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.crack!fic: It's Alive - D/M 3.5
Title: It's Alive
By: HF
Email: aesc36 @gmail.com
Pairing: D/M. In a strange and disturbing way.
Ratings/Warnings: PG13-ish?
Disclaimer: Without a Trace belongs to other people. Alas.
Advertisements: crack!fic written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nekosmuse's International Manny Month Challenge.
Previous parts: 01; 02
Notes: In celebration of completing a paper and dealing with interpersonal difficulties, let there be crack!fic.
CHAPTER THREE
Danny should have known that karma was going to find him, no matter what body he happened to be in at the moment. And right now, he was convinced the universe was taking its revenge on him for making Martin cancel his date with Mike.
Martin had stalked into the office on Monday morning, face dark and furious, and Danny had no idea how scary he looked when he got pissed off – narrow eyes, mouth drawn tight, hair disordered….
He shifted uncomfortably, trying to isolate the strange, excited sort of tingling low in his gut and the heat that had somehow started creeping up his neck and cheeks.
Wait.
Oh, God. Martin’s body was attracted to Danny’s body. Very vocally attracted to Danny’s body.
Right now it was telling him in no uncertain terms how good Martin-in-Danny’s-body looked in black, his suit jacket carelessly undone. A little clumsy, like Martin hadn’t quite gotten used to moving, but still… Mesmerized, he watched as Martin made a notation on the whiteboard and turned to drop some files on his desk, and God even that was, according to Martin’s body’s enthusiastic response, unbearably sexy.
This was bad.
And what was worse was that Sam was right there, perched on his desk – Martin’s desk, and he’d barely avoided screwing up and sitting down in his regular place – and smiling at him, and there was no possible way she could miss the red creeping up his face or the sudden hitch in his breathing.
“So?” she asked, leaning in closer so Danny could get a better view down the neckline of her shirt. “What do you think about drinks this Friday?”
In such a situation, Danny did the only thing he could think of.
He squeaked out a negative, muttered something about needing to see Jack, and ran away.
* * *
Martin watched Danny make his ungraceful escape with dark satisfaction. It served the bastard right for making Martin break his date with that asshole, Mike. And God in heaven, the man had been an asshole, and what Danny had seen in him, Martin would never have any idea.
It definitely hadn’t been Mike’s scintillating wit that had attracted Danny, Martin was sure. Unless Danny liked them stupid, and if he did, Martin was not going to let himself think about that.
“Oh, it’s always a fucking case with you, Danny,” Mike shouted, voice obscured by a blizzard of indignant static. “Look, if you don’t want to go out anymore, just say it.”
“I… I…” He felt unaccountably bad, breaking up with a guy he didn’t even know. Desperately, he tried to think of how Danny would handle a hysterical semi-boyfriend, and came to the conclusion that even if he could figure out how Danny would handle this sort of situation, he’d never be able to pull it off.
Besides, this was his first time breaking up with another guy. He was allowed a learning curve.
“It shouldn’t have to be a fight,” he said after a moment of casting around for effective break-up lines.
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean, ‘It shouldn’t have to be a fight’?” Mike demanded.
“It means we’re done,” Martin informed him solemnly.
“So we’re done? Just like that?”
“Well, not just like that… but yeah.”
Mike huffed and muttered something foul and exotic and slammed down his phone.
“Huh,” Martin said to himself as he flipped his cell phone shut. “That went well.”
The memory was excruciating two days later, and so Martin watched Danny fleeing for Jack’s office with no small amount of pleasure, a pleasure that was dampened a bit when Sam walked over and sat down near him.
“Is Martin okay?” she asked in a low voice.
“Er… he, um. He hasn’t been feeling himself since last week,” he said, wincing.
“Oh,” Sam said, and mercifully let the subject drop.
* * *
It was rapidly becoming clear that their vow to keep their situation secret from the rest of the team was turning out to be much easier in theory than in practice.
Partly this was because after going two days without showering, both Danny and Martin couldn’t avoid seeing each other naked anymore.
(Reader, picture simultaneously if you will, in the best crack!fic tradition, two men in different bathrooms on opposite sides of Queens. One of them actually has the bathroom light off and is trying to find the faucet for the bathtub in the dark.)
Danny kept his eyes shut and Martin kept the lights off, out of some misguided belief that if they did not acknowledge whose body they were in it wouldn’t matter.
(These showers were, needless to say, completed in record time.)
Martin made it through his with a minimum of dirty, awful, horrible thoughts; the few he did have, mostly centering around how nice Danny’s skin felt when it was wet and how he was just a little bit ticklish around his ribs, were very quickly banished to some dark corner of his id along with the other thoughts he’d been entertaining about Danny for the past few years.
Danny likewise was doing quite well until he reached the drying-off stage, at which point he opened his eyes, inadvertently* looked down, and nearly fainted.
