"Great," Danny muttered as he got to his feet. "Fucking great. I'll probably have to drag him out of the bar and to the airport." It was not going to be fun, having to lug around a drunken Martin, and Danny felt a flash of remorse for all of the times his friends had had to herd him in one direction or another, or get him home safely. Those days were long gone, and Danny hoped to keep them that way. He also hoped that this drinking binge of Martin's wasn't a sign of something more serious to come.
Well, at least Danny could do things now to make things easier for the day. He grabbed Martin's bag from the closet and began to pack it, even remembering to pack up Martin's kit in the bathroom and getting it in there. He then laid out Martin's suit and shoes, including what he figured were clean socks, since they were still folded. Martin usually just tossed his dirty socks in the drawer, leaving them loose so that he'd know what to wash and what to wear. Danny wasn't so lucky when it came to trying to figure out which undershirt was clean. Martin's most recent raid on his drawer had disturbed a lot of the clothing, and Danny had no idea which items of underwear were clean. And he sure as Hell wasn't going to sniff any of them to find out! It was one thing to use his nose to tell if his own clothes were clean or dirty, and quite another to go around smelling Martin's things, even if he did like the way Martin smelled.
Danny also made sure that the tie, shirt and suit matched, not that Martin would be sober enough to notice. Satisfied that he had as much of Martin's things settled as possible, Danny grabbed clean underwear for himself and went in to shower, planning to get Martin once he was dressed and packed. A quick trip down to the bar, then back to the room with Martin to get Martin dressed and retrieve their bags, and they'd be ready to check out.
Danny showered quickly, and was dried off and into his clean boxers and undershirt in good time. He shaved, brushed his teeth and packed his kit, then grabbed his dirty boxers and opened the door, only to come to a sudden stop as he found himself looking at Martin's naked back. Obviously, the noise from the shower had drowned out Martin's return to their room.
Danny's eyes traveled from Martin's bare shoulders to his bare waist and over what Danny thought had to be a perfect ass, naked as the rest of Martin. The fading welts that Danny had noticed on Martin's shoulders were matched by welts on Martin's buttocks and upper thighs, and Danny swallowed hard as his cock seemed to be in favor of the idea of putting Martin across his knees and spanking him. Good thing that it was his brain and not his little head that was in charge, Danny thought.
Danny cleared his throat, but Martin didn't seem to notice. Instead, the guy seemed intent on looking inside the closet. "Martin? Everything okay?"
Martin slowly shook his head as Danny peered over his shoulder. He wanted so badly to step up beside Martin, and see if his cock was as perfect as his ass, but Danny knew that was a bad idea, and was doing his best to keep away from temptation. Martin finally spoke, his voice not slurred at all, which was a surprise to Danny.
"Someone stole my clothes, Danny."
Martin turned his head to look at him, and Danny could see tears pooling in his slightly unfocused eyes. Martin didn't sound drunk, but he definitely wasn't anywhere near sober, either. "Why would someone steal my clothes?"
"Nobody stole your clothes, Fitzie," Danny replied as he motioned toward the other bed. "I packed up your stuff and laid out your suit for you."
It took a few moments for Martin's eyes to track the direction in which Danny was pointing, but once they did, Martin grinned. "You packed for me?"
"Yeah. I figured it would save time. Now, go get dressed." Danny took a step back as Martin moved toward the bed, more than a bit unsteady. Glancing at the floor of the closet, Danny saw Martin's sweats, socks and running shoes, along with his wallet and room key. The guy had apparently walked into the room and stripped right there at the closet, either not caring that Danny was in the shower or maybe it had been a case of not noticing? Considering that Martin now stood at the foot of his bed, doing nothing except staring at his suit, Danny was willing to go with the idea that Martin hadn't noticed that Danny was in the bathroom.
Danny shoved his dirty clothes into his own bag and began to dress, hoping Martin would simply copy him. "Watch me, and do what I do."
