u r g e . f o r . g o i n g

Urge for Going
[by victoria p.]

Rating: PG

Summary: For years, Danny had gotten away with being somewhere in between.

Notes: Thanks to luzdeestrellas and Mousapelli for the beta. I started this back in the summer of 2005 for ranalore's roadtrip challenge. It kind of took me a while to get where I was going. *g* Title from Joni Mitchell.

Word count: 5,223 words

Date: December 18, 2006

One sunny Saturday afternoon, Danny Ocean went out to the liquor store and never came back. He wasn't being chased, although given his line of work (from which he believed at the time he was retired), that was always a possibility. To be strictly accurate, he wasn't being chased by anyone he could see, and he was not the type of man who would admit to anything so middle-aged and middle-class as personal demons.

It was more, he liked to think of it, like that guy in the Springsteen song--he took a wrong turn and he just kept going. Except Danny was smarter and richer than any guy in any Springsteen song; at some points in his life, he might have even been as rich as Springsteen himself, something any Jersey boy would aspire to. And he hadn't taken a wrong turn; he'd just gone to the liquor store.

His wife, whom he truly did love (he would never have even attempted retirement the first time, let alone the second, if he hadn't), was throwing a dinner party; she'd invited their new neighbors and set the table with china and stemware and snowy white linen--only the best would do for her, and they could certainly afford it.

Danny was very good at being the perfect suburban husband, at playing a part until he got what he wanted, but he was finally letting himself realize that Tess didn't want him to play a part, that she wanted this life for real, and wanted him to become this character he'd been playing to win her around. This character--middle-aged, retired, a solid citizen--which had once felt like a shiny opportunity to be someone new, had begun to chafe like a badly made suit, gaping and gathering in all the wrong places.

Which didn't mean this life didn't have its perks. Last night, they'd drunk a bottle of Chardonnay and then had some very satisfying sex on their very comfortable couch while a muted production of Tosca played on PBS in the background.

Of course, this morning, when Tess had seen she only had Merlot on hand for the guests, she'd freaked. Danny had taken the opportunity to get out, to go to the liquor store. Now he stared at a seemingly endless array of wine--red, white, cheap, expensive, and everything in between--without really seeing it.

He reached out for a bottle and his skin prickled, as if he were being watched, or followed. He paused, holding a bottle of twelve-dollar California Chardonnay, and heard the distinctive crunch of someone eating corn chips. Definitely corn chips, he thought; potato chips had a different sound. Danny knew; he'd been hearing the subtle differences in the crunches of various snack foods for most of his life.

He followed the sound to the front of the store in time to see the door swing closed. He smiled at the old guy behind the cash register and said, "Oh, and a bottle of Glenfiddich."

When Danny walked out into the parking lot, Rusty was leaning against a car--a 1969 black Chevy Malibu that had seen better days.

"I see living in Europe hasn't improved your taste in clothes or cars."

Rusty finished the last of his corn chips, crumpled the empty bag into a ball and tossed it in a nearby trashcan. He brushed the crumbs from the lapels of his shiny blue suit and then slowly licked his fingers clean.

Danny swallowed hard, mouth dry.

Rusty raised his sunglasses and his eyes were as blue as his suit, as blue as the Pacific on a clear day.

"Some people only see an old car," he said, laying a hand on the hood, "but I see a classic. She just needs a little love, is all."

"I see."

"Do you?"

Danny headed around to the passenger side and got in. He waited until Rusty had eased out into the street to say, "How's Europe?"

"Old." Rusty's hands were sure on the wheel, his tattoo peeking out beneath his sleeve.

"Not classic?"

"Old," Rusty repeated, "and boring. How's East Haven?"

"Old. And boring." They exchanged a grin.

"You're suffocating here, you know." Rusty's voice was matter-of-fact, and he kept his eyes on the road as he said it, as if he knew he was crossing a line, and was apologizing for it by giving Danny the appearance of privacy. Appearances were paramount in their line of work, after all.

Danny froze for a second, surprised. "Could just be the smell of the paint," he said, recovering. "Tess is redecorating again." Maybe the house wasn't the only thing getting a facelift.

Rusty tapped the steering wheel twice, and nodded toward the bag sitting between Danny's feet, stepping back over the line. "That Chardonnay isn't bad."

"Chardonnay gives you a headache."

"True." They stopped at a right light and Rusty looked over at him. "Not your usual, though, either."

