubble lined the strong angles of Martin's cheeks and the need to run his finger along that rough skin hit Danny like a kick beneath his ribs. "All of a sudden, you are my problem."
Martin took a step back and grasped the door knob. He gave it a twist and flung the door open, letting it hit the wall with a thud as frigid air flooded the room and swirled around them.
"Let me solve that problem for you right now."
Danny caught the door on the rebound and shut it with exaggerated care. "Not this time. Not until you tell me why it mattered."
Martin didn't pretend to misunderstand. He shook his head and moved away from the door, shoulders slumping. The hostility between them evaporated in the wake of Martin's obvious discomfort, and as Danny watched with growing bewilderment, Martin sat down on the bed and buried his face in his hands.
"Martin?" he whispered, inchoate fear dissolving the anger that had gripped him earlier.
Martin scrubbed his hands over his face before letting them drop between his knees, forearms resting on his thighs. "It's my fault. Just let it go."
"I can't. Not until I understand what's going on."
Martin laughed, a bitter sound that scraped across Danny's nerves. "What's there to understand? Hell, it shouldn't make any difference to me who you flirt with, right? But it does. It has for a long time now. And there doesn't seem to be a damn thing I can do about it."
"I don't—"
"Leave it!" Martin raised his eyes to the ceiling, the corners of his mouth trembling as he attempted a shaky grin. "Damn it, Danny, this is all I have left. Don't take it away, okay?"
The wistful plea broke through the confusion clouding Danny's mind. He knew exactly what Martin was feeling—he'd felt it himself for months. Trying to capture the fleeting pleasures of working with someone who'd become so important, so essential, was a fool's game, but Danny was a master at playing it. The quick lunches, the long nights of tedious investigation, the silent glances of shared humor in the bullpen—they were stolen moments to be cherished, but they depended on maintaining the status quo and the ongoing easiness between them.
That level playing field of willful blindness had just shattered.
Martin had fallen silent, his gaze fixed on the middle distance of his own misery. Danny swallowed as the magnitude of what he was about do nearly drove him to turn around and run to the safety of his own hotel room, away from the truth and back to the sanctuary of ignorance. But there was aching loneliness coming off of Martin in waves, and it found its match inside Danny. Regardless of the consequences to his own heart—and even if it ended in a black eye and the end of their friendship—Danny realized it was worth the risk, because their relationship as they'd known it was over now anyway. He had nothing to lose.
It would have been easier to perch beside Martin on the bed, to bump his shoulder in a familiar and friendly gesture that would get them at least a little closer to normal. What Danny did instead was fall to his knees beside the bed and place his hand on Martin's thigh, giving it a light squeeze to gain his attention and force him to look him in the eye.
"When I was talking to that cop?" He spoke quietly, his tone confessional. "I was flirting, I admit it. But do you know why?"
Martin cleared his throat before replying. "You said he looked like me."
"Yeah, he did, a little. But more importantly, I wanted him to be you. I wanted that because he was flirting back. Do you hear what I'm saying?"
"I hear you." Martin's voice dropped to a ragged rumble. "Man, I hear you, but I don't believe you."
"Why not?"
"Because I know you, Danny." Martin ducked his head to stare at his hands. "Maybe you want the same thing I do and maybe you don't, but I'm not willing to take that chance. I've learned to live with what I have. Let's leave it at that."
Danny guessed that Martin would expect him to get pissed and back off. "You are so full of crap," he murmured instead, knowing the truth was in his eyes and that Martin would see it if he'd just look up. He reached between Martin's knees to lay his hand over Martin's knotted fingers. "Look, you want to be all noble, I get that. But right now, I'm not looking for anything more than the opportunity to show you how I feel. Scary as hell, I know, but you can't get rid of me that easily."
For the first time since Danny had entered Martin's room, Martin lifted his head and gave him a genuine, if reluctant grin. "I don't want to get rid of you, but I sure as hell don't know what do to with you."
Now it was Danny who couldn't look at Martin. The diffident attempt at humor, the voice roughened with some deeper emotion—it was so much of what Danny had come to cherish about Martin that he lowered his eyes to their joined hands in self-defense.
"Stop doing that," Danny muttered, determinedly addressing Martin's knee.
"Doing what?"
"Oh, you know. Being Martin." He heard a soft grunt of laughter but didn't look up. "Maybe you should've tossed me out of here when you had the chance."
Danny felt a soft, warm exhalation on his temple as Martin leaned forward. "Why?"
"Because you're not the only one who's not sure what to do next."
"Great, now you tell me." He could hear the amusement in Martin's voice and he bit at his lower lip, hope and fear warring inside him. "I guess neither of us expected me to call your bluff. How's the head?"
Thrown by the sudden change of subject, Danny shrugged. "It's okay."
"You sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure." Danny tilted his head away to glare at Martin. "You're the one who said I had a thick head, remember?"
"Oh, yeah, I guess I did say that. Well, maybe I should have a look."