Feeling Martin's eyes upon him, Danny pulled on his socks, balancing on one foot while pulling the other one on. A hard thump made Danny jerk his head in Martin's direction, and he saw that his partner was now on the floor, one leg bent at the knee with a sock half on it. "Right. Totally forgot that drunks have no balance," Danny muttered, shaking his head as he put on his other sock.
"Just stay right there," Danny said, loud enough for Martin to hear, and he got a giggle in reply. It was odd to hear Martin giggling. Cute, but odd. His other sock now on, Danny turned to go to Martin's aid and saw that Martin was still in the exact same position. Of course, he'd told him to stay that way, and Martin had taken him literally. Danny also saw that he was right about Martin's cock. Even flaccid, it looked good. Danny then wished he'd turned on more lights in the room, because it looked as if Martin was shaved down there. Taking a step toward Martin, Danny's eyes grew wide as he saw that he wasn't imagining things. Martin was as bare as the day he was born, and damn, but that looked hot. Danny really wanted to run his tongue over Martin's skin, just to see if it felt as smooth as it looked. But even if he'd not made up his mind to stay away from Martin, Danny knew he couldn't do that while Martin was drunk. The poor guy couldn't even stay on his feet, and was most likely beyond the concepts of sex.
Biting back a whimper, Danny reached down, doing his best to ignore the bare skin around Martin's cock. "Grab my hand and I'll help you up."
"You told me to stay here." Martin grinned up at him.
"Well, now I'm telling you to grab my hand so I can help you up."
Martin's grin turned wicked as he licked his lips and looked up at Danny. "Thought you didn't want to have anything to do with getting me off."
"I said, up, not off." Danny wiggled his fingers impatiently. "Take my hand."
"Gotta get up before you can get off," Martin said. He let go of his sock, but instead of reaching up for Danny's hand, he reached down and began to fondle himself. "You don't wanna touch me, maybe you'd like to watch instead?"
So much for the idea that Martin was too drunk to handle the concept of sex, Danny thought. And why was it that Martin could be that drunk, yet still get a hard-on? From what Danny remembered of his drinking days, once he reached a certain point of inebriation, he became incapable of having sex, even if his mind wanted it. But, as in all other things, Martin apparently felt that he had to go that extra mile, and show Danny up. Granted, this seemed to be something else that Danny's own cock seemed to like, even as Danny was shaking his head and trying to tell his body that it just wasn't going to happen. "Not this morning, Martin. Take my hand so we can get you dressed. We've got a plane to catch."
"Can take another flight." That grin grew broader. "Chris liked to watch me play with myself. Sure you don't want to see what you're missing?"
Danny's eyes narrowed as Martin mentioned Larabee. If not for that, then Danny just might have given in. However, hearing Martin saying that man's name so casually just pissed Danny off, and that put an end to his erection in seconds. "I told you to take my hand, and I meant it," Danny said, his mouth tight as he tried to not yell at his partner. "You got to the count of five, and if you're not on your feet by then, then you're gonna regret it."
Martin's eyes had grown wide as Danny spoke, and the sight almost made Danny's anger fade. Almost, but not quite. "One…two…"
Martin's hand shot out and Danny grasped it, pulling Martin to his unsteady feet. "Sit." Danny directed even as he pushed Martin down onto the bed, his gaze firmly on Martin's foot and the sock that was only half on, and not on the smooth skin that surrounded Martin's cock. Kneeling, Danny managed to get the sock onto Martin's foot. As Danny reached up to the bed for the other sock, he caught a glimpse of Martin's face, and the sight of Martin looking on the verge of tears again put an end to Danny's anger. How could you stay angry at someone who looked so broken up over being spoken to harshly?
"Stick out your foot," Danny gently said. His irritation began to return though when the sock clad foot was stuck out toward him. "The other foot." Now he had both feet stuck out toward him, but seeing as one of them was the one Danny needed, he didn't say a word. He just put the sock on, then reached for Martin's pants.
