Querido 2/2, for atalentea

[undercovermods]

READ PART ONE

The smell of Elena was strong, but not overpowering - and not distracting. Right now, nothing could distract him from the feel, the taste of the man bearing down on him. He had expected alcohol of some kind - Danny had certainly given every indication of lapsing, but now, with that tongue lapping at his lips, sharing the same air, the same breath, there was no hint of any inebriation. It was, in its own way, a relief ; Danny wasn’t doing this out of some drunken delusion.

But Danny tasted of coffee, of course, and cilantro and cumin and something sweet and heavy - molasses, maybe, or syrup.

And Danny. His scent, the tangy, heady combination of sweat and musk and almost-cinnamon cologne that was uniquely him translated into a taste that combined with the others to feed a hunger Martin didn’t know he had. He’d known he wanted Danny, needed Danny, but compared to what he felt now, as Danny enveloped him sensually, he thought that the addictive part of his personality might win after all. There were some things that were worse than painkillers, some things that he would never be able to give up.

“Want you,” Danny said against Martin’s mouth, “come on, you know you want me.”

Danny shifted, hands sliding under Martin’s arm, pulling him up. He was standing, but that was vague, his attention on the presence in his mouth, the use of his own tongue to taste, touch, share himself with the invasion.

They were moving, or trying to; he was clumsy and aware of it, but uncaring, allowing Danny to guide him and even balance him as they moved down the short hallway to the bedroom.

Danny’s hands seemed to be everywhere, on Martin’s back, holding his head, around his waist, sliding over his shoulders, grabbing at his ass - but as his knees hit the bed and he fell onto it in a sprawl, Danny’s hand found one true place.

Martin jerked as the long fingers closed around his erection, the thin fabric of his pajama pants the only barrier between them - and probably the only thing that kept him from coming.

“Oh yeah,” Danny’s voice lilted, “all that, just for me.” He stroked, but slowly, his hold tight. “Easy, chico, we’ve got all night.”

Martin groaned, knew he was groaning and didn’t even try to stop. The fantasy of this had played in his mind for so long that the reality was shrouded in a dream-like softness. He vaguely wondered if it was really happening, or if he had finally managed to break with reality, the concussion reshaping it to fit his desire.

Danny kissed him again, more demanding. This contact rubbed at the cuts, adding a sting to the pleasure and drawing Martin farther from his haze. He shifted, edging away, only to find Danny’s body moving to cover his.

“Shhhh,” Danny whispered, “let me love you.” His hands moved now, shifting away from Martin’s groin to catch the elastic waist of the pajamas. He tugged, and with no thought, Martin’s hips rose and he was bare, the soft glide of the cloth slipping down his legs his only warning.

Danny’s mouth was on his neck, kissing and licking at first, erotic touches that had Martin pushing up against Danny’s longer body, his cock rubbing against the rough weave of the other man’s jeans.

He was close again, on the edge, stopped only by the press of teeth at the junction of his throat and shoulder. The bite cut into his skin, leaking need as well as blood. He pushed against Danny’s chest to stop the hurt, only to have his wrists caught and held fast.

But Danny was speaking again, his words blowing over the wound and easing the sting. “You make me crazy, I want you so bad,” and it sounded like a moan, weaving through Martin’s resistance and destroying it from within.

He let his hands be placed above his head, leaving himself open. Vulnerable. He didn’t like it - it was too much like those days in the hospital and afterwards, his body not his own, displayed and accessible to anyone and everyone - but Danny distracted him, that fickle mouth traipsing along his jaw, the nubile tongue taunting and swirling and submerging the burn of anxiety.

Light touches skimmed down his sternum, following the faint trail of hair over his belly to his groin. He was rising again, his lust rekindled in the onslaught of pleasure.

“Bonito,” Danny murmured as he touched, “perfecto.” He curved, his head moving lower, his lips brushing against Martin’s left nipple, before his teeth toyed lightly with it.

