Control, a
Without a Trace/NCIS crossover by Glacis.
Rated NC17.
No copyright infringement intended.
Sequel to Conflict of Interest.
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Always before it had been Tony calling Martin.
Since being accidentally outed on the job in September, Martin had seen
Tony three times. Each time, they’d done
as they always did; fuck, talk, laugh, fuck some more, hold each other,
maintain a careful silence about work and family, and use their time together
as an anchor of honesty in the sea of conflict and chaos that was their lives
outside one another.
Jack was as
good as his word. No one else in the
unit knew about Tony, or that Martin was gay; his cover was still so good
Samantha kept trying to ask him out.
Once in awhile Jack would stare at Martin a few seconds longer than
normal, as if he was trying to figure out a puzzle but didn’t have all the
pieces. There was an understanding
between the two of them that spoke of trust without saying a word.
Martin gave
Jack that silent support when Spaulding came back to haunt them, and Jack’s
secrets were exposed. Martin tried to
warn him, gave him the chance to listen to the tape the psychopath had left,
but Jack had wanted, maybe needed Viv there to hear, as Spaulding ripped the
scab off the wound on Jack’s soul left by his mother’s suicide.
A blind eye
to Jack’s tears was the only thing Martin could give him then.
A month
later, he hoped Jack would return the favor.
The dark gaze weighed heavily on Martin, as he stood in the doorway of a
filthy loft on the top floor of an abandoned warehouse in one of the rougher
streets in Brooklyn, staring at the body of the man he’d just shot to
death. Reyes.
The man who used children for collateral on debts from people too
desperate to go anywhere else. Children he
tortured. Children he murdered.
Martin had
seen the body of one of those children. Was looking for another, hopefully still alive, feeling the time
running out. Found a third,
locked in a cage in that hellhole of a building, a girl no more than eight,
tied and beaten and thrown in the corner.
A bloodied
bandage wrapped around her skull to keep her from bleeding to death where the
bastard had sliced off her ear.
Fighting
down the urge to vomit, Martin calmed the terrified child the best he
could. Called for an
ambulance. Tried to wrench open the
painted-shut window, and when he couldn’t, puked on the floor. Fought the sibilant whisper in his brain that
screamed at him to kill, then fought the secondary itch along his knuckles that
made him want to beat Reyes to death until he got it somewhat under control.
Then Martin
stalked into the room where Vivian was holding Reyes. The creep jumped to his feet and backed away,
but not fast enough to avoid Martin’s fist in his face.
Behind him,
Viv was yelling, a controlled command in her voice he was simply too far out of
control to heed. Martin’s gun was in his
hand, although he didn’t consciously draw it, and he snarled at the man to tell
him where the missing boy was, tell him or so help him God he’d kill him… then
Reyes drew a knife, and Martin’s finger squeezed on the trigger. Once, the space of a heartbeat, then a second
shot, then a third, and Reyes was dead.
Martin
didn’t know there were tears in his eyes.
Time
passed, as Viv took charge, telling Martin what they would say to keep OPR off
their backs, to protect the unit, to protect Jack, to protect one another. Martin nodded, his
jaw so tense his neck hurt, and watched as the EMTs took the little girl out on
a stretcher.
No leads,
now, since Martin killed their best chance of finding the missing boy. They’d have to dig deeper, find another
angle, and they had to do it fast. Viv
left to do just that, but Martin hesitated for a moment before following her.
Across the
room, Martin’s gun in his hands, Jack stared at him. Through him. Right into his soul.
It took a
few moments before Martin could gather the strength to break the weight of that
stare and follow Viv out the door.
The next
several hours went by in a blur. Danny
and Jack leaned on Teo, the missing boy’s older brother, and a tangled web of
lies, extortion, kidnapping and stolen cars emerged. The unit took a SWAT team into a chop shop
and Martin was the one who broke the lock on the van holding young Nelson.
The kid was
whole. Tied up, scared, dirty,
trembling, but whole. Martin’s hands
shook as he reached out to untie the boy.