In his life, Danny had run into all kinds of drunks. There were those like his father, who were mean when sober, then got meaner while drinking. There were those who were nice when sober, but sons-of-bitches when drunk, and those who were mean when sober and nice as can be while drunk. There were those who were crybabies when drunk, and those who were nearly emotionless. There were those who took everything too seriously, and those who found just about everything funny. Danny had been a nasty drunk, not quite mean, but not nice, either. He definitely had an edge while drunk, and it was an edge that Danny didn't miss one bit. Danny had been out drinking with Martin and the others, but he'd never before been with Martin when he was this drunk, and he'd have never pegged Martin for being one of those who found everything funny. But the way Martin kept giggling as Danny began to pull the slacks up his legs was definitely a sign of an easily amused drunk.
Danny slowly got to his feet, his hands still on the waistband and his eyes firmly focused on Martin's face and not at all on his half-hard cock. How the man could get hard while drunk was beyond him. Then again, he had yet to get past being half-hard, so maybe Martin's body wasn't as immune to the numbing effects of alcohol as Danny had first suspected.
"On your feet, Martin. And then we'll be done with the pants."
Martin shook his head, then grinned again as he reached out for Danny's waist. Danny took a quick step back as he felt Martin's fingers brushing over the fabric of his boxers. "None of that right now, Fitzie. Right now we're getting you dressed, remember?"
"Can't get dressed," Martin firmly declared as he let his body flop down to the bed. "Someone stole my underwear."
Danny sighed, "Nobody stole your underwear. I didn't keep any out for you because I didn't know what ones were clean. And why am I trying to explain myself to a drunk?"
Martin raised his head and leered at him. "Maybe 'cause you like me? Especially with no underwear?" He grasped the base of his cock and held it steady, then began to wave it back and forth. Danny couldn't think of any one single fantasy that he'd had which starred Martin where Martin was doing something so childish with his own penis. Oh, he'd imagined Martin handling his own cock quite a few times, just never quite like this.
"You keep waving it around and it'll fall off," Danny automatically said, recalling his mother telling him that the one time she'd caught him doing the same thing while he was supposed to be taking a bath. The idea had scared him so much that he spent months afterward afraid that his cock would fall off if he even dared to hold it while peeing.
Martin stopped waving his penis around, but now he was looking down at himself intently, as if he were expecting it to fall off at any moment. Danny shook his head, "If we get your pants on, then that'll help keep it from falling off."
Martin looked up at Danny, a look of desperation in his eyes. "Promise?"
Danny nodded. "I promise you that if you put on your pants, your cock will not fall off." This was some cosmic karma kind of thing, Danny was sure of it. He'd put all of his friends through Hell when he was drinking, and now the universe was making him pay for it.
Martin sat up and then began to get to his feet, a task made a bit harder because Danny refused to let go of the slacks. Martin had to grab hold of both of Danny's shoulders in order to steady himself, but Danny didn't mind that so much. Now that Martin was upright, it took just a moment to pull the slacks up and button them. That would keep them in place while Danny got the shirt and tie on Martin, and God, that wasn't something he was looking forward to. Damn the Bureau and its rules about Agents wearing proper attire while traveling for a case! It would have been much easier to have gotten Martin back into his sweats for the journey home.
Satisfied that the slacks were as secure as they could be for the moment, Danny raised his head to tell Martin to sit back down. He really should have known better, he thought, as he felt Martin's lips melting against his own. He'd known the kind of mood that Martin was in, and should have anticipated that Martin would try to kiss him if he got close enough. Normally, Danny wouldn't have minded the attempt, even with Martin's mouth tasting like whiskey. But with his own longings being held barely at bay, Danny couldn't stand the taste, and he found himself roughly grasping Martin's upper arms and pushing him away.
"No, Martin." Not the pouting again, Danny thought. And the tears were forming once more. "Lord, give me strength," Danny softly prayed. He pushed Martin down onto the bed so that he was seated once more, then reached for the shirt. "We need to get you dressed first."
Martin's eyebrows rose and the pout disappeared, quickly replaced by another wicked grin. "Most people do it the other way 'round, you know. Get undressed and then kiss."
"I'm not most people, Fitzie. You know me, I like to blaze my own trail and do things my own way."
