It was a slow day, with no new case on the boards. Martin had just returned from lunch, and noticing Danny and Sam staring through the glass walls into Jack's office, filled his coffee cup and wandered over to see what had them so riveted.
"What's going on?"
"See that guy?" Danny gestured toward the man in Jack's office, someone Martin didn't recognize. "That's Al Cramer."
"Name's familiar."
"He's the assistant bureau chief for the New Jersey office." Sam gave Martin a fleeting smile. "When we were short-handed a few years ago, he sent over a couple of his agents to help out."
Martin frowned. "Must've been before my time."
"Not exactly." Danny crossed his arms over his chest and looked at nothing in particular. "It was when you and Viv were both out."
"Oh. Right, I remember hearing about that." Martin took a deep sip of coffee to cover the suddenly uncomfortable moment. "So why do you think he's here now? And looking mighty pissed off, I might add."
"No more pissed off than Jack. Uh, oh." Sam straightened from the table she'd been perched on. "Looks like we're about to find out."
They scattered, each one trying to look occupied and knowing that Jack wouldn't be fooled. Martin sat down at his desk and busied himself with a folder as a scowling Jack entered the inner circle of the bullpen.
"Listen up, people." Jack paused long enough for Viv to conclude her phone call and turn his way. "Special Agent Cramer from the New Jersey office has asked for our help on an ongoing case involving organized crime. Despite my—concerns—I've been asked to give him our complete cooperation."
Viv stood up from her desk to perch her hip on the end of the conference table. "Jack, we're shorthanded already. Can we really spare another agent?"
Martin looked down at his hands, fighting the inclination to look over his shoulder at the empty desk that Elena Delgado once occupied.
"SAC Olczyk has decided, in his infinite wisdom, that while I'm completing the interview process for Agent Delgado's replacement, this team will stand down. As of this afternoon, we are no longer on the active roster. We'll be utilized in assisting other squads until we're manned up again."
"That's crap." Danny tossed the pen he'd been holding aside. "There's no reason in hell to shut us down. We've been doing just fine and Olczyk knows it."
Martin breathed out a sigh of relief as Jack bit back a heated retort. Like all them, Jack had stepped softly around Danny since Elena had left the squad the week before. Danny and Elena's romance hadn't been able to survive the fallout of Sophie's custody battle and they'd gone their separate ways almost two months previously. Despite the difficult circumstances, they'd worked to maintain a professional relationship, but in the end, Elena had asked for a transfer to a department that demanded less time away from her daughter.
For Martin, watching from the sidelines, the weeks since Danny and Elena had broken up had been bittersweet. He'd resolved to stay out of it, knowing full well how difficult it was to work beside someone with whom you'd once been intimate. But the night after Danny and Elena had called it quits, Danny had phoned Martin at his apartment, obviously needing someone to talk to. Martin had been more than willing to be that someone, knowing that if he couldn't be anything else to Danny but a friend, then he'd gladly settle for what he could get.
Maybe not gladly, Martin thought as he waited for Jack's reply. Falling in love with a co-worker was never a good idea, but Martin had long ago faced up to the fact that he hadn't learned that lesson the first time around with Samantha. Their brief, unhappy affair should have been all he needed to warn him off from developing feelings for a colleague, but he also knew that of the all the things in life he could control, his heart wasn't one of them. And that same stubborn, wayward heart of his had placed itself right at Danny's feet, just in time to get trampled as Danny and Elena's relationship had taken off.
Over the intervening months since the breakup, Martin and Danny had grown closer. After a while, Martin found he no longer had to steel himself for Danny's late night confessions of frustration and longing; their after-hours conversations had eventually turned from Elena and more toward the kind of talk shared by two good friends. As Danny had slowly gotten over his broken heart, he'd lifted his head and finally taken a look around the world again. Instead of using Martin as a sympathetic ear, he began inquiring about Martin's life, and soon their time together outside of work was something Martin treasured instead of endured.
Then Elena had ultimately quit, and Danny had taken it hard. Martin wasn't sure why, but he guessed that Danny was blaming himself for somehow failing her. The bond between Martin and Danny had been abruptly severed, Danny preferring his own company after work as he firmly refused all of Martin's attempts to get him to open up once more.
"Look, I know we've been handling things okay," Jack was saying slowly, a clear indication of his own frustration. "But by taking the team off line, it allows me to send two of you on this assignment instead of one."
"Great." Sam stood up and stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets. "I'll volunteer."
"Not taking any volunteers," Jack said. "Besides, you wouldn't be much help on this case."
Predictably, Sam bristled at Jack's blunt assessment. "Why not?"
"You'll figure it out soon enough. Martin, Danny, you're with me."
The face in the photo was aggressively handsome, with slanted green eyes set in a slender face framed by wavy brown hair. Martin studied the face before handing the picture to Danny.
"I thought the Mob frowned on gays in their ranks."
Al Cramer shrugged and shifted his hips against Jack's credenza. "That's the general consensus, even without the Sopranos version of things. But this kid Joey Parrone has two things working for him. One, he's Mikey Parrone's little brother and two, he's taken the MBA he earned at Georgetown and uses it to dream up new ways to launder money. No one in the family knew he was a homosexual until recently—word is Joey was having boys on the side until Mikey found out about it. Now he keeps the kid on a short leash—as long as he's discreet, keeps coming up with ways to clean the cash and doesn't bring home a boyfriend to meet mama, he can do whatever or whoever he likes. Within reason."
Danny tossed the photo onto Jack's desk. "So why do you need us?"
Cramer directed a scowl toward an impassive Jack. "I don't need both of you, I only need you, Agent Taylor. But your boss here insists that I take Agent Fitzgerald as backup as well. Seems he doesn't think we can take care of you over there in the wilds of New Jersey."
Jack grunted. "Enough with the editorializing, Al. Let them know what you want."
"Right. It's a pretty straightforward set-up. Joey's not looking for a long term relationship, if you know what I mean. His last boyfriend didn't last much above a week and Joey's been looking around for a new one. And, to put it delicately, Agent Taylor, you're just his type."
"What does that mean, his type?"
"Latino," Cramer said in blunt assessment. "Dark, young. We had an agent lined up for the job but he came down with appendicitis a couple of weeks ago. We still intend to insert him but if Joey doesn't get a little action along the way, he'll lose interest and move on, despite what his brother says."
"So what if he does?"
"One of our undercover agents has passed on intel that Joey's looking to strike out on his own, that he's found ways to move money through the pipeline that doesn't sit well with the old guard. If he does, he'll be staking out new territory and we don't want that, so we're trying to keep him local until we know his next move."
"So this is just temporary?"
"Very temporary. And you're not our first choice, Agent Taylor. You're a little too old, for one thing. But the club is dark and with the right clothing, we think you can pull it off. Oh, and you need to work on your accent. Think more fresh off the boat, not right off the ferry."
Martin covered a smile beneath his hand as Danny began to splutter. "What? Jack, you gotta be kidding me. I'm not gonna play some—some gigolo for a second rate Mob money washer."