"We're having guests for dinner."

"We are?" Rusty sounded amused.

"We are. And you know Tess."

"Everything has to be perfect, of course. You wouldn't be married to her otherwise. You have a thing--"

"A thing?"

"A thing about trying to do the impossible."

"The impossible?"

"Like, say, robbing three casinos at once."

"That wasn't impossible. We did that."

"Or meeting Tess's standards." Rusty looked over at him. "Not that you're not capable of it. I just don't get why you'd want to."

"I wonder that myself, sometimes. It's a character flaw," he said lightly.

Rusty took the hint. "Are you gonna call?"

"I should." Danny thought of Tess, happily humming to herself over the prospect of eight of their closest neighbors--most of whom had never had an interesting or original thought in their lives, that Danny could see--coming over to admire her perfect house and husband, and said, "Yeah. I should."

He dialed as Rusty merged into the slow-moving traffic on I-95.

"Tess, honey?" He didn't have to look; he could practically hear Rusty rolling his eyes at the submissive tone he'd adopted.

"Danny? What's taking so long?"

"Don't be mad--"

"Is something wrong?"

"Not... wrong, exactly. But I'm not going to make it back for dinner."

"Danny--" Her voice was sharp and he could imagine the pinched, angry look on her face. "Tell Rusty--"

"Tell him yourself," Danny said, pressing speaker on the phone and laying it on the seat between them, though Rusty looked as if he'd rather eat live scorpions than speak to her.

"Hi, Tess," Rusty said, his easy, friendly tone not matched by the scowl he shot at Danny.

"Rusty--"

"Everything's all right. I just need your husband's expertise for a few days."

"I know you're lying."

"I'm hurt, Tess. For once, I'm actually telling the truth."

"Rusty--"

"Gotta go, Tess. Traffic." He glared at Danny, who clicked the phone off speaker and picked it up.

"Love you," Danny said, and hung up before she could say anything more. "I'm surprised she still talks to you," he said.

"My charm is irresistible."

"Is that what it is?" Rusty shot him a grin. It was pretty irresistible, and Danny found himself grinning back. "So, what do you need me for?"

Another grin, this one wicked at the edges, and Danny felt heat pool low in his belly. It had been too long.

"I'm bored," Rusty announced. "I thought you might know how to fix that."

Danny's voice was low, seductive. "I think I just might."

Rusty draped his arm across the back of Danny's seat, his fingers playing with the hair on the nape of Danny's neck, sending a pleasant tingle down Danny's spine. Traffic thinned for a bit, and Danny stared out at the window, not seeing the suburban landscape that rolled by.

"I do love her," he said after a long silence.

"I know." Rusty looked at him, looked back at the road, then looked at him again, as if he wanted to say something but wasn't sure how Danny would react. It had been a long time since Danny had seen him do that. But today seemed to be a day of surprises where Rusty was concerned.

"What?"

"Call her back. Ask her to come with."

"Are you suggesting I lead my wife into a life of crime?"

"I was actually thinking about a life of debauchery and room service, but okay."

Danny blinked, startled. It wasn't that he hadn't ever considered the idea, because he had, often in minute detail. But he hadn't thought Rusty ever had--Rusty and Tess were natural, if cordial, enemies--and he was pretty sure Tess hadn't.

He dialed before he could think it through and stop himself.

"Tess? Tess, pick up the phone--"

He heard her fumble with the receiver. "Danny?"

"Yeah. If you want, we can swing back, pick you up."

He could hear her breathing in the shocked silence, then, "What?"

"You could come with." Danny shifted uncomfortably and Rusty glanced at him; Danny could see his hands were tense on the steering wheel.

"I've got a roast ready to go into the oven and eight people coming for dinner in less than four hours. I don't really think--"

"It'd be fun," he said, pitching his voice low and seductive. "Turn off the oven, leave food for the cat...."

Rusty shot him an incredulous look. "You have a cat?" he mouthed.

Danny shrugged and grimaced. The cat hadn't been his idea; it had adopted Tess, and he couldn't blame it for that.

"I can't, Danny," Tess said. "You know I can't. I'm sorry." And she actually sounded as if she were.

"I love you," he said.

She sighed. "But you love--" She let it hang for a moment, but he knew what she meant. "More."

He drew a sharp breath. "It's who I am. Who I've always been."

He heard her shift the phone from one ear to the other. "I know. I love you, too." A long pause, then, "Anything special I should tell the neighbors?"