"You can do me your own way anytime, Danny, you know that, don't you?" Martin reached out and grabbed one of Danny's wrists, holding him in place. The wicked grin was gone, replaced by a serious look. "Don't you?"
"Yeah, Martin. I know." And the knowing of it was going to kill him, Danny thought. "Now, let's get your shirt on. Stick out an arm for me."
Martin released Danny's wrist and held his arm out, but his eyes never left Danny's face. Danny tried his best to ignore the steady gaze as he got the shirt onto Martin and then buttoned. Despite having made that vow to himself, and being determined to not do anything to hurt Martin, Danny found himself wishing that he was a man of lesser will. It would be so easy to take what Martin was offering, so easy to accept the love and trust that Martin seemed to have for him and in him. But Danny knew that that trust was misplaced, because he couldn't trust himself around Martin.
Martin cooperated fully as Danny got the tie in place and knotted, and Danny found himself feeling very grateful for that. If Martin had made one more pass at him, or any more suggestions, then Danny didn't know if his will-power would be strong enough.
"Why don't you rest for a bit while I finish getting dressed?" Danny said as he smoothed the tie down. He figured that it would be easier to roll up Martin's belt and stick it in his coat pocket, and then Martin could put it on once they were past the security check-point in the airport. Danny didn't really want to deal with trying to get the belt off of Martin with other people standing around and watching. It was probably going to be enough of an ordeal to get it on him, but Danny was hoping that Martin would either be heading toward sober and able to put on his own belt, or more of the alcohol would be in his system, making him easier to handle. He wished he knew just when Martin had taken his last drink, so he could get a handle on what to expect over the next hour or so. Danny knew he could ask, but he doubted if Martin had known the time, or if he had been checking his watch or a clock, wouldn't remember it now.
Martin let Danny push him backward on the bed, and Danny continued getting dressed. It was quiet over on Martin's side of the room, and Danny found himself hoping that Martin had gone to sleep. It would be easier to get Martin's shoes on him if he was sleeping, and Danny could probably get most of Martin's shirt tucked in as well. With Martin being frisky, Danny wasn't looking forward to tucking that shirt down the front of the man's slacks. He rolled his eyes, wondering how badly his life sucked when he was getting something he wanted; full reign inside of Martin Fitzgerald's pants. Only he couldn't take advantage of it. Not now, not ever. Yeah, life definitely sucked, Danny mused.
Danny draped his own tie around his neck and started toward the dresser so he could get it knotted. But he found himself stopping as he saw that Martin was watching him, and had probably been watching him the whole time he'd been dressing. Danny probably wouldn't have been worried about that, except for the completely wicked smirk that was on Martin's face right then. Forget frisky, Martin was getting downright dangerous, and Danny silently vowed to never, ever let Martin near that much alcohol again. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the attitude, because he did. He just didn't like the idea of that attitude being there because Martin was drunk. Why the Hell hadn't Martin ever made passes at him before? Shit, why hadn't he ever made a pass at Martin before? Why had he been content to leave it at flirting and just allow himself to assume that Martin was straight?
"Danny…Danny…Danny…Danny…"
"I heard you the first three times, Martin." Danny tilted his head so that he could see Martin's reflection in the mirror. Martin had rolled to one side and had his head propped up on his hand, his gaze firmly on Danny's backside. And that damn smirk still on his face. Danny scowled as Martin didn't reply. Maybe the guy was zoning out? "Martin? You still there? Martin? Martin? Hey, Martin!"
"I heard you the first three times, Danny," Martin replied, sticking his tongue out.
Danny shook his head and looked at his own reflection. "I know that it could be worse, Lord, but is it really fair to give me a partner who turns into a five year old when he's drunk?" Danny softly asked. He finished with his tie and turned to look at Martin. "What do you want?"
"You." And then Martin's smirk disappeared, and when he spoke again, he didn't sound drunk at all. "But you don't want me. No…that's not right. You do want me, but you won't take me. I'm not good enough for you; too fucked up for you."
