Author's Notes: This is more rambling than I planned, so I don't know if it'll make sense past anyone but me. Here's hoping.
Martin has a weakness for freckles. He is obsessed with them. He likes to trace them, touch them, count them, kiss them, and he knows it's a little odd, but he figures it's a healthier fetish than some he's seen on the job.
He had convinced himself he wasn't attracted to Danny. Danny was not his type at all. To tall, to gangly, not quite enough extra flesh on his limbs so that cuddling up to him would feel good. No freckles. Nope. Not his type at all.
And then, on a day off when Danny convinces him to go to the beach, Martin sees him shirtless for the first time, and there's a row of freckles straight down Danny's spine.
But he's still not attracted to him. No matter how badly Martin wants to touch his fingers to everyone of those freckles, kiss them all goodnight, he's still not attracted to Danny.
Then, in the water, as they wrestle around like the fifteen-year-olds they're not, Martin discovers that there's a lot more flesh on Danny than is noticeable under suits. He's thin, but he's a thick-skinned thin, that makes grabbing him at the waist to pick him up and dunk him under a little harder to accomplish, because Martin can't feel any overexposed bones poking at his hands.
But he's not attracted. He's not. This is Danny. Danny. Guy he works with. Guy he mocks. Guy he hugs when the case gets really bad and the kid is found dead in an alley.
Guy who looks so great with the sun in his eyes and his hair wet, and the freckles down his back.
It's Danny. Just Danny.
END