"I was called away on business." It was the truth, from one perspective.

"Of course. And Danny? I better not see you on the evening news."

"You won't." He hung up and turned to Rusty, who nodded once.

"There are pretzels in the glove compartment."

Danny laughed.

***

A few phone calls later (Saul's voice on the phone, suspicious as always, had made him laugh. "I thought you retired again. I thought I retired again."), and Danny was smiling, the old thrill alive in his veins. "Saul claims he's retired, but he can still find the jobs."

Rusty nodded, fingers tapping at the wheel in time with the godawful pop song on the radio. Danny changed the station. New York radio sucked.

"Guy lives in East Hampton; should be easy in and out."

"Saul has a house in Amagansett."

They exchanged a grin. "Yeah."

"What are we--"

"Funerary artifacts--small statues, jewelry--from the Temple of Hatshepsut." Rusty shot a glance at him, and he nodded. "They were smuggled out of Egypt at the turn of the century--the last century. Passed through the hands of several collectors via the black market before landing with our guy."

"He can't go to the police."

"Nope."

"And Saul?"

"Knows a guy who is willing to pay. Cash on the barrelhead."

They didn't need the money, but for them, it had never been about the money, and that was the part Danny could never quite make Tess understand.

***

"Aren't we going against traffic?" Danny said, tapping his fingers against the window-frame.

Rusty glanced over at him, shrugged a shoulder. "I don't think there's any such thing anymore."

"Why are all these people out here now?"

"It's a beautiful summer Saturday afternoon. Where else would you expect them to be?"

Danny snorted. He was tetchy, anxious, as if he were actually the middle-aged solid citizen he'd been pretending to be. He needed to move, to shed this skin, and he was going nowhere right now, boxed in on all sides by traffic, by Tess, by everything. It reminded him of being in prison. He was thinking too much about things guys like him shouldn't have been thinking about at all.

"Maine," Rusty said, and Danny turned to look at him incredulously.

"They're going to Maine? Then they're going in the wrong direction."

"No." Rusty cracked his gum, a habit he'd broken himself of long ago, but it irritated Danny, and that was probably incentive enough, and pointed out the driver's side window. "License plate. Maine."

"We're not--"

"What else is there to do?"

"I swear to God, Rusty--"

"Would you rather play punch-buggy?"

Danny rolled his eyes, but looked out the window at the cars surrounding them. "Tennessee."

They rolled along at fifteen miles an hour, stop-starting with the traffic, and he knew it was going to be just as bad when they reached the LIE.

When they exhausted the license plates around them ("New Jersey." "That doesn't count." "What do you mean it doesn't count?" "New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut don't count, Danny. You know that."), they fell into a silence that should have been comfortable, but wasn't.

After another ten minutes of crawling along in traffic, Danny said, "Why didn't we take the ferry?"

Rusty shrugged. "Didn't know where we were heading when we started out."

"I thought it was the journey that mattered, not the destination." Even Danny was surprised at the acid in his tone.

Rusty remained unfazed. "And I chose to journey this way. You didn't have to get in the car."

There was nothing Danny could say to that that wasn't a ridiculous lie or the complete truth, and he tried to tell neither if he could help it. He poked at the radio again. "This thing doesn't even have a CD player."

Rusty's glance was scathing. But all he said was, "Hey." He reached out, ran his thumb along the nape of Danny's neck. "Hey."

"I know." Danny closed his eyes, took a deep breath.

"We'll stop," Rusty said. "We'll stop in the city and get some lunch, have a glass of wine or something."

He nodded. "A glass of wine, sure." Something, anything, to make his skin feel like it fit again.

***

Danny vetoed Gray's Papaya. "I don't think I'm up for hot dogs."

"Suburban living has ruined your stomach."

"Gray's Papaya is going to ruin your health."

"You can't get hot dogs like that in Lisbon." And Danny knew the wistfulness in Rusty's voice wasn't feigned.

Rusty chose a great restaurant, though, in midtown, but far enough from the Theatre District to be nearly empty at three in the afternoon on a beautiful summer Saturday. The place actually had tablecloths and waiters in penguin suits.

"This fettuccini is fantastic," Rusty said around a mouthful of bread, reveling in the heart-attack-inducing carbonara on his plate.

Danny laughed. His own capellini with garlic and oil was good, and the pinot grigio Rusty had ordered was more than passable, but it wasn't the food or the wine making him feel better.