Martin arched with the intensity of the touch, his arms coming down to gather Danny, encouraging more of the same. As his fingers pushed into Danny’s hair, seeking to guide the assault, Danny rolled onto his side and away.

Martin took some satisfaction out of noting that the other man was breathing as heavily as he was. He did worry, though, that his companion was still dressed - mussed, but dressed.

Before he could comment, Danny reached for the opening of his jeans - button-fly, Martin observed, and old enough to pull open with practiced ease. He was wearing boxers underneath, something silky and shiny in the soft light coming from the hallway, but his erection nudged its way from the folds of cloth, slender and long and dripping with his own want.

“Taste me,” Danny ordered, but his tone was soft, and Martin thought it was a plea.

He twisted, coming to his knees as Danny fell to his back, stretching the short space between them to reach the solid pillar of Danny’s erection.

It had been a long time - Seattle, when he was far enough away from his father that he could be what he wanted. Not that it mattered, some things were innate.

The taste was richer here, deeper, and his tongue was seeking it out before he even thought.

At the first swipe, Danny jerked and cried out, his hands falling to Martin’s shoulders. He was trembling, so close that Martin thought a mere breath might be enough to push him over the edge.

He hesitated, not wanting it to be done this soon. Danny’s fingers tightened, pushing him back. “Bueno, Martin, chico, do it, do it.”

There was no way he could refuse, wanting to give as much as Danny wanted to receive. He licked again, lingering on the tip as he tasted the thick tartness of Danny’s pre-ejaculate. On impulse, his lips closed over the tip, sucking slightly to draw out more of the taste.

He was choking before his brain caught up with what was happening, before he filtered the different sensations into hands forcing him down, the Danny’s cock banging hard into the back of his throat, the shaft heavy on his tongue and filling his mouth.

He was pushing at Danny’s hips, trying to free himself, to get space. He barely stopped himself from biting down - and even then, his teeth grazed, and apparently enough.

Danny pulled away and pushed Martin away at the same time, gasping, leaving Martin to cough.

“God, I’m sorry, Martin - are you all right? Christ, I didn’t mean - Martin, talk to me - “

Danny was sitting up, his arms around Martin’s shoulders, his head resting against Martin’s as he mumbled into Martin’s ear. As his breathing slowed, Martin turned his head slightly, catching Danny’s lips. “I’m okay,” he said, or tried to say around kisses. “Just need a minute.”

Danny nodded, pulling him tight as he guided him back into the pillows at the head of the bed. He stroked and explored, his hands seemingly everywhere on Martin, as if making up for what had just happened. He didn’t need to, Martin felt it was more his fault for not thinking before tempting fate with his unthinking behaviors, but he didn’t resist the affection the other man was showing now. Especially as the actions turned provocative, moving closer and closer to Martin’s groin.

Martin pushed against the other man, aware suddenly that there were still layers of cloth between them. Nuzzling at Danny’s jaw, he tried to reach between them to get to the buttons of the blue shirt.

The attempt, and his attention to it, were lost in a crescendo of titillation as a taunting hand wrapped around his erection, making it the center of his perception.

“Want you, now,” Danny hissed, stroking slowly but thoroughly, robbing Martin of any power to argue.

Martin moaned, the feeling building - it had been too long, he knew, too long since he had let anyone be this close to him, too long since he had allowed himself any indulgence. He would pay for it now, he thought, amused despite himself by the irony - he had stopped Danny, wanting this to last. Now he would be the one to end it.

But Danny was ahead of him, pressing just a little too hard before letting go completely.

“No,” Martin whimpered, pushing up, trying to force contact. “Please, more.” Unconsciously, his hands rose again to Danny’s shirt, wanting to feel the other man’s flesh, wanting to feel the wonder of skin against skin.

As he grabbed at the shirt front, his fingers struggling for the buttons, Danny moved still closer, snaking his arms under and around Martin, pulling him tight. “Can’t wait,” he rasped, “need you, chico, now.”