Martin disentangled his hands from Danny's grasp to press his palms to either side of Danny's head, tipping it forward. Danny let his eyes fall shut, suddenly poised on a knife edge of exquisite anticipation as long fingers explored the inconsequential bump. There was nothing clinical in the drifting caresses that floated over his ears, thumbs skimming along his hairline, fingertips sliding over his neck with a massage-like stroke. Every muscle in Danny's body began to tense, ankles and elbows tightening as tendrils of arousal began to spread through his abdomen.
When Martin spoke again, his mouth was beside Danny's ear.
"Yeah, I think you'll live."
Martin placed a tiny kiss on his earlobe and Danny shuddered, the innocent touch rocking him to the soles of his feet and lighting his still-closed eyes with starbursts of pleasure. He started to pull back, intuitively needing to see Martin's face, but was prevented as Martin's hands landed on either side of his head once more, holding him still. There was a brief touch of Martin's forehead to his, and then Martin dropped another swift kiss on the corner of Danny's mouth.
Remaining motionless had never been one of Danny's best qualities, and the silent seduction of Martin's hands had left him trembling with the need to move. He felt Martin's retreat, his hands dropping away and the warmth of his body receding as he shifted back to await Danny's reaction.
Released from the spell that Martin had cast, Danny surged upward. He saw a look of surprised anticipation in Martin's eyes as he slowly wrapped the two ends of Martin's tie around his fist to draw him close. Pausing just long enough to take a breath, Danny tucked his other hand beneath the open flap of Martin's shirt and spread his fingers along his ribcage, lightly caressing the cotton and the skin beneath it.
Hesitation and doubts were relegated to a shadowy past that held no power over the breathtaking reality of Martin in his arms. With a fevered murmur that was equal parts plea and demand, Danny pressed his lips to Martin's and tasted for the first time the flavor he'd craved for so long, finding that Martin's mouth was everything Danny had dreamed on all those dark nights when hopeless desire had kept him from sleeping. Sweet and hot, responsive and giving, Danny felt the deep pull of addiction and wanted nothing more than to drink his fill of what was so generously offered.
Martin's satisfaction with the situation was manifested by his enthusiastic participation as well as the carefully restrained strength he used to haul Danny from the floor and onto the bed. They parted only long enough to change depth and angle, tongues stroking and sharing and never pausing in this first, unhurried exploration of each other's body. Curling into each other on the bedspread, arms and legs entwining, they toed off their shoes to let them fall unwitnessed to the carpet. Two pairs of sock-clad feet—one of navy blue, the other of deep tan—tangled together, grasping toes hiking up pant hems to explore. Knees and hips rocked together, colliding as they sought to get closer to one another, two normally athletic and competent men reduced to the tender clumsiness of new lovers, eager to please and afraid of missteps.
For Danny, it was a feast of sensation, texture and taste. He found the skin beneath Martin's day-old growth of beard as enticing as he'd imagined, but no more seductive than the velvety curve of his ear or the strong muscles at the base of his throat. As his senses filled, he knew he wanted more, and when Martin's talented fingers began to work at the buckle of Danny's belt, he was reassured that the desire was completely reciprocated.
At least that's what he thought, until Martin rolled him over on to his back before sitting up on the bed. Danny blinked at him, registering the flushed cheeks and rapid breathing that matched his own state, not understanding why things had stopped. He reached out and rubbed the small of Martin's back, wordlessly asking if anything was wrong.
With a deep inhalation, Martin lay back on his side next to Danny, propping his head on one hand and resting his other on Danny's abdomen.
"You okay?" Danny whispered. He trailed a knuckle down Martin's cheek and was rewarded with a sheepish grin.
"I'm fine," Martin replied. "But," he continued, dropping his gaze, "as much as I want this—hell, as much as I want you—I can't let this happen if this is all that there is."
A tiny thread of uneasiness banished the last of the erotic fog from Danny's eyes. "Not sure what you mean," he said neutrally.
Martin's eyes widened. "You don't? You can't see that I'm scared to death here that in the morning, when we get back to the office, everything will go back to the way it was?"
"You mean—"
"I mean, you, me, co-workers and nothing else. I mean that you'll look back on this and be kind of embarrassed about it, and you'll be all weird around me, and—why are you laughing?"
"Oh, Martin." Danny fought back the delighted relief inside him that threatened to break out again in laughter that had already been misunderstood once. "I said you were full of crap, but I didn't know the half of it."
Rising up on his elbow, he brought himself level with Martin. He looked over the troubled expression with loving eyes, somehow unsurprised that Martin had managed to worry himself over nothing, but now he had to convince Martin that nothing was all that it was. Martin remained silent, his gaze resting on Danny's face with poorly concealed hope.
"Listen to me," Danny said. "Listen to me good. Maybe a two-bit motel next to the Interstate wasn't my first choice for this to begin, but nothing, and no one, is going to stop me from coming after you. Not the job, not Jack—nothing. We get back to New York, we start making plans."