After they cleaned out the viper’s nest, Danny took Nelson home to his
family, and Martin went to headquarters to write his report.
Late that
evening, Viv stopped by his desk to tell him they’d be meeting the review board
the next morning. He told her they’d be
all right. She looked at him as if she
wasn’t quite sure she believed it, or perhaps, that she knew she would be fine
but wasn’t so sure about him. He
clenched his jaw again and drew on years of passive aggression in the face of
his father to maintain his composure until she finally left.
As soon as
she did, Sam leaned against his desk and asked him if he was okay.
“I’m fine,”
he ground out before she even finished the sentence. “The guy got exactly what he deserved.”
She gave
him an understanding look, no doubt believing he was going through some kind of
crisis of confidence, as she had a few months before when she’d killed two men
in the line of duty. He didn’t disabuse
her of the notion, although she couldn’t have been more wrong.
He wasn’t
feeling guilty.
He wasn’t
feeling anything.
“So, would
you like to go—“
“I have to
finish this report,” he cut in before she could finish her invitation. A flash of hurt went across her face, but was
quickly replaced by still more baseless understanding.
After she
left, he spent a long time looking out the window at the rain.
The first
lesson he’d had drilled into him from the time he could walk was that of
self-control. Controlling oneself, then controlling others, was the hallmark of his
father’s success, and he’d worked hard to instill it in Martin.
He’d lost
it that day. Lost it
spectacularly.
In doing
so, he’d killed a bastard who more than deserved it, although Martin had always
thought, before, that vigilante justice was wrong. He’d nearly lost the case, endangering a
young boy in the process. He’d
disappointed Viv, let Jack down, gotten the unit in
hot water again. When his father found
out about it there was no doubt Martin would hear all about it for months.
He had the
vague feeling he should feel remorse.
Even though Reyes had needed putting down like a rabid dog, it was the
first time Martin had killed someone. Or
maybe he should feel righteous anger. Or relief. Or
trepidation, or something, anything.
All he felt
was numb.
The next
day was a Wednesday, and the morning brought them a missing hero. In the sixty five hours following, the hero
turned out to have brothers with feet of clay.
One died, one committed murder, and the hero turned up dead. Martin spent a difficult ten minutes talking
to a man with most of his face melted into human slag, a man who’d done what he
had to do for his brother, from guilt because he’d slept with his brother’s
wife, and in the process, the true hero among the three was lost.
Martin
worked, avoided Jack’s eyes, and tried to talk to Viv.
“Your
father is the assistant director. I was
the senior agent on this case. Who do
you think they’re going to hang out to dry?” she snapped at him.
“I still
think we should tell Jack,” he tried to reason with her. He had the gut feeling Jack knew, if not the
details, then at least that Martin was lying to
him. Martin couldn’t lie worth a damn to
Jack because Jack could see right through him.
“So he can
lie for us?” From the darts shooting
from Vivian’s eyes, she could see through him too. Martin felt naked, horribly naked, down to
the soul.
“Keep it
together, Martin,” she ordered him. “If we
change our stories now we’re dead.”
So he kept
it together. On Friday morning, the
delayed OPR interview took place. Viv
went first. Martin went next.
He spent
the rest of the day staring blankly at paperwork. At
Always
before, it had been Tony calling Martin.
This time, Martin called Tony.
“DiNozzo,”
Tony answered, his usual obscene cheer absent.
“Bad time?”
Martin asked. Please, he thought, please
let it not be a bad time. I know I’m
selfish, but this time, I need him.
“Never, for
you,” Tony answered. Ridiculously
romantic, but also plain truth, and Martin closed his
eyes in relief.
“I need to
get out of here.”
Tony didn’t
hesitate. “Take the
“Please.”
“Okay
then. You can tell me all about why you
sound like you’re about to keel over and I can tell you all about my salsa
fiasco.”
Martin
found himself smiling. It hurt, a
little. “See you then.” He hung up, stepped outside, hailed a cab. He stared out the window all the way to the
Amtrak station. Then he spent the next
three hours staring at the invisible scenery blurring by in the darkness
outside the train.