One hand was at the back of Martin’s neck, cradling his head, but the other, the other was drifting down Martin’s back in a sensual quest that ended as it reached the curve of Martin’s ass.

Danny groaned as he cupped the hard muscle and Martin felt his breath catch as his own aching hurt. But the memory of fear colored his desire; it had been longer than Seattle since he had given himself this way, and he didn’t think Danny had the patience -

“How long?” Danny mouthed against his lips. “Have you - you have - Martin, please, tell me you - “

“Shhhh,” Martin soothed again, managing to pull one arm free so that he could stroke through Danny’s hair, “it’s been a while, but I have done it before, it’s all right.”

“Don’t want to hurt you, God, Martin, but need - please.” The desperation was back, and Martin swallowed, compassion overpowering his personal concern.

Danny must’ve felt his acquiescence for his hand squeezed, almost pinching the taut flesh under it, before the tips of his fingers slid down, entering the narrow seam.

Martin canted his hips, trying to edge out of reach, but Danny’s arms were long and his need longer. Before Martin could struggle, he felt the brush over the small pucker he protected.

Martin tensed at the touch; memories surfaced instantly of the impersonal invasions of doctors and nurses, the submission of his control for the healing of his body.

Feeling the tension, Danny let his hand move on, skimming down to catch Martin’s thigh then raising it, settling Martin’s leg over his own outer thigh.

Opening him.

Martin swallowed feeling a sort of panic building as his mind played through images of strange hands on him, in him, exposing him this way, putting things in him -

“Martin?” Danny’s voice shifted across his consciousness, teasing him, and a hand closed warm over his cock, the memories instantly falling away.

He arched forward this time and heard his own groan of pleasure.

“Good boy,” Danny whispered, just before his tongue took Martin’s mouth, matching strokes with the movement at his groin.

It felt too good, he was gonna -

The hand was gone, the tongue licking at the corner of his mouth, the words blowing across his lips. “Need something, mi marica, need something slick - “

“The drawer,” he thought he might have answered, must have because Danny was stretching across him, the long arms finding the drawer without having to raise his body, but he did have to roll; Martin felt the pressure in his abdomen, the solid line of it so near to his own, so like his own.

He was on his back, Danny on top of him, his own legs open and Danny between them. A noise told him Danny was searching the drawer, but Martin couldn’t think past the closeness of their cocks, separated only by the cloth Danny still wore. He wanted to reach them both, pull them together, share the strange but shocking frisson that sparked when two of them touched -

He cried out at the sudden lost of weight and touch and heat.

“’S all right, marica,” Danny crooned, “soon, so soon.” He levered himself up on one elbow, reaching between them until he found Martin’s erection. A mere brush and Martin was moaning, flexing as high as he could to make more contact.

“Shhh, mi marica, mi chinga,” he murmured more, and Martin felt his hand drift lower still, tracing along his balls. “Dulca marica ,” his voice grew deeper as his hand drifted farther. “Shhhh, mi chinga.

He’d found the lubricant, Martin thought vaguely just before Danny touched him once more in that small, private place.

He thought he had been more vulnerable on his side, his legs spread, but now, he wasn’t so certain; he couldn’t move here, his body pressed between Danny’s and the mattress itself.

But he wanted this, he willed himself to believe, he wanted to feel Danny in him, wanted to give him -

A slender digit breached him, slowly slipping through the tight opening and he gasped; it felt good. And frightening.

“Deo,” Danny breathed, pushing more. “So tight, so hot.”

The intrusion continued and Martin started to tense, torn between fear and anticipation. He wanted to pull away, to slow this, and that need grew as Danny started to explore.

Until Danny found it, that one spot that made Martin forget to breathe.

Fortunately, Danny lost it after several strokes, giving Martin the chance to not only catch his breathe but return to a momentary sanity. He was back on his side, one leg hooked again over Danny’s hip, but now he welcomed the openness. Danny strained against him, pushing his groin hard against Martin’s, their cocks still rubbing against each other despite the cloth that separated them.