Rusty grinned back at him, and they finished their entrées in companionable silence. It had always been easy to be quiet with Rusty. Danny spent most of his life talking himself into and out of things, and it was a relief sometimes to just be silent, and still know that Rusty knew exactly what he meant.

Rusty ordered tiramisu for dessert, and lit up when he tasted it, agile tongue wrapping around the spoon to lick it clean of every last bit of custard. Danny shifted and tried to look away, but as always, his attention was drawn back to Rusty and his damned spoon.

"This is really good. It reminds me of the tiramisu from the café where Isabel and I met." Danny had a vague idea he should ask about Isabel, but he wasn't really that interested, and if Rusty wanted him to know what had happened, he'd tell him. "It has something to do with the eggs. I haven't figured out what yet, but it's good." Rusty offered him a spoonful of the dessert, and he knew he was being let off the hook for his earlier petulance. They never really offered each other forgiveness--never really needed it--but Danny appreciated the gesture anyway.

The custard melted on his tongue, rich and creamy, an explosion of cinnamon, nutmeg and espresso, with a hint of Grand Marnier.

"That's good," he said, tapping the spoon on the dish.

Rusty's sharp-edged smile spoke volumes. "Have more."

***

Danny was more relaxed when they got back in the car, though he knew they had at least another two hours of sitting in traffic ahead of them.

Rusty tuned in the classic rock station, and Danny said, "When did Nirvana become classic rock?"

Rusty's mouth quirked in a half-grin. "Some things are instant classics."

"Unlike that suit, which should be taken out back and shot."

Rusty raised an eyebrow and ran his thumb over his lapel. "You'll pay for that cruel remark, Mr. Ocean. Oh, yes, you will pay."

"Will I?"

"I will devise the most fiendishly clever torture to extract my payment, and you will never, ever know what hit you."

"Or, you could just keep wearing that suit, and I'll go blind eventually."

Rusty rolled his eyes. "I think that's just old age catching up with you." Danny stilled, struck. Rusty glanced at him, then back out at the traffic. "You're not old."

"I--"

"You're not old, because that would mean I'm old, and I'm certainly not old. Believe me, I've just spent the past year in Europe. I know old." Rusty's jaw tensed and Danny could practically hear him thinking. "Guys in this business don't get old, Danny. You know that." He reached into his pocket for a stick of gum.

"We're classic," Danny offered.

"Yeah."

"Classic." Danny rolled the word around in his mouth like Rusty's gum, and wondered if there was ever any point in trying to con himself.

***

"Saul said the key's in the mailbox," Danny said as they rolled into the driveway, setting sun at their backs.

"I suppose that's less clichéd than under the welcome mat."

Danny snorted. "Things become clichés because they work. And because they're comforting."

"Getting comfortable lands you in the clink."

"Nobody calls it the clink anymore, Rusty."

"I do."

"And you're such a semantic trend-setter." Danny slammed the door shut and stalked to the mailbox, shielding his eyes against the glare of the motion-sensitive lights that jolted to life at his approach.

"Hey," Rusty said, coming up from behind, the lights haloing him, shining off his blue suit and his blond hair, making him look like an angel who'd stopped at Versace along the way. "Hey."

Danny shook his head, took a deep breath. Rusty cupped the back of his neck gently and he leaned back into the touch, like a dog asking to be petted. Rusty obliged again, but Danny knew he was pushing it, that he needed to get his head together and in the game, because now they were on the job, and the job was no place for him to be distracted.

Along with the key, the mailbox contained a manila envelope with directions, a copy of the floor plan and a detailed list of what they were supposed to steal.

Saul had always been thorough, professional. He'd taught them to always keep their edges sharp, even in their comfort zone. Especially in their comfort zone. Rusty was right.

Danny sucked in another breath of humid, sea-scented air, and forced himself to focus.

***

The house was beautiful--hardwood floors, high ceilings, big windows overlooking the ocean, and decorated in blue and white, with just a hint of seashell pink in the accents.

Danny took off his suit jacket and laid it down on the bed, and walked into the bathroom, rolling up his sleeves as he went. The fluorescent light made him look sallow, hollow-eyed, and he ran a hand over his jaw, trying to decide if he should shave again and then remembering he'd have to go buy a razor if he did. He settled for splashing water on his face.

