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Madison, Wisconsin

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It's not even ten when Martin leaves, and it's probably so early that it's bordering on rude, but he's too tired to deal with this right now. Too tired for drunken ramblings, for speeches and long-lost relatives, not to mention his father. Martin also thinks if he never hears the word Congratulations again, it will be too soon. He doubts anyone will miss him anyway, his cousin's wedding is just fine on its own, and Martin is shamefully relieved that he booked a room at a different hotel than the wedding's reception. Clear across town and yeah, sure, it means an extra long cab ride, but it was smaller, cheaper and at least he'll be free from nagging relatives. All Martin wants right now is silence, and he's still just a little bit mad at Sam.

He tries to push Sam to the back of his mind, doesn't wanna think about her right now, and concentrates on the thought of room service and sleep as he enters the lobby, but stops dead in his tracks as the familiar voice reaches him.

"...Taylor," the voice says, "T-A-Y-L-O-R," and any hopes Martin had about pushing Sam and anything related to her out of his head, goes out the window.

"Hey, Danny," he says, walking up to the reception, and he figures the least he can do is be polite when they've both somehow managed to end up in Madison, Wisconsin on their weekend off.

Danny twirls comically, one corner of his mouth tilting up in a familiar grin, and he says, "Hey, Marty," the same time the clerk in the reception says, "Thank you, sir," and puts a key card onto the counter.

Giving the guy a quick nod and taking the key card, Danny turns back to Martin and slaps his shoulder. "Man, what are you doing here?"

"My cousin's wedding," Martin explains, because he has mentioned it at work, barely, but he don't think he ever said exactly where he was going. "What's your excuse?"

"Work," Danny answers immediately. "Well, sort of. Jack got a lead in an old case and he was gonna check it out himself, but then his wife called and graciously offered him the kids for the weekend, and you were out of town, and Viv's not really up to par and... well, you know. He called me."

"What's the lead?" Martin asks, genuinely interested now, and if he can't keep his mind off everything Sam-related, then at least a case is interesting enough, and let's face it; Martins is a workaholic at heart.

"Didn't pan out," Danny says right away, and Martin is a little disappointed. "I was gonna meet with someone Jack thought might have a connection to the prime suspect, but her story holds up; she doesn't know him. Anyway, I missed the last flight to New York for the day, so I'm kinda stuck here overnight."

"Oh," Martin says, and wonders what the hell kinda odds they beat to end up not only in the same city, but at the same hotel.

"Hey, where's Sam?" Danny asks suddenly, looking around, and something tightens in Martin's chest.

"At home, I guess," Martins says, looking down, and Martins is scared shitless that he'll see pity on Danny's face if he looks up, so he carefully studies the ugly carpet instead.

"Jesus, Martin, I'm sorry," Danny says, because he usually always gets these things right away. It's a little unnerving at times, and Martin shrugs, tries to play it cool.

"It's okay," he says, raising his head again, and sees--thank God--no pity. "Just wasn't meant to be, I guess."

And isn't it strange that it's Martin who feels bitter about this, when it was Martin who broke up with Sam? Except it might as well have been her, because she was the one holding back and holding back, and some part of Martin thinks she will always really love Jack.

"You know what you need?" Danny grins, throwing an arm around Martin's shoulders and steering him towards the hotel bar, "You need to get laid."

Chuckling a little, because this--right here--is a typical Danny solution to Martin's problem. "I don't think so, Danny," Martin says, twisting out from underneath Danny's arm, "I just kinda wanna go back to my room and relax."

"Oh, come on," Danny nearly pouts, "it's a rule about this, somewhere, I'm sure, Martin. You break up with someone, you go out on a rebound lay afterwards. It's a guy rule or something. Pretty sure it says so in The Bible of Guys."

"Really?" Martin says, quirking one eyebrow, and if nothing else, Danny's jokes do lighten his mood a little.

"Yeah," Danny says. "I'm pretty sure it also says to get drunk, but if you do, I'm saying three drinks and then you're on your own, buddy," and suddenly it's blissfully refreshing to have someone like Danny there, who can smile and joke about his own alcoholism and doesn't treat everything so goddamn seriously. Doesn't treat things like a fight. And that thought only serves to lighten Martin's mood further, and suddenly a drink doesn't sound too bad. He doesn't know about the sex part, though, it almost feels like his entire relationship with Sam was one big one-night stand, and that's really not what Martin wants or needs. But even if he doesn't find a willing woman tonight, at least he'll get some time spent in good company out of it, and he finally nods and shrugs, following Danny into the hotel bar.

Martin's head is still reeling a little from the noise and the music at the wedding, but thankfully Danny doesn't say much when Martin orders a scotch for himself and water for Danny, and then picks a table in the far corner.