* * *
It was also rapidly becoming clear that they needed to find Karl von Birkenstock, and soon, because he was most likely the only person capable of returning them to their proper bodies. Martin, who had read a lot of science fiction and was something of an expert on this sort of phenomenon, suggested that if they remained in each other’s bodies too long they wouldn’t be able to be separated again.
Danny told Martin later that Monday afternoon, he would much rather be in his own body, thank you very much.
“Well, it’s not that much better being in yours,” Martin retorted irritably, though he refrained from telling Danny that Danny’s body was behaving very oddly whenever he was in the presence of Martin’s body – constantly bending over before Martin could stop it, smirking on random occasions, gesturing to catch Danny’s (or Martin’s body’s) eye at every available opportunity, standing much closer than strictly required – and it was starting to freak him out.
They made it to Wednesday without any major disasters, though one of the secretaries down on the sixth floor had tried to flirt with whom she thought was Danny, much to Martin’s consternation, and Sam had remarked in passing that Martin’s ties coordinating nicely with his suits more than two days in a row was probably a record.
Martin had wanted to defend himself from this charge, but wisely kept his mouth shut and listened to Danny saying something about turning over a new sartorial leaf.
There’d also been a couple incidents when one had responded to his own name, as when Danny had heard Jack calling him to check out some surveillance stuff and had been halfway to the tech room before remembering. And once Martin had heard Sam calling his name in her ‘I think it would be a good idea if we slept together again’ voice and had hidden in a file room until she’d gone.
He’d overheard Danny talking to Sam a couple times later Monday, and wow… Danny was very smooth with the breakup, gently explaining to Sam that he thought it would be better that they just stay friends, and that she deserved to go out with a nice, style-enabled guy.
Then they’d hugged, and just like that, everything was okay.
Martin was deeply impressed, and grateful enough to make an extra effort at picking out coordinated clothes on Tuesday.
Wednesday, though…
The morning started well enough, with Danny’s body only twice disobeying Martin’s explicit orders not to smirk at Martin’s body and Danny managing to find a suit-tie combination that had almost made Martin’s (i.e. Danny’s) eyes bleed.
It started just after nine o’clock in the morning, when Martin came back to the office carrying something that smelled suspiciously of grease. Danny turned in his chair and watched as Martin popped the lid off a tray of… He squinted and sniffed experimentally. No, it couldn’t be. No possible way.
But it was. A cheeseburger liberally festooned with lard, and French fries.
“You are not putting that in – ” Danny squawked indignantly, barely catching himself before saying You are not putting that in my body.
“What?” Martin asked, turning an affronted look on him. “I’m starving.”
“It’s bad for you.” And those are my arteries you’re clogging.
Martin frowned, and Danny felt his borrowed body respond with interest again, and he was… wow. If he ever got back to his own body he would have to do something about Fitzie’s body’s approval of Danny’s looks.
At the moment, though, Martin was mad – and so was Danny, so they were even – and he obviously couldn’t say anything without giving them away. After a moment of consideration, Martin grabbed a legal pad and pen, and scribbled something on it, nearly tearing the paper. Wadded up the paper and flung it at Danny, then returned to his desk and the cheeseburger.
I’m starving and you don’t eat enough. And, underlined beneath, Just try to stop me.
Danny looked up, and just as he met Martin’s eyes, Martin sank his teeth into the cheeseburger, glaring defiantly at him over the bun.
Viv came by, arms full of reports, and eyed the two of them.
“You boys doing okay?” she asked, expression indicating that she would not believe them if they told her ‘yes.’
“Fine, Viv,” Danny said.
“Yeah, fine,” Martin said around his cheeseburger.
Viv raised an eyebrow at Martin’s meal and shrugged.
“Whatever you say, boys.”
* * *
Later that day, Jack and Martin went out to interview potential witnesses in the Birkenstock case, and Viv and Sam drove to the hospital to talk to Birkenstock’s colleagues (who, to a man, believed von Birkenstock was a whack-job), leaving Danny at the office by himself to go over credit card reports. Jack had handed out assignments like this because Martin liked going over credit card reports, and as far as Jack knew, it was Martin Fitzgerald back in the office staring at them, not Danny Taylor dying a slow and painful death by boredom.
Danny was actually trying not to put his eyes out, and he was so engrossed in trying not to give into temptation that he didn’t hear the impatient series of throat-clearings behind him.
A forceful, irritated “Martin!” made him jump in his seat, and he whirled around.
Victor Fitzgerald was staring at him, arms crossed over his chest, brow creased in something between worry and annoyance.
“Martin, could I please speak with you a minute? In private?”
-tbc.-
* = the reader may judge the inadvertence, and the reason for the fainting, for herself.