"We're going to have to run into town," he said as he came back into the bedroom, where Rusty was opening his garment bag. "I have to buy some... stuff." He trailed off as he caught sight of what Rusty was hanging in the closet. In addition to his own (hideous) suits, there were two--one charcoal gray, the other navy blue--that looked like they'd been tailored with Danny in mind.

"I know you like Armani," Rusty said, pulling an orange lollipop out of his pocket and unwrapping it. "And these looked so lonely in the store." He stuck the lollipop in his mouth and shoved his hands in his pockets, the picture of casual. The tension in his shoulders was only visible because Danny had known him for so long, and had been the most frequent cause of it.

Danny nodded. "I'll still need a toothbrush and a--"

Rusty rolled his eyes and reached into his suitcase. He pulled out a black leather Dopp kit and tossed it to Danny, who caught it easily.

"You come up with a plan, and let me worry about the details." He held Danny's gaze for a long moment, and Danny shook himself, trying to get unstuck.

"Yeah," Danny finally answered, with a determined nod. "Yeah."

***

They spent the evening eating pizza, drinking the bottle of Chardonnay (Rusty pinched the bridge of his nose and stopped after one glass), and going over the information Saul had left them. It was a fairly straightforward job, really, just the thing to ease him back into the life, and not complicated enough to keep him entangled if he wanted to go back to East Haven when it was done.

If he had anything to go back to.

He flipped open his phone, dialed quickly.

Tess answered on the third ring. "Danny?"

"Will you be there when I get back?"

There was a long pause, and he could hear her breathing over the line, could hear Rusty breathing next to him in counterpoint. Here and there, and for years, he'd gotten away with being somewhere in between.

"You're coming back?" The most surprising thing in her tone was how surprised she sounded; the second most surprising thing was the lack of anger in it. When he didn't answer, she said, "Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Tess, I--" don't know "--love you."

"I won't be here forever, Danny. One of these days, you really are going to have to choose."

"Yeah."

"Good night, Danny." He waited for her to hang up before he ended the call.

Rusty unwrapped another lollipop, and didn't say anything at all.

***

The house had three bedrooms, and Danny had chosen the blue one at the end of the hall, but after he stripped down to his boxers and washed up for the night, he went back to the big, white room where Rusty had unpacked his luggage, and collapsed onto the bed as if there were no other options. When Rusty came out of the bathroom, he paused for a split second, not long enough to notice unless you were paying close attention, and of course, Danny was.

Danny kicked off the comforter and pulled up the sheet. "Stay on your side of the bed."

Rusty hesitated again, then nodded, slipping between the sheets gracefully, the way he did everything. They lay there quietly, breathing in time, familiar and comfortable in the darkness. Danny hadn't realized how much he'd missed it until he had it again.

"You have no idea what you're doing," Rusty said, and even pitched low, his voice was startling after the long silence.

"I thought you were asleep."

"Well, I'm not."

"Obviously."

"Obviously." Rusty punched his pillow, turned over onto his side, facing away from Danny. The line of his shoulders was like the locked door of a bank vault to which Danny didn't have the combination, or the first clue how to open.

"I think my plan is perfectly feasible."

Rusty didn't budge. "I wasn't talking about the job."

"I know." Danny sighed and rubbed his forehead. "This was supposed to be easy." Rusty huffed. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Obviously." But Rusty rolled over, leaned up on one elbow so he could look down at Danny, and Danny could read him, even in the dark. See everything he wasn't saying. Rusty had never forced him to make a choice, and he wasn't now. Danny always appreciated having options.

"I love my wife."

"Yes. Which is why you're in bed with me a hundred miles away from her."

"Rusty--"

"What do you want me to say?" It was the closest Rusty ever came to sounding irritated. He pushed himself up into a sitting position. His hair had grown a bit since the last time Danny had seen him, and stuck out at all angles. It reminded Danny of Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes, which was probably not what Rusty was going for.

"I love my wife," Danny repeated. "I just can't live with her."

"I know." Rusty shoved a hand through his hair, then brushed his chin with his thumb, so Danny knew he was serious when he said, "You've been playing both sides for a long time, but you know that never lasts. You have two choices. You always have."

But to Danny, it didn't feel like any kind of choice at all.

***

They spent the day casing the house. The job wasn't difficult by any means, but it didn't pay to be nonchalant--overconfidence was just as dangerous as nervousness, and Danny knew too many stories of guys who'd thought they were so good they'd stopped taking care, and ended up in jail. One of those stories was his, and he wasn't interested in repeating it.