Danny felt like he was the worst kind of filth to ever breathe as he looked into Martin's eyes and saw the sadness and despair there. Danny walked over and sat down on the bed. Reaching out, he ran a finger down Martin's jaw, then lightly grasped the back of Martin's neck, savoring the warmth flowing from Martin's skin.
"You're not too fucked up for me, Martin. I'm the one who's too fucked up for you. We went over this back when you were sober, and I sure as Hell have no intention of trying to explain it again with you drunk. But, just know that it's not you."
Martin shook his head. "That's the code phrase when someone breaks up with you, isn't it? It's not you, it's me, no honest, it really is me. I never really believed it all the times I heard it, and I don't believe it now."
The few hours of sleep that Danny had managed to get were not enough to help him deal with Martin while the guy was like this. Danny pulled his hand away, "Fine. Believe what you want. You always do. We can talk about this again when you've sobered up, but not before."
Danny got to his feet and went to put on his shoes. "Do you think you can manage to get your own shoes on? Or do I need to do that for you, too?"
"I'm not a baby," Martin hotly replied as he sat up. He looked down at the floor, then at Danny, then back down at the floor. "Someone stole my shoes."
Danny sighed, thinking that he was using up his lifetime quota of sighs. "They're on the bed beside you."
"Why would my shoes be on the bed?" Martin asked as he looked over his shoulder and then turned slightly to grab his shoes. "I don't think the hotel is going to like it that my shoes were on the bed and getting the covers dirty."
"They'll wash the covers. Now, can you get them on, or are you just going to talk about them?" His own shoes on, Danny went to get his pockets and belt loaded with his various paraphernalia. He decided that he'd also take Martin's gun with him. No way was he going to let a drunk tote a gun onto the plane, even if the drunk was a Federal Agent.
"I can do it." Martin said, and Danny didn't need to look over at him to know that Martin was pouting. He smiled slightly, wishing he had a video camera as it would make excellent blackmail material. Hell, it would be fun to show it to Samantha and Viv. Well, everything except where Martin was talking about sex, and the parts where Martin was offering himself to Danny. He didn't want anyone else seeing that.
Slipping into his jacket, Danny went to pack up the last of Martin's clothes, and he put Martin's overnight bag beside his own. Looking over to check on Martin, Danny wasn't surprised to see that no progress had been made with the shoes. Martin had one of them in his lap and was apparently trying to untie it, only he'd gotten a bit carried away and had the shoe partially unlaced.
Twenty minutes later, Danny was behind the steering wheel of the rental car and headed for the airport. While Danny felt quite pleased with himself for keeping them on schedule, he was also feeling a bit worn out. He couldn't help but wonder if this was what it felt like to get an infant ready to travel, or even a small child. Danny thought about it for a bit, then decided that it was probably easier to travel with a baby or toddler, because they wouldn't have talked back the way Martin did. And a kid probably wouldn't squirm around so much, like the way Martin was doing now.
"What's wrong?" Danny asked, risking a sideways glance at his partner.
"Feels wrong," Martin replied and he pulled at the front of his pants. "Gone commando before, but it never felt like this. The pants are just all wrong."
"You'll get used to it by the time we get home. Hell, you and I both know that you're going to fall asleep before the plane reaches cruising altitude, so you won't notice it at all then."
The sound of Martin blowing him a raspberry was the only response, and Danny grinned. Yeah, a camera would have been really handy, he thought. A tape of this morning would be just the thing to bring out during those times when Martin was coming across as all-Fitzgerald. Although, knowing Martin, Danny was pretty sure that he'd try to claim that he knew he was being filmed and did it all on purpose, as a joke. And while it was true that Martin couldn't lie worth a damn, it was also true that it was often difficult to tell when Martin was joking and when he was serious about something.
It didn't take long to drop off the rental car, and they were lucky in that the shuttle bus that would take them to the airport was already there and waiting for more passengers to arrive. Danny handed off their bags, then got Martin settled inside, smiling a good morning to the older couple who were already on board.