By: HF
Email: aesc36 @gmail.com
Pairing: D/M. In a strange and disturbing way.
Ratings/Warnings: PG13-ish?
Disclaimer: Without a Trace belongs to other people. Alas.
Advertisements: crack!fic written for
nekosmuse's International Manny Month Challenge.Previous parts: 01; 02
Notes: In celebration of completing a paper and dealing with interpersonal difficulties, let there be crack!fic.
CHAPTER THREE
Danny should have known that karma was going to find him, no matter what body he happened to be in at the moment. And right now, he was convinced the universe was taking its revenge on him for making Martin cancel his date with Mike.
Martin had stalked into the office on Monday morning, face dark and furious, and Danny had no idea how scary he looked when he got pissed off – narrow eyes, mouth drawn tight, hair disordered….
He shifted uncomfortably, trying to isolate the strange, excited sort of tingling low in his gut and the heat that had somehow started creeping up his neck and cheeks.
Wait.
Oh, God. Martin’s body was attracted to Danny’s body. Very vocally attracted to Danny’s body.
Right now it was telling him in no uncertain terms how good Martin-in-Danny’s-body looked in black, his suit jacket carelessly undone. A little clumsy, like Martin hadn’t quite gotten used to moving, but still… Mesmerized, he watched as Martin made a notation on the whiteboard and turned to drop some files on his desk, and God even that was, according to Martin’s body’s enthusiastic response, unbearably sexy.
This was bad.
And what was worse was that Sam was right there, perched on his desk – Martin’s desk, and he’d barely avoided screwing up and sitting down in his regular place – and smiling at him, and there was no possible way she could miss the red creeping up his face or the sudden hitch in his breathing.
“So?” she asked, leaning in closer so Danny could get a better view down the neckline of her shirt. “What do you think about drinks this Friday?”
In such a situation, Danny did the only thing he could think of.
He squeaked out a negative, muttered something about needing to see Jack, and ran away.
Martin watched Danny make his ungraceful escape with dark satisfaction. It served the bastard right for making Martin break his date with that asshole, Mike. And God in heaven, the man had been an asshole, and what Danny had seen in him, Martin would never have any idea.
It definitely hadn’t been Mike’s scintillating wit that had attracted Danny, Martin was sure. Unless Danny liked them stupid, and if he did, Martin was not going to let himself think about that.
“Oh, it’s always a fucking case with you, Danny,” Mike shouted, voice obscured by a blizzard of indignant static. “Look, if you don’t want to go out anymore, just say it.”
“I… I…” He felt unaccountably bad, breaking up with a guy he didn’t even know. Desperately, he tried to think of how Danny would handle a hysterical semi-boyfriend, and came to the conclusion that even if he could figure out how Danny would handle this sort of situation, he’d never be able to pull it off.
Besides, this was his first time breaking up with another guy. He was allowed a learning curve.
“It shouldn’t have to be a fight,” he said after a moment of casting around for effective break-up lines.
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean, ‘It shouldn’t have to be a fight’?” Mike demanded.
“It means we’re done,” Martin informed him solemnly.
“So we’re done? Just like that?”
“Well, not just like that… but yeah.”
Mike huffed and muttered something foul and exotic and slammed down his phone.
“Huh,” Martin said to himself as he flipped his cell phone shut. “That went well.”
The memory was excruciating two days later, and so Martin watched Danny fleeing for Jack’s office with no small amount of pleasure, a pleasure that was dampened a bit when Sam walked over and sat down near him.
“Is Martin okay?” she asked in a low voice.
“Er… he, um. He hasn’t been feeling himself since last week,” he said, wincing.
“Oh,” Sam said, and mercifully let the subject drop.
It was rapidly becoming clear that their vow to keep their situation secret from the rest of the team was turning out to be much easier in theory than in practice.
Partly this was because after going two days without showering, both Danny and Martin couldn’t avoid seeing each other naked anymore.
(Reader, picture simultaneously if you will, in the best crack!fic tradition, two men in different bathrooms on opposite sides of Queens. One of them actually has the bathroom light off and is trying to find the faucet for the bathtub in the dark.)
Danny kept his eyes shut and Martin kept the lights off, out of some misguided belief that if they did not acknowledge whose body they were in it wouldn’t matter.
(These showers were, needless to say, completed in record time.)
Martin made it through his with a minimum of dirty, awful, horrible thoughts; the few he did have, mostly centering around how nice Danny’s skin felt when it was wet and how he was just a little bit ticklish around his ribs, were very quickly banished to some dark corner of his id along with the other thoughts he’d been entertaining about Danny for the past few years.
Danny likewise was doing quite well until he reached the drying-off stage, at which point he opened his eyes, inadvertently* looked down, and nearly fainted.