Danny had two fingers in him now, stretching, which was why he had lost the right touch, but Martin almost didn’t care. It felt good, almost too good, and he wanted more even as the spectre of the past tried to edge back into his mind.

Danny was talking to him, soft words that made no sense to Martin but didn’t care at the moment. All he wanted was more of that feeling, more of that mind-losing touch.

Danny’s mouth moved on him then, kissing and rasping with his teeth, tasting him as though he were rare nectar. It had been so terribly long since anyone had given him this attention, this affection, that he could have lost himself in it alone. But the fact that the person in his bed was Danny, someone he had come to want, to possibly love . . .

Two fingers because three, and pressure growing, the width stretching just a little too far. Danny tilted his wrist and there was a hard bruise as his knuckles pressed against soft tissue, but the new angle resurrected the tiny gland and once more Martin was lost.

When his brain returned, he found himself on his hands and knees, Danny stretched along his back, still working him open.

“Want you,” Danny was saying, but Martin could tell by the way he repeated it over and over that Danny had no more awareness of his words than he did of the weather outside. All of his concentration was centered on what he was dong to Martin - which was all right with Martin because there where all of his concentration was as well.

The fingers were so close, almost hitting it again - Martin pushed back, and the pleasure exploded anew, pleasure so intense it was beginning to hurt.

As was his cock, throbbing and dripping, aching with the need to be touched. He shifted, tried to move his hand, but he was bearing the weight of them both.

“Soon, marica, soon,” Danny murmured, and he kissed the base of Martin’s neck, an affectionate gesture that was as erotic as anything else he had done so far. “Need you.”

Martin whined as the fingers withdrew, the emptiness more painful than anything else. The weight on him shifted, and he thought he might float at the unexpected lightness, until a new presence tethered him. His body grasped at the visitor as it nestled against him, shuddering in expectation of filling the void those fingers had left. With no thought, he eased back, willing himself to open even more.

Danny groaned, one hand slipping around Martin’s waist to hold him, or perhaps guide him. Martin didn’t notice, really, intent on ending this vacancy.

It pushed, at first stretching him, easing into him with care. But despite the preparation and Martin’s want, his skin grew taut then unforgiving. It burned, small tears starting as the push continued, and despite himself, Martin tried to pull away.

“Wait,” he gasped out, “I need - “

A hand found his cock, teasing it. It was a distraction, the burn relegated to the back of his attention - but not long enough. The pain grew, overtaking the titillation, and he pulled forward.

“No, chica,” Danny groaned, “don’t move.”

The hand on Martin’s erection tightened too much, trapping him between two equal hurts.

“Danny, please,” he whimpered, his body twitching indecisively. “Hurts.”

“Shhhh, only for a few seconds,” Danny soothed.

But his voice belied his motions, and Martin bit his lip to keep from crying out as the intrusion continued, bearing down into him, while the squeezing did as well, trapping him.

He rolled his hips, hissing desperately, but Danny pushed harder. Fireworks of agony rolled up his spine, exploding in fits and bursts, ricocheting through his head. He couldn’t breathe, flame consuming him - the slowly waning to a constant heat. It was still too hot, like a blister, but it was constant now.

Danny was in - not far, but the widest part was through, and he was still. He seemed to be panting as hard as Martin was, his body as rigid and heavy.

“Danny,” Martin whimpered, “let go - please, Christ, let go.”

It seemed to take the other man a few seconds to understand, and when he did, he was sluggish, as if he couldn’t get his hand to relax.

The blood that had been trapped by the hold flowed away quickly, leaving him flaccid and shaking. He had been wrong to think this could work, to think that he could enjoy this.

He gathered himself, willing himself to bear what had to come next - it would hurt as much going out.