"Plans?" Martin's tone was playfully suspicious, his eyes shining once more. "What kind of plans?"
Danny knocked out Martin's supporting arm and pushed him to lie flat on the bed. Sitting up, he stripped off his tee shirt and tossed it aside before throwing his leg over Martin's hip to straddle him with his knees. Running his forefinger down Martin's forehead to erase the elusive crease between his brows, he ended with a tap on the end of Martin's nose.
"The kind of plans that will make you believe in me. Believe in us," he amended.
"Oh, God, Danny." Martin reached for him, gathering him close until their mouths were less than an inch apart. "Don't you know I'm a believer already?"
~~
Danny awoke to the very pleasant sensation of someone kissing the base of his spine. He opened his eyes slowly, trying to orient himself, but the blackout curtains gave him no clue to the time of day. The soft kisses stopped and he sighed, grinning happily into the pillow he clutched to his chest.
He really didn't give a damn what time it was. The sated lethargy that softened his bones was enough to keep him where he was—naked, face down on white sheets in the middle of Nowhere, Mass—but the quickening beat of his heart reminded him that there was so much more waiting for him once he was fully awake.
Memories of the night floated to the surface of his slowly brightening consciousness, bringing with them a kind of awestruck happiness that Danny had never before experienced. It was more than just sex, he thought, delighted that his instincts had been right on the money. Lusting after someone was just simple human nature, and good sex can be the result when two willing people come together. But with Martin, he'd suspected—hoped—that there was a connection beyond both the physical attraction and the hard-won friendship that served as the foundation of their relationship.
If anything, making love had been an extension of everything they'd done, shared, and been to each other since the day Jack had introduced Martin to the team. Even the competition that had once had them glaring at each other across conference tables on a daily basis had found its passionate equal in their night-long contest to bring unbearable pleasure to each other. They'd loved one another into near unconsciousness, until one whispered confession and an answering, breathless declaration had started the process all over again.
And damn, the sex had been so good.
The bed dipped near his hip but before he could turn his head, a firm hand was placed on his shoulder blade, telling him not to move. His inclination to do so was extinguished when he experienced another gentle nibble, this one a few inches higher on his back. The exquisite torture continued up the length of his spine and by the time a lingering kiss was bestowed on his neck, he was anxious to confront Martin and do a little torturing of his own.
He flexed his back muscles, indicating that he was on the move before he twisted on the bed, flipping onto his back to find Martin grinning down at him. Just the brilliance of his smile was enough to make Danny grin in return, but the fact that Martin was wearing the discarded Patriots tee shirt teased a laugh out him, a laugh that was quickly stifled when Martin's mouth came down on his.
"Mmm," Danny licked the corner of Martin's lips as the kiss broke. "Chocolate. And mint?"
Martin dropped a kiss on the edge of Danny's nose. "Yeah, I went next door to grab some of your stuff and found the Junior Mints. Since I didn't get any dinner—"
"Yeah, whose fault was that?"
"Yours. So, no dinner, but I figured you wouldn't mind if I appropriated your stash. By the way, you make a nice candy dish."
"Hey, I was gonna share those anyway."
"Sure you were. I had to toss the pizza but I did get us some coffee from the motel lobby. Oh, and they had some kind of muffin things, too. I saved you the blueberry one."
"That's what I like about you, Martin. Even off the job, you're a Boy Scout." He punched Martin lightly on the arm. "Way to forage, Special Agent."
Martin fished another Junior Mint out of the box and popped it into Danny's mouth. "And like any good Boy Scout, I called the pack leader and told him we were running late."
Danny nearly choked. "You called Jack? What time is it?"
"A little after eight."
"Oh, my God." Danny covered his eyes with his forearm. "How late did you tell him we'd be?"
"Told him we wouldn't be back until tomorrow. The roads are still a mess but the weather's supposed to clear out enough so we can drive to Logan later this afternoon and catch a commuter back to JFK."
Danny uncovered his face to peek at Martin, the realization of hours alone with Martin beginning to spread a warm glow of anticipation through his veins. "You've got it all worked out. How long have you been awake?"
"Maybe an hour. Long enough to grab a shower and get something to tide us over until you buy me lunch."
Danny stretched his arms to the headboard before curling them beneath his head, noting smugly the slightly glassy expression in Martin's eyes as he watched the exhibition. "Oh? Want to tell me why I'm buying you lunch and not breakfast?"
Martin bit his lip, a picture of regret. "Sorry, man. I think we're going to be a little late for breakfast." He poured the remainder of the Junior Mints into his palm and began placing them in a line, starting at the base of Danny's throat. By the time the candy was about to be dropped on the quivering skin below his belly button, Danny no longer cared who was buying what or why or when. The Patriots shirt was once tossed aside once more, this time landing on the nightstand to partially drape two identical ID wallets and a pair of hip holsters resting side by side next to the cheap plastic alarm clock.
And later—much later—Danny would reach the conclusion that for the first time in his life, being wrong had made everything right.