Note: Decidedly not work-safe. Phone sex post-case. In the same universe as "Maybe" and "The Morning After."

They've been careful. Being very nearly work partners, working out of the same unit, can cover a lot when it has to, but not PDA's. Not between two guys in general, especially not between two FBI agents, and especially not when one of those agents is the Deputy Director's son. Martin's never come out and told his family that he's bi, Danny doesn't have much of a family to tell. And neither of them are the fly-a-rainbow-flag type anyway, although sometimes Martin gets the impulse to call home and tell his father that he's happier than he's ever been and the reason's named Danny Taylor.

He's never done it because Danny deserves better than to be used to piss his father off like that. If he ever takes Danny home or tells his father the two of them are together, it'll be with Danny's full consent and the knowledge that whatever happens doesn't change them, doesn't change what they have. If having Danny in his life means he can't have his father there, too, then that's Victor Fitzgerald's loss, not his. He's never had it this good and he isn't giving it up without one hell of a fight.

But damn, Danny's been on the road for almost a week now chasing down a tip on a kidnapped 5-year-old. At first, they all assumed custody problems. The divorce had been nasty and the ex-husband had set everyone's hairs standing on end. That lead panned out quickly, but a trucker called in an Amber Alert down in border Texas that sounded a lot like Jasmine Alejos. He's heard from Danny, sure, but they've both been so focused on this case that much more than a "Miss you" on his personal cell late at night has gone temporarily by the wayside.

And so he's at the office again for another late night, trying desperately to think of one more alley to go down to find a missing little girl. When the phone rings, he nearly jumps. The caller ID says it's Danny and he rushes to answer.

"Fitzgerald, Missing Persons". He'd love to be more personal but this is work, and a little girl's life may be hanging on how he behaves. Only Danny's next words are nearly the answer to an agent's prayer.

"Jasmine's okay. The ex lied to a cousin of his, got him to take her almost into Mexico-got relatives down there. We got them at the border. Cousin seems to be a decent guy, got kids of his own, clean record except for a couple DUI's back a few years, Jasmine seems okay for the moment. Claims he didn't know the momma hadn't okayed the trip, figured the kid deserved to know her dad's parents. Had her checked out just in case. No obvious trauma anywhere, well-taken care of, ought to have some counseling just in case, but it almost seemed like she thought it was just a family trip."

Martin breathes a sigh of relief. Kids are always the worst. And now that he knows Jasmine's okay, all that missing-Danny boils to the top. He forces it back down hard because, damn it, it's still not the time or place. Just because part of him he really doesn't want to acknowledge wants to wrap Danny up and forget about everything but them for a while doesn't mean he gets to.

Or maybe it does, because Danny's next words come as a pleasant surprise. "I made damn sure everything with Jasmine was as tied up as I could get it, including informing everyone who needs to know, before I came back to the motel and called you. There's something I want to tell you, but not on this phone. You got your personal cell with?"

Martin hasn't stopped carrying that phone this entire week. Danny's the only one with the number, and they used a "slightly illegal" dealer to get it encrypted. If anyone wants to know why he has two cell phones, fuck them. He'll tell them it's for snitches or some such bullshit. Right now, he just says good-bye, hangs up, and hears the opening bars of "Gonna Shoot You Right Down" almost immediately. Yeah, it's a little morbid, but hey, so is what they do for a living some days. Danny's corresponding phone ring is some Florida Latin group Martin's never heard of.

"So what did you want?" Martin starts this off.

"Want you. That isn't an option right now, so…welcome to the wonderful land of make-believe."

"Want to know what I'm wearing? Classic line in phone sex, isn't it?" Martin can't believe he's doing this, that he's flirting with his lover on government property and that it's getting him hot as hell. Hot enough that he gets up, walks to the main office door, and checks that it's completely locked. He also makes sure he's in the blind spot for the security cameras. It's not a big enough spot to be a security risk, but it's just enough to cover him as long as he doesn't move much.

"Not really, unless it'll turn you on more. I'm not wearing a damn thing right now, though. Propped up against the pillows with the headset on and my hands just stroking."

Martin's never had phone sex before. Sure, he's flirted over the phone-who hasn't? But somehow he gets the impression that Danny isn't intending to stop until they come. And he should say no. He knows all the reasons this is a bad idea-it's unprofessional as hell and so on and so forth. But for once they got something close to a professional happy ending, he's done what he can to keep from being interrupted, and he wants this. Maybe wants it worse because it's a bad idea.

So he just opens up his slacks, finds hand lotion and tissues in his desk drawer from a cold last month, leans back in his chair, and tells Danny, "Still dressed, but the slacks are open."