He felt
like he’d been anaesthetized. Numb, from
his eyes that weren’t blinking enough to his stomach that had been tied in a
knot for a week to the ends of his fingers and toes. He’d had a lot of experience, growing up,
with distancing himself from painful situations, but he’d never been good at
it.
Never been
a good liar.
Never been
a good player.
He didn’t trust
easily, but he took trust very seriously.
He understood, completely, that Viv was covering her ass as much as, if
not more than, his own in this shooting.
But Martin had learned at an early age that the truth did, indeed,
always come out, and if he tried to hide anything, it would rear up and bite
him. He had a strong feeling this was
going to come back on him badly.
But he
couldn’t think of a damned thing to do about it.
And after a week of his thoughts chasing themselves in
ever smaller circles, he had to escape or he’d crack. Had to get away from the
office, and Viv’s expectations, and Jack’s questioning eyes. Had to get away from nightmare images of
tortured children and dead men, from the sense memory of the recoil from the
gun moving through his hands, his wrists, up into his shoulders, and from the
way Reyes twisted when his corpse hit the floor. He’d told Sam the truth; the guy got what he
deserved.
Judging by
the sick taste in his mouth and the visions he saw in the dark whenever he closed
his eyes, maybe Martin did, too. If that
was the case, he had a shitload of bad karma hanging around him. Of course, he’d long suspected, given the
family he was born into, that he must have done something awful in a previous
life.
At least it
wasn’t all bad news. The train pulled in
and Martin pulled himself up out of the seat, eyes searching through the crowd
until he saw the shock of wheat blond hair.
Tony was tall, which helped at times like this. Martin wasn’t, so he was used to being the one
who did the finding in crowds, since no one could ever find him.
“Hey,” he
said quietly from beside Tony, who looked down at him and smiled.
“Hey,” Tony
answered just as softly.
Martin
stepped close enough to not be overheard.
“Can I borrow your toothbrush?”
Tony
grinned at him, and the tired lines around his eyes smoothed out a little. “Can I borrow your mouth?”
“Only if I get to use your toothbrush first.”
”It’s a deal.”
Already,
Martin felt better. They didn’t even
need to touch. Just being close enough
to feel the heat coming off Tony made Martin relax. The headache that had gnawed at his skull for
the whole week finally started to ease.
His fists, clenched in the pockets of his coat, loosened. His head dropped, and he stared down at the back
of Tony’s shoes as they walked across the parking lot.
Tony’s car
was in a far corner, not well-lit, and Martin’s instincts kicked in. He glanced around, checking out possible
threats, and so missed Tony turning and catching hold of him, hands grabbing
hold of his waist. Martin tilted his
head to ask what was up but before he could get the words out Tony’s mouth had
covered his and words weren’t necessary.
God. Yes. Instant heat, instant connection. Martin flipped a mental finger at propriety
for once in his life and latched on to Tony’s mouth, tongue diving in and
playing with Tony’s, his hands wrapping around Tony’s head to hold him still so
Martin could kiss him. He only stopped
when he started to get dizzy from lack of air, and by that time he was so hard
he ached.
“Needed
that,” Tony muttered against Martin’s lips.
“Need
more,” Martin moaned in response.
“Gotta
drive,” Tony explained, scrabbling behind him to
unlock the car by touch, since Martin still hadn’t let go of his hair.
“Take the
edge off first,” Martin told him, pushing Tony into the now-open door and
climbing in after him.
“Are you
nuts?” Tony asked, starting to laugh in a mixture of disbelief and
horniness. Martin ignored him. Slammed the door shut behind him and crawled
up Tony’s body until he was straddling Tony’s lap. Then he buried his fingers in Tony’s hair and
kissed him again, kissed him until Tony was as hard as Martin was, kissed him
until the windows were fogged up and the air was hot around them.
By the time
Tony was incapable of speech, Martin wriggled back
down Tony’s legs and crouched on his knees in the foot well on the passenger
side. Pulling Tony’s left knee up,
leaning over the thigh splayed there, Martin ran his palm over the bulge in
Tony’s trousers until Tony was bucking uncontrollably against his hand.