Jack held up a placating hand. "Look, I know it's not our normal kind of business, but this isn't open for debate.
It's a done deal, and you can chew me out me later if you want, but for right now, you need to listen."
Danny was still looking mutinous, so Martin stepped in. "Okay, so how is this supposed to tie in with your investigation?"
"Joey's allowed to hang out at a gay bar in Newark. Mostly middle-class, although some rough trade comes around on Friday and Saturday. That's where he met his last boyfriend and he's been hanging around and chatting up the local talent in search of a new one. We'd like that man to be you, Agent Taylor."
"Yeah? And then what?" Danny shifted in his chair, his body radiating angry energy. "Jack? How far do I have to let this go?"
"Not as far as you think, okay? We just want you to strike up a conversation at the bar, be friendly, that's it."
"That's it?" Danny's dubious tone conveyed his lack of belief in the plan.
"That's it," Cramer affirmed. "Even if you get nothing out of him, he'll be more comfortable with the next guy that comes along, and as soon as I get my manpower back up to speed I can pull you out and plant one of my own. The point is to keep Joey occupied while we work out our next moves."
"Sounds simple." Martin glanced at Jack, who was still looking uncomfortable. "Why do I think there's more to than that?"
"There is a rumor," Cramer said slowly, "that the Notti brothers are unhappy with the way Mikey's been running things. If that's true, then a good way to get at Mikey is through Joey."
"So you're putting us in the middle of a Mob turf war?" Danny turned to Martin with a raised eyebrow. "Now at least it's getting interesting."
"Only you would think that was a good thing," Martin replied with an answering grin. It faded as he faced Jack. "So what about me?"
"Glad you asked. Hang on." Jack opened the office door where another agent was waiting to hand him a paper bag. He thanked the agent and tossed the bag to Martin, who caught it and pulled out a large book, turning it so the ubiquitous yellow and black cover was readable.
"Bartending For Dummies," Martin read aloud. "That means—"
"You need to know the difference between a Gibson and a Manhattan by Sunday. That's when you two go live."
"Gimme another."
Martin picked up the empty shot glass and wiped down the counter with a damp cloth. "I think you've had enough, Scottie. Let me call you a cab."
"Fuck you." The tough words were softened by a friendly, gap-toothed smile that Martin couldn't help but return. In the nights that he'd been covering the last bar shift at Sauce For the Gander, Martin had started to learn the clientèle, among them the blond-haired, diminutive and likable alcoholic, Scottie.
"C'mon, Marty," Scottie wheedled. "Gimme another and I'll give you a b.j. in the alley."
Tossing the cloth aside, Martin shook his head. "Sorry, man. You're cut off. Take it on home."
Scottie steadied himself against the bar as he climbed off the plushly padded stool. "Aw, you're no fun. What's it gonna take to make you say yes, old man?"
Martin rolled the bar towel into a loose spiral and snapped it gently in Scottie's direction. "Keep up that crap and I'm going to start watering down your shots. Go wait outside while I call the cab company."
Scottie pointed a sleepy-eyed pout in Martin's direction before blowing him an over-the-shoulder kiss on the way to the men's room. Martin placed the call for a taxi before moving around the mahogany bar, picking up glasses and trash as he worked his way to where Danny sat, still drinking alone after two nights undercover.
Grabbing a napkin, he tossed it beside Danny's empty glass. "Another?"
Danny paused, then nodded. Martin swept away the dirty glass and made what looked like a gin tonic, but was in truth only tonic and lime. He set the fresh drink and a full bowl of peanuts in front of Danny and moved on, neither of them attempting eye contact, but Martin knew that Danny was infinitely more miserable than he was.
Martin had started two days earlier than Danny to learn how to work the bar and receive a handful of black tee shirts with a red Canadian goose silk-screened on the front. He was ten years older than any of the other bartenders and waiters but the knowledge that he could easily outrun any of them was little comfort, considering how they at first treated him like he was sixty-eight instead of thirty-eight. His cover for having been given the job in the first place was that he was down on his luck and the owner, now conveniently out of town, owed him a huge favor. Martin had skillfully and mysteriously embroidered the story until the younger staff began to accept him, so by the time Danny showed up and began downing his fake gin tonics, Martin was amused to find himself regarded as a world-weary, gay older brother who was easy to confide in. Soon he knew who everyone had slept with, wanted to sleep with, or wouldn't sleep with on a bet. He'd received several offers along those lines from the staff and more from the customers, all of which he turned away with an enigmatic smile and hints of a long term relationship waiting for him at home.
Danny showed up on Martin's third night, a Tuesday, looking far too good for Martin's peace of mind. Long since inured to his visceral reaction to Danny Taylor, Martin had been shocked to feel his body grow taut when he spotted Danny skirting the parquet dance floor on his way to the bar. Forcing himself not to stare, Martin had grabbed a glass and a towel to polish it, looking everywhere but at the walking wet dream that Danny had become.
This he hadn't planned on. It'd taken Martin months to find a balance between the things he felt for Danny—love, lust, friendship—and the need to treat him like any other co-worker. With Danny's attention fully on Elena, it'd been easier for Martin and he hadn't had to try so hard to hide his more intimate feelings. Now, with Elena gone and the two of them working together away from the rest of the team, Martin was finding it difficult to keep everything separate.
Difficult had become damn near impossible the night Danny arrived at the Gander. The long legs that Martin had admired for years were clad in black suede pants that lovingly cradled his outlined groin. The black silk tee shirt Danny wore was equally distracting, thin fabric rippling as it hinted at the well-defined muscles beneath it. Around his neck Danny wore a black silk cord with a tiny silver pendant shaped like a teardrop that nestled in the hollow of his throat. Artfully mussed hair and a days' growth of beard completed the ensemble and since Martin couldn't bear to look at Danny directly, he could easily observe that nearly every man in the place was suddenly having trouble breathing.
In a bar catering to mostly white, lonely gay men, Danny was a slice of sex that had the room knocked back on its collective ass.
It was the same thing on Wednesday. A slight variation on Danny's apparel hadn't stopped the regulars from gaping at him, many of them sending him drinks or parking themselves on the bar stool next to his and trying to start a conversation. Even in a middle-class club like the Gander, hook-ups were easy and plentiful, but Danny turned them all down with a grin and a joke. He chatted, he flirted, but he went home alone, leaving the patrons who were paying attention to wonder about the gorgeous, dark-haired man who everyone wanted but no one could touch.
Martin could tell that Danny hated it every minute of it. He preferred action to sitting and waiting; the passive nature of this kind of assignment was certain to be grating on his nerves. At Danny's insistence, Martin called Danny after the bar had closed as separately they made their way back to New York. It was Danny's way of making sure that Martin had extracted himself from his own undercover life, and the intimate time they spent talking once again became the highlight of Martin's day. Martin would listen sympathetically as Danny decompressed, then try to lighten the mood by telling tales of his own adventures as a bartender. Through Martin's words, Danny got to know The Twins, a pair of waiters named Scott and Sam, former lovers who resembled each other so closely everyone thought they were brothers, especially since they'd managed to remain affectionate friends. Then there was the older couple that occupied the same booth every night, one of them always wearing a knitted pink scarf, the other a green wool beret, their devotion obvious as they chatted over their Brandy Alexanders, hands interlocked on the table. And Martin's favorite, Scottie, the part time hustler who had a sick mother at home, who told dirty stories, drank too much, and left with anyone who bought him a drink.