“No, Martin,” Danny whispered, “don’t move. Wait - it’ll be better - “

“Can’t,” he rasped, “hurts. Can’t take - “

He did cry out this time, the thrust unexpected.

The flare wasn’t as bright as the ones before - the worst was, theoretically past. He was only overwhelmed for a few seconds, the disorientation passing faster and leaving him shivering not quite as hard.

“Relax, chica, it’s better now,” Danny mouthed along his shoulders. “You’ll like it - relax.”

“No,” he whimpered again, “Want it out - “

“It’ll be worse,” Danny murmured. His hand drifted down, stroking lightly along Martin’s thigh. “I’ll make it good,” he promised, this touch such a contrast to the other that it made Martin feel faint.

He knew this trick, knew that it would return his erection no matter how much he hurt, and it did. He felt the thickening of his shaft and the tingling as the swelling started in the tip, dividing his attention and his rational mind from his body.

“Danny, please,” he begged, even as his body swayed in confusion.

“You want me,” Danny reminded him, “don’t tease me, Martin, don’t stop in the middle of it.” There was something in the back of his tone, something dangerous and dark. The eyes that had stared at him earlier flashed through Martin’s mind, laughing at him.

A little burst of adrenalin steadied him, and teased him. His body surrendered a little more and Danny groaned as he slid farther in.

“That’s it, chicha, let me in, take me.” The words were almost a chant, and he ignored them as the fingers continued to excite him.

Another slid, but this time - this time the thing filling him rubbed over the nub and all the pain vanished in a haze of want.

A haze that continued as that place was rubbed again and again and again. Around the mind-numbing shocks, he knew that Danny was moving not just forward, but back as well, small pumps at first that strengthened as Martin’s body gave way.

He was gonna hurt tomorrow, he knew, probably not be able to walk. But now, now his own desire was back, building from his balls, spiraling through his stomach. He had no awareness of when his pattern changed, but he was pushing back against the other man, wanting more, wanting it faster, and harder, and deeper.

They moved against each other, Danny’s clinging to him, pounding against him, chanting a litany of words that Martin could hardly understand, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the coiling spring of ecstasy winding tighter and tighter.

“Come for me,” a voice commanded against his neck, “Christ, come for me, chica, show me.”

He was close, so close, but just on the edge. Strong arms caught his chest, pulling, and he was on his knees, back arched, his head resting on Danny’s shoulder.

Danny was deeper now, as deep as he could go, so deep he thought he might come all the way through. The lunges weren’t as hard, their bodies too heavy at this angle, but the friction was faster, sending constant sparks through him.

“Come for me, mi chinga,” that voice ordered again, “show me your love.”

A rough hand caught his nipple, tugging, and another caught his cock. As the calloused palm stroked up, curving over the slick head, he came harder than he’d ever come before.

When consciousness slowly crawled back in, he was aware that Danny was in a rigor of his own, his body locked in release, extended so far that Martin’s knees barely touched the bed.

They stayed that way for several seconds that seemed an infinity, until Danny drew a deep, shaking breath - and fell. Danny managed to pull to one side, so that he didn’t land directly on Martin; but the shift wrenched him free of Martin’s body before he was lax, and a spike of nausea roiled through Martin at the renewed pain. He closed his eyes, willing himself to control.

A gentle touch to his swollen brow drew him back.

“Martin?” Danny stared at him, his dark eyes worried. “Are you all right?”

With no movement, the aches and throbs receded. He felt bruised and battered, and he expected to find a little blood in wrong places - but he also felt boneless and more contented than he had ever dared to hope for.

He nodded, grinning slightly. “You?”

Danny actually laughed. “You are one hell of a ride,” he answered back. It wasn’t quite what Martin had wanted to hear - but it was better than it could have been.

Danny stretched out on the bed, getting comfortable, and Martin realized that he was still dressed.

And that he was completely undressed. He flushed with a strange embarrassment, and he chided himself for being stupid.