“Jesus,
Martin, do something!” Tony groaned through clenched teeth, his right hand
clenched on the back of the seat, his left hand reaching up to hang on to the
side of the steering wheel.
Martin
didn’t bother answering. He simply
slipped the button and drew down the zip on Tony’s trousers, then drew Tony’s
dick out through the slit in his boxers, and sucked hard on the end. One hand held the shaft steady,
the other dipped between Tony’s spread thighs to gently roll his sac from side
to side.
“Fuck! Fuck, oh, fuck, Martin, you son of a bitch,”
Tony gasped, and that was all he could take.
Martin barely got the head over his tongue before Tony came, nearly
bucking him off. But Martin held on,
sucking hard then gentling as Tony began to tremble, until he was still. Then he carefully licked up everything he’d
missed, enjoying the shivers that started through Tony’s skin everywhere his
tongue touched.
When Tony
was clean, Martin tucked him back away, zipped and buttoned him up, and smiled
up at Tony’s bemused face.
“So, think
you can concentrate on driving now?”
“Soon as my
bones unmelt,” Tony grinned.
“Unmelt? Is that a word?” Martin ducked out of the way as Tony
awkwardly pulled his long legs across the seat and maneuvered himself into a
proper sitting position at the wheel.
“Can’t think of any better way to say it.
You need a hand down there?” Tony
asked, his grin widening.
Martin gave
him a mock glare and pulled himself out of the well, turning to sit on the
seat. “Thank god for leg room,” he
quipped, then buckled his seat belt and turned to look at Tony. “We’ll save the hand for when we get to a
bed,” he added bluntly, making sure Tony was watching as he dropped his hand to
his own hard dick and gave it a squeeze.
“Oh, fuck,”
Tony wheezed, and cranked the engine.
“Soon, I
hope,” Martin agreed. If nothing else,
the ache in his balls made it hard to think about anything else. Which was exactly what he was
looking for when he called Tony.
It wasn’t a
long drive, but Friday night traffic was a bitch. Martin kept quiet and let Tony deal with
it. Soon they pulled up to a brownstone
on a quiet street, and Tony parked.
Before he opened the door, he leaned over and ran his hand firmly the
length of Martin’s dick, balls to head.
“Shit,”
Martin gasped, doubling over as far as the belt would allow.
“Honey,
we’re home,” Tony teased him, then unsnapped the belt
for him.
By the time
Tony got around to the passenger side of the car Martin had controlled himself
well enough that he could walk. Sort of. In a
cramped, pained kind of scuttle that made him very glad there was no one else
on the street to see him.
Tony gave
him an evil grin, then unlocked the door and ushered Martin into his
apartment. One quick look was all Martin
got the chance to see before Tony pushed him back up against the door and
dropped to his knees between Martin’s feet.
Martin had his trousers and shorts down to his knees and his dick down
Tony’s throat before he could get a word out.
Then he
didn’t have the power to form words, because Tony sucked his brain out through
the end of his dick, and Martin collapsed in a boneless pile draped halfway
over Tony’s back.
Okay. That was a good way to start the weekend.
It got
better from there. By the time they got
to the bed, Tony had them both naked.
Martin licked dry lips and pulled Tony’s head up from where he was
busily kissing a bruise into the side of Martin’s neck.
“Toothbrush?”
he asked, breaking into a whimper as Tony lifted him bodily the few inches
necessary to tip him onto the bed, holding on and following him down to lie on
top him.
“Why
bother?” Tony asked in return. “You’re
just going to taste like me. I can
handle that.”
So could
Martin, and he meant to tell Tony so, but just then Tony’s fingers pushed into
his hole, and he couldn’t remember what it was he was supposed to say. The fingers wiggled, and stretched, and he
let out a sharp moan that Tony muffled with another kiss.
Talking was
over-rated. Martin gave a mental shrug
and let Tony do whatever the hell he wanted, knowing he’d enjoy every bit of
it.