Like the nights spent with Danny after he'd broken up with Elena, Martin treasured the time for what it was, and didn't look for anything beyond the pleasure of Danny's friendship. It was the only thing that made the job bearable.
It was Danny's second night and Joey had yet to show up. Cramer's team had been scrambling behind the scenes to find out what had happened to him and had only that day gotten the info to Danny and Martin that Joey had holed up with a hooker in Atlantic City the week before. Mikey had been furious and had made Joey spend the weekend with their mother in the Adirondacks and he'd just that day gotten back to town. From a wire-tapped phone call, they knew that Joey was ready to go out again, so Martin knew Danny was on edge more than ever, anxious to get the job underway. Martin couldn't agree more, since some sadistic twist of fate had placed him in a situation where he was faced with the Danny Taylor of his erotic dreams.
It was still early enough for them to expect Joey to show up, so Martin kept moving, doing his job and keeping an eye on the door. A quick survey of the room showed it was a little busier than usual, with most of the regular customers comfortably ensconced in their booths or tables. There were a few newcomers, including an older man with a bad comb over who hadn't stopped staring at Danny since he'd walked in the door. Since Danny stood out like a peacock in a flock of sparrows, that wasn't unusual. Nor was the order to send Danny a drink with his compliments. Martin fixed another fake gin tonic and set it next to the untouched drink at Danny's elbow.
"From the gentleman at the table to your right," Martin murmured.
"Great," Danny muttered, before pasting on a smile and looking over his shoulder. His benefactor, who Martin quickly summed up as a mid-level manager in a cheap suit, lifted his own glass and saluted Danny. Encouraged by Danny's smile, he stood up with the obvious intention of joining him.
Martin knew how uncomfortable Danny had become with this kind of attention and was trying to think of a way to stop the man's progression when he saw Joey Parrone stroll into the club. Now it was imperative that at least one of the seats next to Danny remain unoccupied. Joey had already spotted Danny and was approaching the bar, his angle bringing him in just a little ahead of the guy in the suit. Pretending to reach for the peanut bowl, Martin brushed one of Danny's drinks so that it tipped over and splashed the seat on Danny's right.
"Oh, man, I'm sorry. Here, let me clean that up."
Grabbing a towel, Martin skirted the edge of the bar and let Joey step in front of him before blocking the older man to wipe off the seat. As Joey sat down on Danny's left, Martin passed the cloth over the soaked fabric before turning to Cheap Suit who was waiting impatiently.
"Sorry," he said with a shrug. "There's another seat available at the other end. This one's going to need to dry out."
The older man stared at Martin, hostility pouring from watery blue eyes, before he turned and walked down the length of the bar to take a seat beside Scottie. Martin draped the damp towel over the seat and then resumed his place behind the bar, tossing a napkin toward Joey's elbow and asking him what he wanted.
"Dewar's, straight up." He never looked Martin's way, his gaze resting on Danny's profile. Danny's eyes were on his drink, fixed on some inner vision that intrigued Martin as much as anyone. But from where Martin stood behind the bar, he was also perfectly positioned to see the flirtatious smile that Danny bestowed on Joey Parrone, and his own heart stuttered in reaction before thudding on.
Connection made, now all Danny had to do was encourage Joey to talk, tease him with promises he had no intention of fulfilling, and stay alert for anything Joey might let slip until the undercover agent who had trained for this assignment was available. Like every other man in the room, Martin had noticed that Joey and Danny together made an attractive couple, Joey's slick good looks and Danny's exotic beauty drawing all eyes. Even knowing that Danny was acting wasn't making things easier on Martin; now that Danny was into his role, he was turning on the charm and Joey was falling fast.
It was a good beginning, but Danny knew better than to overplay it. After half an hour of intimate conversation—and one instance where Martin watched as Danny discreetly removed Joey's hand from his thigh—Danny made his excuses and his exit, much to Martin's relief. It was still an hour until closing, an hour that would drag as Martin anticipated listening to an exhilarated Danny on the way home.
Forty-five minutes later, Martin made last call and began shutting down the bar. There were only a few patrons left, including the man in the suit and Scottie, who'd seemed to have hit it off after Martin's defensive move to keep Danny clear. Something about Cheap Suit was bothering Martin and he was too experienced to ignore his instincts. He moved down to where the two men sat and dropped their tabs on the bar before giving Scottie a pointed look.
"Closing time, Scottie. I'll get you a cab."
"That's not necessary." Cheap Suit picked up both tabs and squinted at the amounts before pulling out his wallet. "I'll take care of these."
"Thanks, Phillip." Scottie was drunk, but not so drunk that he didn't know he was being bought for the night. He gave Martin a resigned grin as he stumbled to his feet, swaying as he waited for Cheap Suit to settle the tabs. The older man took out just enough cash to cover the bills—nothing extra for a tip—and then grasped Scottie above the elbow.
"Scottie, wait." Martin realized he was being foolish—Scottie was an adult and this wasn't the first time he'd been taken home for the price of a couple of shots. Scottie turned back, blearily confused but standing his ground as Cheap Suit—Phillip—pulled on his arm.
"Your mom," Martin said in a rush. "Didn't you say she was expecting you?"
"Nah." Scottie waved his head from side to side. "It's bridge night—my aunt always stays over and I'd have to sleep on the couch anyway."
Martin ignored the blistering look sent his way by Phillip and pressed on. "She may need you in the morning, right?"
"I"ll see he gets home." Phillip tightened his hold on Scottie and led him away, sending one more malevolent glance in Martin's direction.
Shaking off the nagging feeling that he'd let Scottie down, Martin finished closing the bar and left, walking the half block past warehouses and auto parts stores to where he parked his rental car. It was misting heavily, a welcoming, cool breeze lifting the hair of his neck and clearing his head. As he pulled out into the empty street, he was reaching for his cell phone when a flash of white passing through his headlights made him hit the brakes.
It was a man, that much he knew, rushing from the far side of the street past his car and into an alley. It took maybe five seconds for Martin to picture Scottie in his white, button-down shirt and jeans and then he was pulling over and jumping out of the car.
The street looked deserted and there was little light to penetrate the alley. Wishing he had a flashlight, Martin stepped carefully to the mouth of the alley, his eyes adjusting enough to make out the hulking outline of an industrial-sized garbage can propped against the wall. He gave a brief thought to pulling out the semi he had tucked away in his ankle holster, but decided against it since he was still so close to the Gander. Sweeping the street with his eyes once more, he pressed against the corner and called out.
"Scottie? Hey, it's Marty. You okay?" A sniffling sob was his reply, confirming his fears. "Listen, I'm going to come get you. Where are you?"