Danny just quirks an eyebrow and asks, "Tired?" and Martin shrugs a little.

"Weddings," he explains and sips his scotch. It burns on the way down, and it feels nice. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Danny glance at the amber liquid for just a second, before Danny sips his own water, then chews noisily on an ice cube. "Does it ever bother you?" Martin asks before he can help himself.

"What?" Danny asks, looking puzzled, and Martin gestures vaguely at his drink. "After nine years, it better not," Danny laughs with a twinkle in his eye. "I got my ten-year anniversary coming up, you know."

"That's great," Martin says, feeling almost something like pride on Danny's behalf, but he can't quite bring himself to say Congratulations, has heard the word a little too much today. Everybody says congratulations at a wedding, people were constantly saying it even to him, and to Martin it felt a little too much like Congratulations your relationship didn't work out and not quite enough like Congratulations about your cousin.

"Yeah, I figure I'll celebrate it with a beer," Danny jokes, slouching down in his chair and loosening his tie.

Martin thinks about how he too wears a suit and a tie, and if Sam or Vivian or Jack were to walk in right now, they wouldn't know Martin had been to a wedding and not at work--and doesn't that say something, that Martin wears exactly what he'd wear to work, to a wedding? When did family gatherings start to feel like work? Has he always felt this way? Martin isn't sure, and he wishes he wasn't wearing a suit and a tie, so it wouldn't almost feel like work sitting here with Danny.

Eventually, Martin's drink is empty and Danny's water is gone, and Danny shifts a little and tilts his head. "Wanna talk about it?" he offers.

Martin doesn't really think he wants to talk about it, doesn't feel like sharing right now, but still--his mouth open and words come out. Tells Danny how he feels used and disappointed and how all he ever really wanted was to spend time with Sam and be with her. How she wasn't who he thought she was, and damnit if that thought doesn't bring forth a reaction--a tiny twinge in his chest and a little furrow of his brows.

Danny just nods and looks at him with an unreadable expression on his face, and then chews on the last ice cube, no pity in sight. Martin thinks it's good to have a friend like Danny, someone who will listen and not pity him, and instead just chew on an ice cube.

When Martin's done talking, Danny just shrugs and says "You'll be fine," and to some it may have sounded like a brush-off, a downplay, but Martin knows it's not, and it feels good that someone has confidence in him, enough to know that he'll be fine. And of course, Martin will be fine, there was never any question otherwise, he isn't heartbroken or on the verge of breaking down. Mostly he just feels bitter about the whole thing, and for the first time he's actually glad that he and Sam didn't tell his family about them, because it would just be that much worse if he'd had to deal with his father's disappointed attitude on top of everything else.

They leave the bar together shortly after that, Danny telling some story about Vivian and Reggie, and Martin's strangely disappointed when the elevator stops at the 7th floor and he has to get out alone, because Danny's room is up on the 12th floor.

"When's your flight outta here?" Danny asks, leaning against the doors so they won't close, and Martin pauses in the hallway.

"Tomorrow. Noon."

"Tomorrow at seven am," Danny says, shrugging. "Guess I'll see you Monday, then."

"Yeah," Martin says, then meets Danny's eye. "Thanks."

Danny, once again, seems to know exactly what Martin means, and just shoots him a grin, stepping away from the doors. "Anytime," he says, and then the doors are closing and Martin's is standing alone in the hallway, staring at a pair of elevator doors.

Martin's room is only a few steps away from the elevators, and it's mostly like any other boring hotel room he's ever stayed in; smooth and impersonal, with a too hard bed and a too dim light. It seems so damn cold that Martin is tempted to throw around the covers on the bed and tear down the stupid, dim lights just to give it more personality. Even his overnight bag seems boring, sitting untouched and lifeless by the end of the bed. In a half-hearted attempt to make the room at least seem lived in, Martin takes off his jacket and tie and leaves them where they fall. He's barely toed out of his shoes and resisted the temptation to kick them across the room, when there's a knock on the door, and who else could it be but Danny? Danny's the only one who knows he's here.

Martin opens the door with a, "What's going on?" but the question dies in his mouth as Danny shoves his way forward, into the room, up against Martin's body and presses their lips together.

For a second, Martin can't think, can't react, can't move, can't do anything except feel Danny's lips on his, soft and dry. Then his brain catches up, and holy shit! he's kissing Danny, and it feels just good enough for him to move his lips a little. "Wha--?" he asks when Danny pulls away, and his voice is hoarse and tight.

"Let me do this," Danny says in a half-whisper, kicking the door closed behind him, "let me do this for you."