There was a
hunger to Tony’s touch that Martin hadn’t seen in awhile. A possessiveness he
wasn’t used to but really appreciated, because it grounded him in Tony,
connected him completely to what they were doing, and didn’t leave room for
anything else to intrude. Tony had three
fingers in him, dripping with lube Martin hadn’t seen him get, but it didn’t
matter, because Tony was moving down his body, dropping biting kisses on his
jaw, his shoulder, his nipple, along the center of his chest down his belly,
all the time moving his fingers in Martin’s ass, opening him up, owning him.
“Gonna come,”
Martin warned, previous orgasm notwithstanding, because Tony was like a tornado
and there was no way Martin could hold it back.
Tony pushed
Martin’s dick down until it hurt, and Martin yelped in response. “What the fuck?” he glared at Tony, unconsciously
pouting.
“Not ‘til I
say so, babe,” Tony told him, darting up to give his lower lip a gentle bite.
Martin
would have protested, but right then Tony twisted his fingers in Martin’s ass,
and if Tony hadn’t just cut him off at the balls Martin would have been
gone. The quick sharp pain turned to a
deep, oddly pleasant ache, and Martin groaned, spreading his legs and humping
back on Tony’s fingers.
“You are so
damned beautiful,” Tony whispered, staring down at his body as Martin moved,
unable to control himself. Then he
lowered his head and took Martin’s cock down his throat again, and Martin gave
a shout. Between the fingers working his
hole and the throat squeezing around his dick there was no way on earth he
could have held back.
As he
slowly came down from coming so hard he’d nearly given himself a nosebleed, he
stared blearily at Tony. “Hope that
meant you said so,” he teased, “because that was all your
fault.”
Tony licked
his lips, slowly pulled his fingers away from Martin’s ass and slid up his
front to nibble on his mouth again.
“Hope so,” he whispered, then pushed up with his knees and pushed into
Martin’s hole without a pause.
“Oh, shit,”
Martin gasped again as Tony’s bulk filled him, then he couldn’t get anything
out but random moans and groans as Tony fucked him as deeply as he could
get. Not fast, not rough, but slow and
deep and so strong Martin felt it in his throat.
Martin
wrapped his legs around Tony’s driving hips, wound his arms around Tony’s
shoulders, and held on for the ride.
Tony took his time, going in as far as he could reach then grinding his
dick deep in Martin’s body, making him shiver as his prostate was rubbed over
and over. He was too drained to get
completely hard again, but that didn’t stop the sensual overload from frying
every nerve in his body.
It felt
like he was coming even though he couldn’t, a deeper orgasm than he was used
to, one seated in his spine and low in his belly, making him shake, making him
tremble. Tony worked him through it,
until his pace sped up despite his best efforts, and he was thrusting as hard
into Martin as he could. It couldn’t
last longer, then, and Martin drew his hands down Tony’s sweat-slicked skin,
seeking Tony’s nipples through the thick hair on his chest. A pinch, another, a quick squeeze of the
glutes and Tony was gone.
He
collapsed atop Martin and lay there for a little while, until Martin gave him a
little push, needing air. Martin’s inner
thighs were cramping and his legs were shaking as he unwrapped himself from
Tony’s body and fell back against the pillows.
It was an
effort to turn his head on the pillow, but worth it when he saw Tony staring
back at him, a soft smile on his face.
Martin returned it, knew Tony saw the sadness and confusion underneath
it, knew Tony didn’t have to ask questions to provide Martin with what he
needed, because Tony reached over, gathered him up in his arms, and held on to
him. Didn’t let go.
Which was exactly what Martin needed.
There in
the dark, as they lay close to one another, sharing heat, sharing space, Martin
began to talk. He didn’t use names;
didn’t provide details; didn’t have to.
He said enough.
Tony held
him, and didn’t ask questions, and didn’t give him false reassurance.
When Martin
finished, he lay in silence. Tony’s hand
stroked over his hair, down his back, up to his hair and down again. Eventually, Tony sighed.
“You’re a
good cop. You know that. You’re also a good man. I know that.