"Behind the dumpster."
"Okay, here I come. Don't move, okay?"
Using the rough wall to guide him in the almost absolute darkness, Martin felt his way along until he was up against the garbage can. More snuffling guided him around the edge until he could just make out Scottie huddled in a corner, his knees drawn up to his chest and his head bowed.
Martin knelt beside him and touched his shoulder. "Are you hurt? Can you walk?"
"I'm okay." Scottie held out a shaking hand and Martin took it, carefully levering him to his feet. He slipped an arm around Scottie's shoulder and led him out of the alley. When they reached his car, he turned Scottie around and propped him against the fender to get a good look at him.
"Jesus," he muttered. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket to blot away the clots of blood that had gathered around a cut on Scottie's eye, relieved to see nothing more serious. "You want to tell me what happened?"
Scottie winced and wrapped his arms around his waist. "Phillip was nasty, Marty. Really nasty. He tried to get me in the back of his car instead of taking me some place nice, like he promised." Scottie's lip quivered as he lowered his eyes. "I said no, 'cause it felt wrong, you know? But he-he wouldn't let me go. And so I kicked him." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Then he kicked me back. A lot. I hate it when they do that."
Tears slipped down Scottie's cheeks and Martin blotted them away. "Shhh, it's okay. Let's get you to a hospital—"
The sound of wheels screeching across the asphalt caught Martin's attention. Looking up, he was surprised to see Danny's car pulling up behind his, nearly hitting the bumper. The car door flew open and Danny leaped out, swiftly edging around the two vehicles to come up to Martin's side and grab his arm.
"Martin, you all right?" He was breathing hard, dark eyes glinting as they searched Martin's face.
"Hey, look, it's the hottie from the bar," Scottie murmured appreciatively. "I didn't know you two knew each other." His legs gave out and Martin caught him by the armpits, letting him find his balance against the car before turning to answer Danny.
"I'm fine. What are you doing here? You should be halfway home by now."
"You didn't call." Danny shrugged and looked past Martin's shoulder. "I was waiting."
"Waiting? Where?"
Hands on his hips, Danny turned his gaze downward to study the rubbish-strewn ground at his feet. "At the Stop-n-Shop near the on ramp. You didn't call, so I started driving around."
"Why—wait, hang on. I need to get Scottie to an E.R."
Scottie shook his head and tried to pull away from Martin's grasp. "No, just take me home."
"No can do, man. You need to get checked out and you need to file a report with the police."
"Aw, Marty," Scottie rubbed at the drying blood beneath his nose before throwing Martin a pitying glance. "You're cute, but you're kinda dumb. The cops don't give a fuck about me, okay? I'm not gonna report anything, so just take me home. I'll make it worth your while." He wiggled his eyebrows in a parody of suggestion before he crumpled inward, clenching his teeth against the pain of bruised ribs.
"Give it a rest," Martin said wearily. "You can go home after a doctor checks you out." He unlocked the car and guided Scottie into the passenger seat with Danny's help. After closing the door, he turned to Danny with a rueful smile.
"You may as well head out. Looks like I'm going to be here for a while."
To his surprise, Danny grinned at him. "And let you have all the fun of a New Jersey emergency room in the middle of night? Forget it, Marty. Come on." Danny tossed his keys in the air and caught them behind his back. "Nearest E.R. is on Bergen, Galahad. Follow me."
"You guys make a cute couple."
Scottie declared his sleepy assessment as Martin pulled up to Scottie's house. "Who does?" he asked absently. It was nearly dawn, his legs and hip were aching and his eyes were gritty with fatigue. It'd taken almost four hours for a doctor to pronounce Scottie well enough to go home, and now all Martin wanted to do was crawl into bed, turn off his brain and go to sleep.
"You and the hottie." Scottie yawned and reached for the door handle. "I can't believe you two haven't hooked up, the way you guys acted around each other all night. Man, talk about a sexy vibe—you guys were practically fogging up the windows."
"I told you, I just know him from the bar and I never date the patrons."
"Whatever." Scottie climbed out and held the door open as he carefully bent over to speak to Martin. "But you might want to tell him to stay away from Joey."
That caught Martin's attention. He leaned across the passenger seat to see Scottie's face. "Why?"
"Don't ask me, ask his last boyfriend. Joey's got a temper, you know? Cut him up real good, from what I heard. Makes that loser tonight look like the freakin' Pope."
"You know this ex-boyfriend's name?" Martin belatedly realized he sounded a little too interrogatory for a bartender, but he was too tired to care.
"Yeah, Hector something. I think he moved away, though."
"Okay, thanks. Go on, go inside. And I don't want to see you at the Gander for a couple of days, you hear me?"
Scottie shut the door, making sure Martin saw his prominently displayed middle finger through the window before giving him a cheery wave goodbye. Martin watched until he was inside his house before pulling out to head for home, his over-tired mind inexorably working over the events of the evening.
He'd never known he could be so utterly exhausted and so strung out on impossible hope at the same time. It'd been one of the longest nights of his life, first six solid hours on his feet tending bar, then spending another four hours in a smelly emergency ward waiting room. It wasn't until after he'd finally persuaded Danny to go home and was waiting for Scottie to be released that something that had been nagging at his memory finally became clear.
All the time he'd spent watching over Danny during this assignment, it now seemed like Danny had been doing the same thing for him—and he wasn't the one at risk.
It was the only explanation for Danny parking at the convenience store to wait for Martin to leave the bar; he'd never mentioned it before, but now Martin was realizing that their nightly cell phone conversations had ended with both of them arriving home almost simultaneously, despite Danny leaving sometimes almost two hours earlier. He'd just been enjoying the company so much that he'd never made the connection.
If that wasn't enough to make Martin wonder what was going on in Danny's mind, there was his behavior at the hospital. After they'd taken Scottie away to be examined, Danny seemed to find excuses to touch Martin—backhanding him on the shoulder as he teased him about being a soft touch, throwing an arm around his neck as he made some smartass remark, leaning in close and aligning their thighs as they sat beside each other in the molded plastic chairs. It was damn near close to flirting and it was as painful as it was enjoyable. He'd never seen Danny like this, not even not with Elena. Especially not with Elena.
Martin didn't have a clue on how to handle it. Danny was a generous and loyal friend, but Martin had to remember that was all he was, and anything Martin read into it was simply courting more heartache. His best course of action would be to forget all the unwanted imaginings the night had brought and concentrate on the job. With that in mind, he pulled out his cell phone and left a message on Jack's work voice mail, asking him to find out what Cramer know about Hector, Joey's missing ex-boyfriend.
Martin felt the difference as soon as he started his shift. It was Friday night, and none of the regulars had made an appearance at the Gander. Nor were they likely to; according to the Twins, Fridays and Saturdays belonged to another crowd altogether and the locals generally stayed away.
Looking around the club, Martin could easily understand why. There was an unpleasant edge to the laughter and the suggestion of dark, sexual energy held barely in check. Rick, the other bartender working with Martin, pointed out a few of the bouncers scattered throughout the premises and judging from his strained expression, he was anticipating a rough night.