The woman smiled at both him and Martin, and being nice, asked how they were doing. Danny gave some non-committal answer, and then wanted to sink through the floor of the shuttle as Martin calmly informed the woman and her husband that his morning would have been a lot better if someone hadn't stolen his underwear and then Danny made him put on his pants without them. As the woman tried to not blush as she looked way, Martin went on to explain how the fabric of his pants was chafing him, and not at all comfortable, then he thanked her for asking.
At that point, Danny wasn't sure who was the most embarrassed; the woman, her husband or boyfriend, or himself. Martin sure as Hell wasn't embarrassed, and the driver had been lucky enough to be outside when Martin had given his answer. Lucky man, Danny thought.
Danny sent an apologetic look at the other couple. "He's been drinking all night, and I don't think he knows what he's saying."
"Yes, I do," Martin said. "Drunk or not, I know when my pants chafe me, Danny."
"Ah, well, I can understand that," the woman said, blithely ignoring Martin. "My husband can be quite a handful when he's had a bit too much, too."
"I am not," the man in question replied, setting in motion an argument that lasted all the way to the airport.
On one hand, Danny felt badly about Martin's comments causing the couple to get into such a long-winded argument, but on the other hand, they were so busy arguing that Martin never had another chance to say anything, and Danny was grateful for that. He was even more relieved to reach the airport and see that the couple was taking a different airline.
As Danny guided Martin toward the ticket counter, he moved in closely. "From now on, do not talk about your underwear or that your pants are chafing you. Understand?"
Martin came to a stop and looked at Danny, a hurt look in his eyes. "But, Danny, it *hurts*. And if someone asks me how I am, I should be truthful and tell them that it hurts, shouldn't I? It's not nice to lie."
"And it's not nice to make other people uncomfortable with your replies, right? I'm sure that your mother told you all about that, didn't she?"
Martin looked confused. "About lying to people when they ask how you are or about having pants chafing?"
Danny bit back the urge to sigh. He'd never met Martin's mother, but he had a feeling that the woman had never dealt with chafing pants, and if by chance she ever did, she wouldn't talk about it. "I think we both know that when someone asks you how you're doing, they're just asking to be polite. They don't really want to know the answer."
"So you want me to lie when someone asks me how I am, and tell them that I'm okay and doing fine, even though I could scream because my crotch is about to itch me to death where the pants are touching it?"
Ignoring the stares from those standing nearby, Danny nodded. "That's it exactly. Now, come on and let's get our tickets and get through security. Then we can find some coffee and have some time to relax before our flight."
"Don't they have bars upstairs?" Martin looked toward the escalator, a hopeful look on his face.
"Yes, but I don't think they're open yet." Danny had a sneaking suspicion that they never closed, but he had no intention of letting Martin get inside any of them. "What we both need is coffee, and lots of it."
They went on and joined the line, and a few minutes later were on their way upstairs. Danny was pleased with the seats they'd been assigned. Martin had a window seat, and Danny was in the seat next to him, with someone else getting the aisle seat. Even though this was a larger plane than the one they'd taken to Denver, the ticket agent had informed him that the flight was full. Danny hoped that Martin was sober and in a decent mood by the time their flight landed, because he wasn't looking forward on hauling a still drunk Martin into work and then have to explain to Jack why Martin was in that condition.
Even though they'd made good time in getting to the airport, there was still a line at security, and Danny held his breath as Martin put his bag on the conveyor belt. Danny wanted to send Martin through first, in case there was a problem. The TSA personnel would most likely back down from anything once Danny showed them his badge, but he was hoping to avoid letting everyone else in line know that there would be two Federal Agents on the plane. It was going to be tricky enough to get their guns through security without arousing some interest from the other travelers.
Martin paused as he was about to step through the metal detector, patting himself down. Danny had earlier grabbed Martin's belt and stuck it in a side pocket of his bag, not wanting that to set off the alarm, but Martin had seen him doing that, and wouldn't be looking for the belt.
Martin turned to look at Danny, panic in his eyes. "It's gone, Danny. I've lost my gun. You've still got yours, right? Please tell me that you've got yours. We can't get on the plane without our guns!"
Part Seventeen