You just have to believe it.”
“Sometimes,”
Martin said softly, “I do.” Tony dropped
a kiss on top his head. They lay
together quietly for a long time. Martin
was on the edge of sleep when Tony began to speak.
“I have to
remind myself to be enthused about the silly things, because what we do is so
ugly sometimes. Necessary,
yeah, but ugly. There are times
when we have to turn on our own. Times
when we’re on the same side, but not the same team, and the lines can get
confusing. People get hurt. Good people.
Sometimes I hurt them. Sometimes
I have to stand by and watch other people hurt them. I tell myself the end justifies the means,
and usually I can convince myself that’s true.
When the enemy has no scruples I can’t afford to have
too many. But when I get down to
their level, and sometimes I have to, then how am I any different than them?”
Martin
didn’t have any answers. He placed a
soft kiss in the hollow of Tony’s throat, and murmured against the skin, “You
do what you have to do. Then you live
with it.”
Tony
shivered beneath him, and Martin frowned.
Tony had taken his mind off his troubles, and it was time for Martin to
return the favor. He ran his hands
lightly down Tony’s arms, then up his sides, around his torso to rub his palms
over Tony’s ass.
“You want
something?” Tony asked, the smile back in his voice, and Martin clenched his
fingers on the muscles bunching under his hands. Tony gasped.
“Always,”
Martin assured him, working his knees down between Tony’s thighs. Tony obligingly spread his legs for Martin,
arching up to rub his awakening erection against Martin’s belly. “Hold that thought,” Martin told him, then
pulled back far enough to get his hand down past Tony’s balls. That earned him another gasp.
“Where’s
that—“ Before he could finish the question Tony pushed
a crumpled tube of lube into his free hand.
Martin grinned, his dick hardening at Tony’s enthusiasm, all thoughts of
sleep leaving him.
“Thanks,”
he said lightly, dribbling the sticky stuff over his fingers then working them
into Tony’s ass.
“Cond—“
Again before he could complete the word, Tony shoved a foil
square at him. “Gotta love a man who’s
prepared,” Martin breathed as Tony began to writhe beneath him.
“So do it
already!” Tony ordered, trying to push back on
Martin’s fingers and hump up against Martin’s hip at the same time. When it didn’t work, he whimpered.
“God, Tony,
there are whipped puppies out there who could take lessons from you!” Martin
told him, then pushed into Tony’s hole. If Tony answered him, he didn’t hear it. All he could hear was the thunder of his own pulse
in his ears, as tight-hot-smooth-incredible wrapped around his dick and pulled
him under.
Moving on
instinct, Martin arched and withdrew, hands running up and down Tony’s thighs
as he thrust. Holding back wasn’t much
of a problem, as they’d both nearly exhausted themselves, but as always when he
was buried in Tony it was too quickly too much.
Martin felt himself speeding up and dropped one hand down to wrap it
around Tony’s dick.
Tony’s hand
came down around his, tightening his hold, speeding his strokes, and Martin’s
hips responded to the inherent command as well as his hand. Tony began to shake, and Martin fumbled the
rhythm in response, hips whipping against Tony as he fucked him, out of control
the only way he could ever afford to be out of control.
The only
way he ever wanted to be out of control.
The dick
under his fingers swelled and spasmed, jerking as Tony came, the muscles in
Tony’s ass milking him so hard it nearly hurt.
Martin came in reaction, shoving his dick as far into Tony as he could
reach, matching Tony’s whimpers with a few of his own.
When it was
over, he barely had enough presence of mind to get rid of the condom before
curling up against Tony’s side, his head resting over Tony’s heart. Gradually the wild thumping calmed, and
Martin gave himself up to the sound, letting it draw him into the first deep
sleep he’d had in over a week.
By the time
Tony put him on the train Monday morning, Martin was back in control of himself. He was calm, ready to face whatever Viv or
Jack or OPR threw at him. His aching
head had been replaced with an aching ass, but he could live with that. Because he had a safe place to go to when he
needed it most… as long as he had Tony, he could live with all of it.
END
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