To make things worse, the room had filled up early, so by the time Danny arrived, there were no seats at the bar. He elbowed a space at the end of the counter so that he could get the drink that Martin made for him, then wedged himself against the wall to survey the room. Before he'd even taken a sip, he'd been approached by four or five men, and several of them hadn't taken kindly to Danny's refusal. Every muscle in Martin's body ached with tension and he found himself hoping Joey would show up sooner rather than later.
The time that Al Cramer had hoped to buy while his agent convalesced had run out the day before. Joey had shown up and once again made a beeline for Danny, but the charmer from the night before had disappeared. In its place was a dangerous man who was looking to get laid and had lined up Danny in his crosshairs. He'd been physically more aggressive and Danny had spent most of the night walking a fine line between capitulation and cock tease. Danny had left Joey frustrated but still fascinated, and Martin and Danny had later agreed that Joey wasn't going to wait any longer for Danny to come across. There were simply too many willing bodies ready to take Danny's place.
It was with mixed feelings that Martin spotted Joey when he entered the bar Friday night. He wanted the assignment to be over as quickly as possible, but the information that Jack had gotten on Joey's previous lover made him want to nail the bastard to the nearest wall instead of just babysitting him for the organized crime squad.
It hadn't taken Jack long to find out what had happened to Hector Reyes. An illegal immigrant from Nicaragua, Hector had been in the country for a few weeks when he'd met Joey at the Gander. A couple of days later he'd done something to enrage Joey and had ended up in the hospital with multiple stab wounds and disfiguring cuts to his face. Any attempt to file charges against Joey had been swiftly and efficiently blocked by the deep pockets of his brother, who'd made sure that Hector was deported and so couldn't testify against his brother.
The yelling session between Jack and Cramer had been long and loud, with Cramer saying that ultimately it had no bearing on what Danny had been sent to accomplish. Since the relationship would never get intimate, Cramer assured all of them that Danny was in no danger. Martin had angrily countered with the obvious, that knowing Joey tended toward violence with his partners was entirely relevant. Only Danny had seemed to be unmoved by the revelation, although Martin had felt the warm weight of those brown eyes resting on face during his own outburst.
That bit of information on top of watching Joey maul Danny the night before had Martin's nerves stretched tight. At their final briefing earlier that day, Cramer had promised them that this night would be their last, his tone making it evident that he was disappointed that Danny hadn't managed to extract any secrets from Joey. As much as Martin dreaded the end of this assignment and the return to the lonely status quo it represented, he wanted Danny off this job and away from Joey Parrone.
Luckily, Danny was handling the situation better than Martin. Knowing that he only had to get through the next few hours made him more daring with Joey than he'd been before, transforming in front of Martin's jealous gaze from coyly encouraging to outright participation. Now it was Danny rubbing the back of his hand along Joey's hip, slipping his fingers into Joey's back pocket, whispering God knows what into Joey's diamond-studded ear. When Danny led Joey out onto the dance floor, the resulting flare of lust in Joey's eyes was unmistakable.
Martin could hardly blame him. Danny was wearing black jeans cut so low they revealed sloping hip bones curving away beneath a cropped crimson tank shirt that ended several inches above his belly button. The music was loud and gratingly erotic, its rhythm guiding the writhing bodies on the dance floor into a frenzy of sliding, bumping movement. Try as hard as he could, Martin couldn't keep his eyes off Danny's sinuous figure and only tore his gaze away when he heard a familiar laugh.
"You got it bad, old man."
Martin turned to see Scottie gingerly sliding onto a recently vacated bar stool, holding up two fingers to Rick who quickly poured two shots of tequila and set them in front of him. The bruise from his black eye had blossomed impressively and his nose was still swollen, but his expression was as open and guileless as ever.
Martin scowled at him. "Thought I told you to stay away from here."
"You're not the boss of me, Dimples, so fuck off. Besides, I haven't missed a Friday night at this place in two years."
Martin glanced back at Danny as the song ended. "Yeah, well, try and stay out of trouble, okay?" he said absently. Instead of returning to the bar, Danny and Joey were pushing through the crowd toward a booth at the back of the club. It was occupied, but once the three men saw who it was that wanted the booth, they piled out and blended into the crowd. The change of venue made Martin uneasy, but he exchanged glances with one of Cramer's men to make sure that Danny was covered. The nod he received in return went a little way to reassuring him, but he was still uncomfortable with Danny so far away.
"Guess you didn't tell the hottie about Joey, huh?"
Martin began filling an order, straining to keep Danny in his line of vision. "Like I said, I don't know him very well. Who he sleeps with is none of my business."
"Yeah, you must not care very much if you're okay with him going with Joey. You must got some hot piece of somethin' somethin' at home if you can turn down the finest ass—"
"Scottie, will you —"
Martin broke off as a familiar face appeared in the crowd. It was Scottie's attacker, trolling the perimeter of the dance floor and checking out the crowd. Glancing over at Scottie and seeing he was getting acquainted with his second tequila shooter, Martin told Rick he needed a bathroom break and stepped into the crowd.
Once out from the protective barrier, the swarm of sweaty bodies pressing against him was almost overwhelming. Struggling to keep Danny and Joey in sight, Martin pushed his way through the throng toward Phillip. He took a slight detour past the booth where Danny and Joey sat and made sure that Danny saw him before coming up to Phillip from behind and grabbing him by the wrist.
"You need to leave." Martin accentuated his request by placing pressure on the fine bones of Phillip's wrist and forcing his arm backwards. Phillip jerked and twisted so that he could see Martin's face, his own expression suffusing with rage when he saw who was holding him.
"Fuck you," Phillip snarled. He tried to pull away and Martin increased the upward pressure until Phillip was lifted onto his toes. Other men were beginning to take notice and the last thing Martin wanted to do was draw attention to himself. He signaled to one of the bouncers and between the two of them, they hustled Phillip out a side door and into the alley. Martin dismissed the bouncer with a curt word and as soon as he'd gone back inside, Martin shifted his grasp and flung Phillip face first against the brick wall.
"Listen up, you son of a bitch," he hissed into Phillip's ear. "You need to find a new bar—hell, you need to find a new town, do you hear me?"
Phillip nodded, scraping his cheek against the wall as Martin pushed his arm higher up his back.
"Good." Martin let him go with a push toward the front of the alley. "Beat it."
He watched Phillip stumble away, wishing he could do more and knowing he couldn't. Once Phillip was out of sight, Martin returned to the club, his eyes immediately searching for Danny and finding him again on the dance floor.
The first time Danny had danced with Joey had been difficult enough; this time, as Martin watched from the sidelines, it was utter torture. The music was slower, sexier, the movements of the dancers not much more than swaying foreplay. Joey had his back to Martin, his hands sliding up and down Danny's bare waist, his lips so close to Danny's neck that Martin felt nauseous. Martin wanted to wade into the crowd and rip Joey away from Danny, to replace those hands with his own, to stroke the sweat-slickened skin with his palms. Sharp-edged desire clawed at his insides, his hands curling into fists as he forced himself to look away, to look up—and that's when he saw Danny staring straight back at him.