"Touch yourself through those silk boxers you like so much. Lightly-like I was playing with you". And Danny's done exactly that before any number of times, so it doesn't seem that odd to close his eyes and see Danny's hands on him and not his own.

"Want to touch you," Martin admits. And for some reason, it's hard to say that.

"I know. I've got my eyes shut pretending my hands are yours, too, you know. Not that much longer, amante, and I'll be there for real. But right now I've got one hand on my nipple and the other teasing up and down my inner thighs. Don't dare touch my cock unless you want this over in five seconds flat."

And Danny's imagery, the voice he's using, the tension of the last week, it all explodes. Martin surprises himself and comes. Hard and just noisy enough to send Danny over the edge, too.

"Did you…?"

"Just come? Yeah, what did you expect?" Danny's got that tough thing going now. And Martin realizes that if they're not careful, they're liable to be repeating this very soon. Right now there isn't much that Danny could do that wouldn't turn him on, he's so wound up.

He decides to share the picture that Danny's attitude is putting in his head. It's only fair, after all-he shouldn't be the only one suffering here. "That attitude has me imagining you're backing me up against a wall at work. You've got one hand on either side of me, boxing me in, getting in my face. We're both wearing suits, and we both know someone could see us any minute now. And that tough-guy attitude you have to have to survive this job is just oozing from you. You're already in my space, but you slowly lean in tighter and tighter until we're just barely touching. I'm heating up fast-fast enough that I nearly want to beg for just a little more contact." Martin paused when Danny's breathing changed noticeably.

"You got a talent for this, Fitzgerald. Keep going and I promise we'll do whatever it is you say next as soon as I get you home. Thinking about you getting hot enough to beg is turning me on like you wouldn't believe."

"You don't say anything, just keep moving in tighter and tighter until I'm sandwiched between you and the wall. I'd be embarrassed about how hard this is making me except that I can feel you're every bit as turned on, and that's making me even hotter." Martin was having more trouble talking now, his voice going just a little raspier as he slowly teased himself back into arousal. "And then you start moving against me. The friction is almost enough to push me over the edge by itself. But you have to up the ante. I can hear you saying, 'Like that, Fitzgerald?' right into my ear. 'You gotta tell me or I'll stop' nearly drives me crazy with the threat of stopping. Somehow I get out a coherent 'yes' and you flash me a completely wicked smile and ask how much. I don't even try to answer in words. I just rub one hand slowly over first your erection and then mine. You pull my hand away only to replace it with yours. It doesn't take much more than that slow rhythm you're setting with your body and your hand to completely destroy whatever control I've got left, and I come hard. You keep going seeking your own pleasure and it's only stretching out mine until I feel you join me in la-la land."

Martin's not far from it in real life either. And the thought of Danny doing that to him for real, being willing to fulfill a fantasy, hits Martin deeply on a lot of levels. Right now, though, he just wants Danny here instead of some generic motel bed. He doesn't want to think about anything more complex than getting off.

"Got a thing for me being a bad boy, huh, Fitzgerald?" Danny emphasizes the last name, trying desperately to sound tough. His voice doesn't want to cooperate--getting a full sentence out in his condition is challenge enough.

"Apparently…oh, yeah…" Martin trails off, voice full of downright need. One more tweak of a nipple had left him unable to speak. He's just making little pleasure noises now. Danny's making his own noises in return and picturing what he's doing to himself to cause those noises is enough to make Martin's earlier orgasm look like barely anything in comparison. He's biting his lip hard enough to taste blood trying not to scream, and he's definitely envying Danny's comparative freedom to make noise.

And Danny's using that freedom, because he needs it. Martin gone incoherent is nearly enough to trigger him by itself. Martin trusting him enough to tell him exactly what he wants is enough to push him the rest of the way.

It's a long few moments before either of them speaks again, and the words are simple. "Hurry home, amante, I miss you." It's as close as Martin can come to saying what he feels right now. Sharing a fantasy with Danny had been hot as hell, but he doesn't expect Danny to keep that particular promise and actually make it real. At least not at the office-his apartment wall or Danny's, maybe. He's reasonably certain the rest of Missing Persons know about them, but knowing and seeing are two different things.

"Trust me, Martin," and this time Danny laid the Spanish accents on the name, making it an endearment, "I wish like hell I was there right now. Soon, I promise. And then we can get started making good on that other promise I made you. But only if you go home and get some rest. Sweet dreams, amante."

"Sweet dreams," Martin replies. He hears Danny disconnect the phone. Slowly, he pulls himself together, leaving the office behind for one more day.

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