It was also rapidly becoming clear that they needed to find Karl von Birkenstock, and soon, because he was most likely the only person capable of returning them to their proper bodies. Martin, who had read a lot of science fiction and was something of an expert on this sort of phenomenon, suggested that if they remained in each other’s bodies too long they wouldn’t be able to be separated again.
Danny told Martin later that Monday afternoon, he would much rather be in his own body, thank you very much.
“Well, it’s not that much better being in yours,” Martin retorted irritably, though he refrained from telling Danny that Danny’s body was behaving very oddly whenever he was in the presence of Martin’s body – constantly bending over before Martin could stop it, smirking on random occasions, gesturing to catch Danny’s (or Martin’s body’s) eye at every available opportunity, standing much closer than strictly required – and it was starting to freak him out.
They made it to Wednesday without any major disasters, though one of the secretaries down on the sixth floor had tried to flirt with whom she thought was Danny, much to Martin’s consternation, and Sam had remarked in passing that Martin’s ties coordinating nicely with his suits more than two days in a row was probably a record.
Martin had wanted to defend himself from this charge, but wisely kept his mouth shut and listened to Danny saying something about turning over a new sartorial leaf.
There’d also been a couple incidents when one had responded to his own name, as when Danny had heard Jack calling him to check out some surveillance stuff and had been halfway to the tech room before remembering. And once Martin had heard Sam calling his name in her ‘I think it would be a good idea if we slept together again’ voice and had hidden in a file room until she’d gone.
He’d overheard Danny talking to Sam a couple times later Monday, and wow… Danny was very smooth with the breakup, gently explaining to Sam that he thought it would be better that they just stay friends, and that she deserved to go out with a nice, style-enabled guy.
Then they’d hugged, and just like that, everything was okay.
Martin was deeply impressed, and grateful enough to make an extra effort at picking out coordinated clothes on Tuesday.
Wednesday, though…
The morning started well enough, with Danny’s body only twice disobeying Martin’s explicit orders not to smirk at Martin’s body and Danny managing to find a suit-tie combination that had almost made Martin’s (i.e. Danny’s) eyes bleed.
It started just after nine o’clock in the morning, when Martin came back to the office carrying something that smelled suspiciously of grease. Danny turned in his chair and watched as Martin popped the lid off a tray of… He squinted and sniffed experimentally. No, it couldn’t be. No possible way.
But it was. A cheeseburger liberally festooned with lard, and French fries.
“You are not putting that in – ” Danny squawked indignantly, barely catching himself before saying You are not putting that in my body.
“What?” Martin asked, turning an affronted look on him. “I’m starving.”
“It’s bad for you.” And those are my arteries you’re clogging.
Martin frowned, and Danny felt his borrowed body respond with interest again, and he was… wow. If he ever got back to his own body he would have to do something about Fitzie’s body’s approval of Danny’s looks.
At the moment, though, Martin was mad – and so was Danny, so they were even – and he obviously couldn’t say anything without giving them away. After a moment of consideration, Martin grabbed a legal pad and pen, and scribbled something on it, nearly tearing the paper. Wadded up the paper and flung it at Danny, then returned to his desk and the cheeseburger.
I’m starving and you don’t eat enough. And, underlined beneath, Just try to stop me.
Danny looked up, and just as he met Martin’s eyes, Martin sank his teeth into the cheeseburger, glaring defiantly at him over the bun.
Viv came by, arms full of reports, and eyed the two of them.
“You boys doing okay?” she asked, expression indicating that she would not believe them if they told her ‘yes.’
“Fine, Viv,” Danny said.
“Yeah, fine,” Martin said around his cheeseburger.
Viv raised an eyebrow at Martin’s meal and shrugged.
“Whatever you say, boys.”
Later that day, Jack and Martin went out to interview potential witnesses in the Birkenstock case, and Viv and Sam drove to the hospital to talk to Birkenstock’s colleagues (who, to a man, believed von Birkenstock was a whack-job), leaving Danny at the office by himself to go over credit card reports. Jack had handed out assignments like this because Martin liked going over credit card reports, and as far as Jack knew, it was Martin Fitzgerald back in the office staring at them, not Danny Taylor dying a slow and painful death by boredom.
Danny was actually trying not to put his eyes out, and he was so engrossed in trying not to give into temptation that he didn’t hear the impatient series of throat-clearings behind him.
A forceful, irritated “Martin!” made him jump in his seat, and he whirled around.
Victor Fitzgerald was staring at him, arms crossed over his chest, brow creased in something between worry and annoyance.
“Martin, could I please speak with you a minute? In private?”
-tbc.-
* = the reader may judge the inadvertence, and the reason for the fainting, for herself.
no subject
Statistically it's inevitable. And Danny's seen Martin's body (hence his fainting spell). So far Martin has been lucky.
Do we get porn soon???
Maybe. We'll see :D