Helplessly pinned by the smoky intensity of Danny's gaze, Martin was completely vulnerable as he stood there, every defense he'd ever put up against revealing the love and desire he'd hidden from Danny in shreds at his feet. There was nowhere to hide and Martin was frozen in a spotlight of humiliation, unable to get his feet to move until the burgeoning understanding on Danny's face broke through his trance and he turned blindly toward the bar.
"Hey, Marty!" It was Rick, waving him down before throwing him a set of keys. "The soda line's clogged again. Do me a favor and go to the back room and stretch it out, okay?"
Martin glanced back at Joey and Danny. The song was ending and they were headed back to their booth, so he made his way to the back room after making sure that Cramer's agent was close by. He'd unkinked the line before and knew it would take only seconds, and in truth he needed a moment to collect himself.
Not much longer, he repeated like a mantra, just a few more hours and this would be over. Not even the sweetly surreptitious pleasure he took from their late night calls could overcome the mortification of Danny witnessing what Martin felt about him. Cramer's own undercover agent was ready to take over from Danny, and tonight they were going to switch the two men out. Danny was going to find a way to back out from Joey and the new guy was going to step in. Then the assignment would be over and Martin would be able to lick his wounds in private.
The storage room was dim and the cool, beer-scented air felt good on Martin's flushed skin. The tanks were in the back and he crossed to them quickly, not wanting Danny to be out of his sight longer than necessary. The soda line was easily straightened but as Martin withdrew his hand, his watch caught on the edge of the cannister. As he tried to untangle it, the sharp edge of a bolt sliced through the base of his right palm.
"Damn it." He disengaged his watch and peered at the bleeding wound. The cut was short but deep, with a small line of blood beading along one edge. He'd never replaced the handkerchief he'd used on Scottie, so he had nothing in his pockets to stem the flow. Feeling a little like a twelve-year old coming off the football field, he started to bring the cut to his mouth.
"Aw, don't do that."
Martin raised his head to see Danny shutting the door behind him, leaving the two of them alone in the semi darkness.
"What—what are you doing here? Is it time?"
Danny approached him slowly, his head cocked to one side. "Yeah. Agent Salcido is making his move right now. Parrone thinks I'm getting pretty in the bathroom, so I've got a few minutes."
Martin backed up as Danny moved closer. In the faint light, the planes of Danny's face were indistinct, but his attitude was one of playful pursuit.
"Doesn't know you very well, does he," Martin said on an uncomfortable laugh. "Gonna take more than a few minutes."
Danny's answering grin was appreciative as he grasped Martin's wrist, turning it upward to examine the cut.
"Does it hurt?" he murmured. Not waiting for an answer, he fished his own handkerchief out of his pocket and stroked away the streaks of blood before pressing it to the wound, keeping Martin's hand cradled within his palm.
"What are you doing?" Martin could manage only a hoarse whisper. "C'mon, man, I need to get back. So do you."
"Hang on." Danny pushed closer, his warm breath caressing Martin's mouth until Martin had to bite his lip against the impulse to use his tongue to capture the flavor. He tried to remove his hand but Danny countered by angling their bodies deeper into a shadowy corner.
Danny's voice dropped to a silky rumble. "You were watching me, Martin."
Martin looked away, trying to instill as much disdain in his tone as he could. "Danny, the whole damn bar was watching you."
Soft laughter scattered the hair at his temple. "You think so?"
Martin lowered his eyes to their still joined hands. He knew without a doubt that Danny would never be deliberately cruel, and if he knew how agonizing Martin found this encounter he'd be deeply regretful. Danny flirted as easily as he breathed, and no doubt had interpreted Martin's reaction to his dancing as something they could joke about between the two of them. Now it was up to Martin to preserve Danny's innocence, make it seem like he was eager to play along and maintain the easy give and take they enjoyed.
Martin summoned up what he hoped was a knowing grin. "You loved it and you know it."
There was no answering amusement in Danny's reply. "Oh, I know something, that's for sure."
Unsettled by the suddenly serious tone, Martin removed his hand with a firm tug and shouldered his way around Danny. "Let's go. Time to bring the curtain down on your performance.'
Danny let him pass, then stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Martin, when this is over, we need to talk."
Martin shook his head. "Hell, I admit it, okay? You looked good out there, that's all."
The fingers around his arm tightened before letting go. "Yeah, nice try." Danny reached the door ahead of Martin and opened it. After peering down the corridor to make sure they'd leave unnoticed, Danny looked over his shoulder.
"Later. Don't forget."
What a waste, Martin thought tiredly. What a terrible waste.
Whether he was referring to the violent end of the case or the murder of a mobster, he wasn't quite sure.
Joey Parrone was dead. Slumped in the booth he'd once shared with Danny, one small bullet hole neatly placed between his eyes and another in his heart, Joey probably hadn't known what hit him. The FBI didn't either, but they had a pretty good idea, and it was nothing that they'd expected.
It'd been close to 1:00 a.m. and the bar had been rocking. Danny had come back to the booth to find Agent Salcido already ensconced at Joey's side; when Joey had leeringly suggested Danny join them for a private after-hours party, he'd been able to play the affronted lover and make a suitably dramatic exit.
Martin had a harder time relinquishing his role as bartender. The club was busy and they'd made no arrangements with the manager to replace him, so he felt responsible for staying through his shift instead of leaving Rick to cover alone. It didn't hurt that he was making great tips, money he'd pledged to a neighborhood non-profit clinic near his apartment, and with Danny safely gone, he figured he could stick it out for a couple more hours. Since he didn't actually believe that Danny was going to wait somewhere and expect Martin to join him, he was looking forward to some time to wrestle his emotions back into something he could control after giving so much away in the store room.
The crowd had gotten rowdier and Martin had lost sight of Joey completely, but he was technically no longer on duty. Cramer and his men had taken over the operation, so when the loud report of gunfire followed by screams tore through the room, Martin was unprepared. Not that he could have done any good—by the time he'd unholstered his ankle weapon, Joey was dead and the bar was in chaos.
Now it was nearly three and Martin was having trouble concentrating. The cleaning lights in the bar were up, concentrated sheets of harsh fluorescent light flowing over every surface. Half the club had been cordoned off and local agents and police were using the space to interview witnesses. At a secluded table far away from Joey's body, Agent Salcido sat slumped in his chair as Cramer stood close by, a comforting hand on his shoulder. Salcido had been sitting right next to Joey when it had happened but hadn't been touched. Three shots had been fired, the first landing in the wall above Joey's head, the second two finding their marks in Joey's body.
It'd been a professional hit, that much they knew. Who'd ordered it was the question; in the brief seconds that the shooter had been in front of Salcido, he'd gotten a good look but didn't recognize him as belonging to either the Notti or Parrone families. The only impression Salcido had been left with was that the assassin had been wearing Latino gang colors, sending the investigation into an entirely new direction, possibly even toward Nicaragua and the heretofore uninvestigated Hector Reyes.
