They're friends, that much Danny's sure of. They drink beer together, talk about girls and guys and how much they'd like to both take Sam and Jack to bed if they weren't both still hung up on each other. They watch sports together, go to movies with lots of explosions, talk about cases and the news and the pathetic existence that is their social lives. They go to bars together to pick up people and to mock the people who are bad at picking up people.
So, they're friends. And Danny's cool with that. It's not like he wants to be anything else with Martin. He's fun to hang out, he's a nice guy, he'll share the heat when Viv finds a huge fake spider in her desk, and they're comfortable together.
So comfortable that they've kissed a couple of times.
Nothing earth-shattering or end-of-romance-movie worthy, just a quick peck here, and one there, and that one, long, slow kiss when they had both had a few to many beers while watching a hockey game at Danny's.
He's willing to forget all about it, that long, slow kiss that was wet in all the right places and tasted really good and made his toes curl. He could forget all about it, really, if Martin didn't lick his lips so much and make him think about it all the damned time.
Or if he could stop thinking about it when Martin wasn't around. Stop wanting to feel Martin's lips under his tongue again. Stop wanting to nip at Martin's tongue with his teeth. If he could just stop.
He does not want to be anything other than Martin's friend. They're good friends. The best. And he's never had a relationship that's lasted when sex gets involved.
They're friends. Just friends.
END