And Martin can only nod and rasp out, "Okay, okay," because no healthy man turns down sex, not really, not even Martin who wasn't looking for it tonight, didn't think he wanted or needed it tonight, and this is definitely not what he thinks Danny meant by rebound lay. His hands find their way to Danny's shoulders, clutches hard, and then Danny is backing him up against the wall and kissing him again.

Danny tastes faintly like food, something spicy, maybe burritos? And he tastes like spit and Danny, and Martin can feel the rasp of a five o'clock shadow against his chin. It feels unfamiliar, but good, and he pushes his tongue into Danny's mouth, because that's what he would do if Danny was a girl.

Danny's no girl, though, and it's very apparent from the hardness Martin can feel pressed against his own crotch, and that thought really shouldn't arouse him as much as it does. Martin can feel himself grow hard in his pants, and if he stops to think too long about this, he's gonna freak out, so instead he does his best to think positive thoughts, or better yet--think nothing at all and just feel. Feels good, very good, indescribably good, and Danny's all over that tongue idea, french kissing him like there's no tomorrow, and as long as it feels good, what difference does it really make?

Martin honestly didn't think he wanted sex tonight, but clearly, Danny's proving him wrong, kissing him and grinding his hips into him and pressing him so hard up against the wall, his shoulders hurt.

Then suddenly Danny's lips leave his, and Danny sinks to his knees. Martin doesn't have to ask what he's doing, but still his mind can't really wrap itself fully around the idea, not even when Danny fumbles with Martin's pants, gets the fly open, pulls down his boxers and reaches inside. A dry, warm hand closes around Martin's cock, and then Martin's head falls back against the wall.

Martin's eyes fell closed when Danny kissed him, but now he opens them again, stares across the room at the ugly, faded pink and green and white tapestry, and then a hot, wet mouth takes him in, and he can't even exist anymore, because it's all so goddamn good!

When Martin was little, his parents taught him that swearing was bad. It was un-Christian and rude, and little Martin didn't want to go to hell or be rude, so he grew up to be the kind of person who doesn't really say any bad words beyond the occasional damn, or maybe goddamn if he's really worked up over something.

Danny's mouth does things to him, though, things that make him want to squeeze his eyes shut and scream FUCK until the people in the rooms next to his call the cops. He thinks maybe he could scream as loud as he wanted and they still wouldn't call the cops if they only knew how this feels. How it feels to have Danny Taylor suck their dick, because Danny is really goddamn--really fucking talented at it.

Danny sucks harder, and Martin thinks maybe he's losing his mind here, going crazy, going--something, as one of Danny's hands fondle his balls, and the other grips his hip hard, so hard, hard enough to leave bruises. Martin thinks briefly about Sam and how she sucked dick so damn different than Danny does, still good, but not like this, because nothing has ever felt like this, and this is insane, this is just so damn fucked up and insane--

--and then Danny moans in the back of his throat, and Martin hasn't even looked at him since he got down on his knees, so Martin lifts his head from the wall and looks down--

--and sees Danny on his knees, mouth around Martin's cock, lips closed tightly around the shaft of it, and Martin had no idea that this would happen when he booked that plane ticket to Madison, Wisconsin, and then Martin comes with a gasp. He doesn't even have time to give a choked warning before he's already spurting into Danny's mouth, but Danny--oh God, Danny just moans again, muffled around Martin's cock, and takes it all.

Martin surprises himself when Danny takes his mouth off Martin's dick and stands up. It's been a long night of trying to not think. Trying not to think about Sam and about work and about fights that shouldn't have to be fights, and suddenly it's finally easy to just do so--finally easy to not think, and surprisingly easy to grab Danny's shirt before Danny can say anything, pull Danny close and kiss him. Martin can taste himself in Danny's mouth, and again, it's so damn easy to not think about it and avoid the freak-out. Easy to whisper into Danny's mouth, "Stay."

Easy to smile when Danny grins against his lips and whispers back, "Okay."

Martin wakes up to a tangle of limbs and sheets. Danny's body is warm against his, and he's not even sure how they got so entangled, but he doesn't care. He just blinks sleepily against the morning light streaming through the windows, and then watches it play over golden skin under his cheek, and parts of it is covered by the white hotel sheets. One of Danny's legs pokes out from under the covers somewhere further down the bed, and when Danny stirs, mutters in his sleep and pulls his leg back in, his foot is uncomfortably cold against Martin's, but Martin doesn't move. Instead he glances over and looks at the clock on the nightstand and sees that it's nearly one in the afternoon. They've both missed their flights.

Still blinking and going through the motions of waking up, Martin looks back at the sleeping form that's halfway under him, halfway on top of him, and finally lets himself think that it's all perfectly okay.