Ultimately, Martin didn't care. He huddled deeper into his borrowed FBI windbreaker and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he waited for Cramer's okay to take off, anticipating and dreading that moment simultaneously.
"Here you go." Danny, wearing a matching windbreaker over a white tee shirt, came up to Martin's side and handed him a Styrofoam cup of coffee. Martin took it with an appreciative murmur and sipped the liquid cautiously. It tasted as bad as he'd anticipated, but it gave him something to concentrate on besides the lean, quiet man at his side.
With all the agents on site at the time of the shooting, response had been prompt and thorough. What Martin hadn't expected was Danny's arrival back on the scene almost immediately, his face as pale as the tee shirt he'd changed into. The two of them had been relegated to crowd control and witness interviews, but now there were only a few people left and the coroner was finishing his examination, signaling the end of the investigation and the termination of Danny and Martin's roles in what had finally just been a disaster.
Martin glanced over at the few patrons still milling around the club and was unsurprised to see Scottie among them. When Scottie saw Martin look his way, his expression turned hopeful and then thrilled when Martin motioned him over.
"Fuckin' FBI," Scottie hooted, "I knew it!"
The side of Martin's mouth lifted in tired amusement. "You did? How'd you know?"
"C'mon," Scottie scoffed, "No way you didn't know the hottie here, sorry. You guys were super aware of each other the whole time, so if you weren't together, you had to be cops."
Martin darted a look at Danny, seeing his own rueful appreciation of Scottie's deduction reflected in Danny's comically widened eyes.
"So what happens now?" Scottie was blithely unaware of Martin's discomfort as he looked around the rapidly emptying bar.
"Everybody goes home." As Scottie turned back to Martin with an expectant look on his face, Martin frowned down at him. "Alone. In a cab. Now."
Scottie rolled his eyes and turned his attention to Danny. "I don't suppose you—"
"Home, like the man said," Danny said firmly.
Scottie sighed and started to walk off, then paused. When he faced Martin again, all traces of flirtation were gone.
"You're not coming back, are you." It wasn't a question.
Martin shook his head. "No, we're done here."
Scottie's gaze fell to the floor. "Right, right, I knew that. Okay. Um, guess I won't see you around."
He began to shuffle away, but stopped when Martin called his name. Ignoring Danny's muffled laugh, Martin pulled out his wallet and fished out a business card and held it out to Scottie, pulling it back when Scottie reached for it.
"For emergencies, okay? I'm not your personal late night chat line, you got that?"
Scottie nodded and grabbed the card, planting a big kiss on it before tucking it into his back pocket. He was gone with a jaunty wave and Danny and Martin were left alone. Within a few minutes they received the nod from Cramer and knew they were clear to take off.
Martin took Danny's empty coffee cup and set it beside his own on the bar. Somewhere between Danny showing up after the shooting and Cramer's dismissal, he'd realized that running away wasn't going to solve anything, especially where Danny was concerned. Despite the deep exhaustion that gnawed at his bones, he
drew back his shoulders and looked Danny in the eye.
"You still want to talk?"
Danny's surprise was fleeting and vanished quickly as he nodded. "Follow me back to my place?"
Martin hesitated. He'd assumed they'd go to an all night diner or some other neutral place. In fact, he'd counted on it as he'd rehearsed what he planned to say. Going to Danny's apartment was going to be much too intimate for Martin's peace of mind, but he found himself wavering. He looked at his watch and heaved a tired sigh.
"You got anything for breakfast?"
This time, Danny's expression was easily readable, his brown eyes softening as his mouth relaxed into an impish smile.
"I got coffee," he began, ticking the list off his fingers, "bagels, eggs, cheese, some leftover apple pie, maybe some pork chops, and I think I saw some frozen peas—"
"All right," Martin interrupted on a laugh. With every word of Danny's silly recitation, he could feel the tension drain away. "Okay, I'm sold. Lead the way."
That tension returned twofold as Martin followed Danny into his apartment. He'd had the long drive back to New York to regret acceding to Danny's plan and that, coupled with the toll the night had taken on his nerves, had him searching for reasons to leave.
Danny wasn't going to make it easy. He herded Martin into his kitchen and ushered him into a seat after taking Martin's windbreaker and tossing it with his own on the back of an empty chair.
"Let me get some coffee started, okay?"
Martin rubbed his damp palms across his denim covered thighs. "Nah, maybe I should just take off." He stood up but immediately found Danny directly in front of him, near enough to touch.
"Okay, forget the coffee."
Martin wasn't fooled by Danny's exaggeratedly agreeable reply. He was familiar with Danny's body language, and right now it was telling him that Danny was close to some kind of breaking point. Clenched fists, rigid shoulders, it all spoke of strong emotions barely leashed. It was the cause of those emotions that Martin didn't know, and that made Danny dangerous. He held up his hands, palms forward, forcing a conciliatory tone into his voice.
"Danny, I don't know what—"
Danny pushed closer. "Oh, you know, Martin. You know. But you won't let yourself believe."
Martin felt his leg bump the edge of the chair as he maneuvered for some room. It was useless to keep pretending that he didn't know what Danny was talking about. He was still searching for a way to find some damage control when Danny brushed his fingers across his cheek, effectively freezing him in place.
"Stop it, Martin. Stop thinking." He grasped Martin by the shoulders leaned in, his eyes closing as he touched their foreheads together. "Let me in."
Tentatively, barely daring to breathe, Martin lifted his hands to Danny's narrow waist and settled them there, just above the band of his jeans. The loose embrace was fragile, non-threatening, each man slowly relaxing muscle by muscle, their bodies drawing naturally closer. With his eyes closed, Martin could concentrate on the downy texture of Danny's shirt and the faint prickle of beard stubble that teased the tip of his nose. A delicate inhalation rewarded him with a concentrated dose of Danny's scent, earthy-sweet and tangy and so different this close to the finely grained skin. He was conscious of Danny stroking the curves of his shoulders, the fingertips of one hand peeling aside the edge of Martin's shirt to brush the exposed skin.
It was torture of the most exquisite kind. After the long months of burying everything he felt for Danny behind the bland smile of a casual co-worker, to be this near was a moment of purest honesty. Danny knew something about Martin that he'd tried so hard to keep secret, and just the laying down of that burden would have been enough, if Martin's body hadn't betrayed its long-kept desire to touch and to taste, to experience desire at the hands of this man. And the time to turn back ran out when Danny began sliding his fingertips lightly up Martin's throat, stroking the nape of his neck before sinking into Martin's hair.
Martin understood what was coming next, felt it in the gentle pressure Danny used to tilt his head. His own hands tightened into fists, bunching the cotton between his fingers as he waited to surrender to Danny's kiss. There was a pause, a stuttering breath, and then Danny's mouth came down gently on his.