But the urge to cover himself grew stronger and he forced himself to move, ignoring the slicing stabs from deep inside.

He was almost sitting up when Danny’s arm fell against his, stopping him. “I like looking at you,” he said quietly, his knuckles rubbing over Martin’s bare ribs. “I like to see you naked.”

He knew the flush wasn’t confined to his face, and Danny’s chuckle told him it was something he would hear about again.

“Bonito,” the other man said, his knuckles still stroking.

Martin drew away unsteadily, swallowing as he edged himself off the bed. His legs were weak and trickles of various things oozed down his belly and his thighs. He stumbled to the bathroom, avoiding the mirror as he wet a bath clothe and wiped at himself. He avoided looking at it as well afterwards; it felt like fine shards of glass mixed with sand coated the cloth as he cleaned himself, and he knew he wouldn’t like the new colors on the pale blue bath linen.

He did have a terry robe, though, and he wrapped it close, knotting the belt. The hem was just below his knees, giving him some sense of security.

Danny was still stretched out on his bed, the light from the bathroom casting him in shades of yellow. He had arranged himself so that his head was on the pillow now, and his pants were closed, his body covered. Martin thought he might be asleep; his eyes were closed and his breathing even. He stared, uncertain. He had wanted this for so long, and there was a joy in seeing the lanky body in his bed, dark tousled head on his pillow.

But something about this whole night wasn’t right, something about Danny wasn’t right.

“I knew him a long time ago,” Danny said quietly.

He hadn’t moved in any other way, and Martin blinked, uncertain that he’d actually heard the words.

“When I was in the foster system, when I was a kid. Remember when I told you guys about playing basketball for the Church team? He was one of the priests.”

Martin thought for a few seconds, the memory of that story coming back to him - an after school program Danny had been forced into because he’d gotten in trouble. He said at the time that it had probably saved his life.

He didn’t say he’d been at the mercy of a pedophile priest.

Martin took a step closer to the bed. “Did he . . . “

Danny smiled, his eyes blinking open. “He tried. Several times.” He rolled up onto his side, propping his head on one hand and meeting Martin’s eyes across the bed. “He got his hands on me once. Got his hands on my ass, almost for me naked.” His eyes seemed darker, and his voice had taken on that strange quality that made Martin nervous. “Before it could go all the way, Father Eduardo, one of the coaches, came looking for me. He said he had to account for me because I was there on the afternoon probation roster.”

“But he was lying,” Martin said. “He knew about Father Ted.”

Danny laughed, the sound harsh. “They all knew, Martin, every damned one of them. But they couldn’t do anything because the Church ignored it, because Father Ted had a thing for poor Hispanic boys, because - blah blah blah. They couldn’t do anything. And worse, they wouldn’t. You know what Father Eduardo said to me? He told me to be careful, that things could happen if I didn’t watch myself. He told me to not let people touch me, to never be alone with another adult.” He sat up then, his face tight with anger. “He made it my fault, Martin, my fault that that bastard had his hands on me and almost had his dick in me.”

Martin stepped back, unconsciously hugging the robe more tightly around himself.

Danny’s eyes glittered, but he inhaled deeply, forcing himself to relax. “I spent a lot of time trying not to think about it. I did what Father Eduardo told me, never letting myself be alone in the Church, never getting to close to anyone - any one.” He smiled again, looking at Martin. “And I made damned sure to stay away from anyone with pretty eyes and a charming smile.”

Martin blinked, still uncertain. Still scared.

“It was a compliment, Martin,” Danny said softly. He held out a hand, his face tired now. “You’re one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. And maybe that’s the problem. Between that and this job we have, nice people make me edgy.”

Martin looked down at the floor, feeling guilty that he understood what Danny meant - too well. Hating that he was one of ‘those people’.