Rusty got to do his master of disguise thing, chat up the landscapers and the housekeeper, while Danny spoke to Saul and made sure the buyer was still up for the purchase. The last thing he wanted was to get stuck with a haul of ancient Egyptian funerary artifacts that couldn't be unloaded without drawing unwanted attention. Saul assured him everything was in place ("Are you questioning my word, Daniel?" "No, Saul, I just--" "Have I ever not come through for you?" "No, Saul, I just--" "Okay then. Say hi to Rusty for me."); all they had to do was not screw up, and they were good at that.

Over dinner at a local seafood place, they finalized their plans with half-spoken sentences and drawings on fine paper napkins that Danny tucked into his breast pocket. Later, he'd set them on fire, enjoying the way the paper curled and browned and left no evidence behind except ashes blown away on the wind. Now, he sipped his wine and let himself relax as Rusty stole shrimp off his plate and made nearly obscene noises over the bananas foster they ordered for dessert.

Again, they slept next to each other, chaste as nuns for the moment, all energy directed toward the job, no room for personal problems--those would always be waiting when the job was done, and could be dealt with then.

In the morning, Danny showered, shaved, and dressed in the navy blue suit Rusty had packed for him. He admired himself in the mirror--it fit perfectly, and putting it on felt like putting on his own skin after far too long wearing someone else's. Despite his penchant for flashy suits, Rusty had always known what made Danny most comfortable.

His whole body hummed with awareness, adrenaline; he felt like himself for the first time in a long time. His mind was sharp, focused, afflicted with none of the lethargy or snappishness which had consumed him so recently.

When Danny got downstairs, Rusty was eating a breakfast burrito. He paused, gave Danny a slow, appraising once-over.

"Ready?" he asked, though it was obvious from the way he was grinning that he knew the answer.

Danny grinned back, and liked the feel of it on his face. "Yeah," he said. "I am."

***

The housekeeper did the marketing on Monday, and it was the landscapers' day off. The alarm codes worked as promised, and Rusty quickly disabled the second set of alarms on the display case, just the way the housekeeper had described.

"I hope she doesn't lose her job," he said. "She had no idea I wasn't actually from the alarm company."

"If she does, we'll send her an anonymous bequest," Danny replied, "from a rich unknown recently deceased relative,." He knelt before the display case, flexed his gloved fingers, and set to work on the lock. He closed his eyes, letting his hands move automatically, the tools like extensions of his fingers, slightly stiff at first but then moving fluidly as he relaxed into it.

Everything clicked into place.

The display case swung open silently, and Danny and Rusty shared a grin. They only took the pieces Saul's contact had described--they had no buyers for anything else, and the little statues were too easily identifiable to move without trouble. Rusty wrapped them and carefully placed them in the padded suitcase while Danny relocked the case and put away his tools. It had all gone smoothly, and Danny liked that, had worked for years at making sure everything he did went smoothly.

A fine morning's work, he thought later, as they sat sipping coffee at the local coffee shop and watching the steady flow of people heading to the beach.

"Let's go," he said, setting his mug down and standing. He tossed some money down onto the table to cover the bill.

Rusty took a last sip of coffee and wrapped his danish in a napkin so he could eat it on the walk to the house.

After they were inside, Danny waited until Rusty was done chewing and swallowing, and kissed him. Rusty tasted of sugary icing and cherry filling, and the warmth of coming home.

He grinned against Danny's mouth, the grin of a man who'd just drawn an inside straight to the ace, and let Danny lead him upstairs. They undressed each other slowly, no hurry now, all the time in the world, Danny thought, and easy in the way it had always been between them.

Rusty's hands were firm against Danny's skin, knowing where to touch, and his mouth was hot and wet, knowing where to lick and suck and bite, knowing just how to move to make Danny come apart and how to put him back together when he did. And Danny returned the favor eagerly; he'd always been good with his tongue and his fingers, and he liked to show off, and Rusty was always an appreciative audience.

"You sure?" Rusty asked when Danny pulled away to catch his breath.

Danny pushed a hand through his sweaty hair and cocked his head thoughtfully. "You know the feeling you get when you're picking a lock, and all the pins click into place?"

"Yeah."

"I really like that feeling."

Rusty laughed. "It's good to have you back."

Danny leaned in and kissed him again.

end

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