There was no time to think of repercussions or regrets. Martin sank into the kiss with a silent moan, sparks going off behind his closed eyes as he pressed back, opening his mouth against Danny's in desperate entreaty. Tongues tangling, hands suddenly set loose in a frantic attempt to pull closer, hold tighter, they were swept up and away on a current of desire that had them soaring so high, so fast, that Martin felt dizzy.
The kiss broke quickly, both of them breathing heavily as they held on to each other, lips grazing, hands now soothing each other through the end of the storm. As desire was regretfully, carefully banked down, reason and sanity demanded that Martin look at Danny, really look at him, to see if his future was indeed in this complicated and tender-hearted man, or only eventual, interminable heartache.
As he pulled back, he was slightly comforted to see that Danny appeared as shaken as he was. Beautiful, dusky color had risen in his cheeks and his eyes were heavy-lidded, almost sleepy, but Martin knew better. He knew because he still felt the sum of Danny's desire pressing against his own body, matching his own fierce need. But beneath those drooping lids, Martin saw something he'd never allowed himself to dream about, or even admit to in the darkest chamber of his heart.
There was only one thing to discover now. Far beyond the ability to put together a coherent sentence, Martin laid his palm against Danny's cheek, smiling faintly when Danny nudged into the caress.
"Elena?"
Only a word, but the most important question in the world lay behind it.
Covering Martin's hand with his own, Danny raised an eyebrow.
"Sam?"
Martin lifted his shoulders in a tiny shrug. "I was waiting."
Danny turned his head to press a kiss to Martin's palm. "I was pretending."
"Couple of idiots," Martin breathed. His palm tingled where Danny's lips had touched it.
"Definitely," Danny agreed. "But not any more. Not ever again."
And that's when Martin knew that his future with Danny was no longer a thing of fantasy, but a hard-won and precious reality. A bubble of pure joy gathered in his chest and traveled upward, briefly making it hard to swallow before escaping in a breathless laugh. Seeing the answering happiness in Danny's expression, Martin wrapped his arms around Danny's neck and pulled him into a hug that had only a little do with sex and a lot with learning that the best friend he was in love with was in love with him, too.
"Now, about that coffee," Martin whispered against Danny's ear.
"Yeah?" was the whispered answer.
"It'll sure taste good in a couple of hours."
If Martin had never allowed himself to imagine that Danny might love him, he certainly had envisioned making love with him often enough. In his mind, he'd touched every part of the slender, muscular body, kissed every patch of skin, learned every texture with mouth and hands. Like so many things in life, Martin was finding out that reality beat the hell out of fantasy every single damn time.
There had been an endearing awkwardness in Danny's demeanor as he'd led Martin by the hand into his bedroom, a side of his mercurial nature that Martin treasured. Danny was brash, out-spoken and impulsive, but he was also deeply caring and so easily bruised. However, as soon as they'd turn to face each other with their hands still linked, Danny's awkwardness had passed, replaced by an expression of such expectant delight that Martin once more found it difficult to breathe. It became even harder when Danny peeled off Martin's black Gander tee shirt and tossed it away. The momentary feeling of exposure was obliterated almost immediately when Danny gathered Martin back into his arms to begin scattering tantalizing kisses along the column of Martin's throat. Weak-kneed and lightheaded, Martin managed to pull off Danny's tee shirt before they tumbled onto Danny's bed, rolling across the surface until Danny came up on top and pinned Martin's hands above his head.
For a moment they stared into each other's eyes, searching for and finding answers to unspoken questions. Then Danny's gaze fell to Martin's lips and they kissed again, this time with all the desire previously held in check finally set free. Soft words were murmured, understood more for their tone than their content, and as they began to make love in earnest, Martin knew instinctively that nothing he'd ever experienced before could prepare him for the sensual onslaught of Danny in love.
Each new sensation cascaded upon the last. Danny's hands shook as he worked loose the buttons of Martin's jeans and Martin's own teasingly slow removal of Danny's skin-tight Levi's kept raising the level of desire that flowed between them like the sweat that mixed on their skin. When at last their bodies aligned, there was the satisfaction of raw heat matching controlled strength, of giving and taking exquisitely timed pleasure. At one point Danny was stretched out beneath Martin, for a brief moment remaining passive as Martin explored in person all the places he'd already visited in his mind. There were scars to be mourned, intriguing slopes of skin to inspect, tender kisses tossed in to reconnect between sojourns.
Martin had hardly taken his fill when Danny took the upper hand once more. It was ultimately so easy to be touched intimately by Danny, to be stroked and tasted and finally, to submit to the hard yet loving demands of Danny's body, that Martin was crashing over the edge of anticipation and into the super-heated ecstasy of orgasm before he'd had a chance to realize the moment was upon him. Danny followed almost directly afterwards, long limbs clenched possessively around Martin and Martin's name on his lips.
For a while they simply rested there, arms and legs tightly woven together as their breathing slowed into a matching cadence of repletion. Eventually, Danny roused enough to lean over the edge of the bed to find the Gander tee shirt and used it with a gentle touch to clean them both. Martin's nascent objection was stifled with a teasing kiss before Danny laid his head down on Martin's chest with a sigh of supreme contentment.
Sifting his fingers through the sweat-soaked strands of hair at Danny's neck, Martin asked, "You tired?"
Danny nodded, the sandpapery skin of his cheek where it rubbed Martin's chest sending little frissons of pleasure racing to his toes.
"Aren't you?"
"No."
Danny lifted his head to look at Martin.
"You okay?"
The concern in Danny's voice brought up a lump in Martin's throat. "I'm great. But I also need a shower." He didn't want to add that he was so damn happy that sleep was the farthest thing from his mind, despite the muscle-softening lethargy of fantastic sex that weighted him to the bed.
Danny sighed. "Yeah, me too." A gleam of deviltry came into his eyes. "No reason why we can't share."
Martin grinned at him. "That's what I like about you, hottie. Always thinking."
Danny got up from the bed and offered his hand to Martin. "Hottie?"
"Yeah, that's what Scottie always called you." Martin grasped the offered hand and let Danny pull him to his feet.
"Yeah? What did he call you?
"Um, well, there was old man, mostly. Oh, and, uh, Dimples."
"Dimples?" Danny crowed. Martin grasped him around the neck and gave him a little shake.
"Don't even think about it, Taylor."
Danny held up his hands in surrender, then put a little swagger in his hips as he walked toward the bathroom. "Hottie. I think I like that."
"Gee, there's a surprise," Martin said disdainfully, then yelped when Danny pinched his behind. An abbreviated wrestling match ensued, the culmination landing them back in bed with both of them succumbing to a serious, very non-FBI regulation fit of the giggles.
Much later, with a sleeping Danny nestled behind him and long-ignored exhaustion becoming too strong to ignore, Martin thought back to how this assignment started. If they hadn't been short-handed by Elena's departure, Cramer would've used another agent to play the part. Finding himself at last in harmony with the world and his place in it, Martin spared a thought for Elena, and for Samantha, and wished that they'd both some day discover the kind of joy that he'd been granted with Danny "The Hottie" Taylor.
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