Danny sighed, pulling his hand back and putting it behind his head as he returned to his back. “I hadn’t thought about him in years, Martin - years. Hell, I had my own problems - the alcoholism, Rafi, every thing that sucked me into my own life.” He closed his eyes. “And then we get called into this case, and I find out that bastard is not only still alive, not only still in NYC, but working at the church Nicki goes to - working with a youth group that he’s in.”

Martin tensed, his own eyes wide. “He didn’t - not your nephew - “

Danny rolled his head across the pillow, easing his tension. “I don’t know. Nicki - he won’t talk to me about Father Ted - and that’s something in itself, according to what little pop psych I’ve learned. Jack says it could mean nothing, that Nicki is just scared. He says that Nicki could know things that have happened to friends of his and he’s feeling guilty - Christ, Jack says it could be anything. But mostly he says that it doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Martin nodded. “He’s right, Danny. I could mean nothing at all.”

“And it could mean - “

“It could mean that you’ve done everything you can do,” Martin interrupted. “Except be there if he wants to tell you more.”

He moved up to the bed and slowly sat down. One hand drifted down the line where his robe closed to settle nervously on the bed close to Danny’s hip.

Danny’s eyes were still closed, his hands behind his head, but he seemed less tense. “I have friends like that,” he said quietly. “Who are there when I need to tell them things.”

Martin smiled, feeling the flush rise again and glad Danny’s eyes were closed.

“And who wear the prettiest blush,” he said, his eyes still closed.

Martin felt his face heat more, but he couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Good to have friends. Close ones.”

Danny reached out his hand again, opening his eyes. “Lay down with me?”

Martin smiled. “Let me turn off the light - “

“I’ll need to leave soon,” he said softly, “leave it on.”

Martin blinked. “Why - “

Danny’s hand rose, touching Martin’ lips. “I wanted this. You wanted this.” The finger moved over his lips softly. “If we have it again, we’ll want it then too.”

Martin swallowed, his stomach hollow even before the words were said.

“But I have Elena, and you - well, somewhere, Martin, there’s someone better than Sam waiting for you. We’re friends - really close, now, as close as we can be.” His hand drifted back to curve around Martin’s head, stroking through his hair. “But we’re still men.”

Men. The word echoed through his head, and his hand came back to his robe, clenching tight.

Danny’s fingers still traced over his lips. “Anytime you want to have fun, you let me know. And anytime you want to talk, Martin, you let me know.”

Danny pulled himself up, his lips passing lightly over the place his fingers had been. “Any time. That’s what friends are for, right?”

Martin couldn’t speak, his words trapped in his throat. So he nodded, closing his own eyes. Men. Friends.

“Maybe I should go now,” Danny said softly, his mouth against Martin’s ear. “You look tired.”

Martin kept his head down, being as still as he could. In the back of his mind, he heard someone say, “never be alone”, “never trust”.

The mattress moved, Danny’s hand fell away from him. There was no rustle of cloth - Danny was completely dressed. Quiet steps around the bed, then two hands cupping his shoulders. “I’ll call you tomorrow, make sure you’re all right.”

Because that’s what friends do.

“Thanks, Martin.” Gentle pressure on his shoulders, then the movement of air past him, smelling of musk and sweat, and under it, her.

He heard the click of the light switch, knew the hall light was off, then heard quiet rattle of the doorknob, as Danny opened the door. A click - setting the lock, then a twinge of sound as the hinges moved, and the soft bump of the door closing.

And he was gone.

The sun rose red and angry several hours later. He watched it through the bedroom window, thinking of priests and friends and sex.

The cell phone rang at 8:14, and rang and rang and rang. He was off today, it wasn’t the office. He tried once to reach it, but moving hurt. Bad.

At 8:16, his apartment phone rang until the answering machine finally caught it.

“Martin, it’s me. Danny. Call me. Rafi left a message. I need you.”

He lay still until the machine beeped and he could breathe.

It rang again at 8:19, not as long this time before the machine picked it up.

“Please, Martin. I need you, not . . . not Elena. Not now.”

He hurt, but he got up.