Spoilers: Neh. But set before Elena's appearance, for my own convenience. Probably before the whole Martin/Samantha thing, too. Let's say early season two.

Disclaimer: I'm currently attempting to illustrate The Vampire Chronicles. God, I'm sad. But it's fun!

Author's Note: FCG Challenge. The criteria are:

1. Must include the phrase: "Heroes. Giants. Villians. Wizards. True Love. Not just your typical, average, everyday, ordinary, run-of-the-mill, ho-hum, fairy tale." Or the phrase: "You don't belong here."
2. Must be any one of the following: Angst, Romance, Humor, Songfic, or Horror.
3. Must involve the presence of one of the following: Michael Symon, Cher, John Ritter, or LLK.
4. Must be a minimum rating of K and a max rating of M.
5. No more than 1,500 or less than 750. (Okay, so not including these notes, I'm technically three words over the limit, but hey. I try.)

As he heard the shower, start, Danny couldn't help his eyes wandering around the room. This was the first time he'd been inside Martin's apartment without Martin running around grabbing something or other. Coffee, coat, backpack, case-files, gun, badge, keys; Danny had seen Martin's morning checklist enough times to have it memorised.

But Martin was running really late this morning, and Danny had arrived early – which he was beginning to think was a little less deliberate than he'd realised.

Not that any of that really mattered now, though, because now, he was in Martin's apartment. Alone. With only the sound of the shower to keep him company. And this was far more awkward than it should have been: standing in the middle of Martin's apartment, literally twiddling his thumbs. Still, though, his eyes roamed of their own accord, over the walls, the shelves, the furniture, the cabinets...

And really, he couldn't have helped himself if he'd tried. The cabinet door under the television was slightly ajar, and Danny was, after all, a trained detective. There were some things that just weren't supposed to be left alone. Himself being one of them, apparently. He smirked at that thought, before moving across to the cabinet.

He had to physically refrain from opening the door with the pen that lived in his jacket pocket; he wasn't searching, he was investigating. And this felt really quite wrong. He knew that it probably was – no, definitely was – but his curiosity peaked when he considered that this might be where Martin kept his… entertainment.

Unconsciously raising an eyebrow to compliment the smirk that still lit his face, he pulled the door open to reveal a few shelves of very ordered DVD and CD cases. A quick scan, and of course they were in alphabetical order. He pulled one out at random. It was a title he'd not heard of before. He glanced at the picture on the front doubtfully, before turning it over and reading the back.

Heroes. Giants. Villians. Wizards. True Love. Not just your typical, average, everyday, ordinary, run-of-the-mill, ho-hum, fairy tale.

Danny scoffed. There was no way in hell that this case still housed that DVD. He laughed at how juvenile it was: hiding porn in random cases that no one would ever, in their right mind, open. Probably a habit left over from his teenage years. Between Victor and boarding school, the kid wouldn't have had any privacy at all. A small pang of guilt hit him then; it seemed that Martin still didn't have very much privacy.

That thought didn't really change his mind, though, and his inquisitive side got the better of him. He opened the case, casting a quick glance at the bathroom door, and nearly dropped it for shock.

The original DVD was still in the case.

The Princess Bride was still in the case.

Danny couldn't hold back the laugh that that brought. Martin, apparently, was a lot more complex than Danny had originally thought. Especially when it came to things outside of work. Chuckling once more, he replaced the case – between Planet of the Apes and Psycho, of all things – and moved onto the next shelf. CDs.

Again, he pulled one out at random. And again, he couldn't bite back the shocked laugh. Wham! Martin had a Wham! CD. He glanced at the two titles it lived between: Sarah Vaughan and The Who. This time, Danny grinned. A strange feeling was building in his chest; something like excitement, only… warmer, somehow. It was an odd thing to be feeling, he knew, especially when he was doing little more than snooping.

Shaking himself, he listened intently. The shower was still running and he thought he heard a soft, melodic humming. The feeling built and something in the back of his mind swatted at it uselessly. As he opened the case, more out of habit than actual curiosity, a piece of paper fell to the floor. The guilt suddenly soared to new heights, but the curiosity did, too. He hesitated only a little before picking it up.

It was a Polaroid photograph.

And this morning was just full of surprises.

The photograph was of two grinning teenage boys. One of them was Martin. Danny had, unsurprisingly, never seen the other boy before, but for the minute, all he could focus on was Martin. Martin: with hair long enough to form waves, sporting a very eighties tee-shirt, and a single earring that had probably disappeared alongside Wham! and legwarmers.

The thing that really caught him, though, was not the earring, but the situation the photo seemed to have captured; the atmosphere. This was the kind of photo that reminded Danny why people took photos in the first place. The kind of photo that people kept, that people showed to their grandkids.

Martin's arm was slung casually over the other boy's shoulder, and the boy's arm was wrapped around Martin's back, fingers curled in the crook of his neck. Their heads were tilted towards one another, but both were looking directly into the camera, grinning like madmen. They couldn't have been older than eighteen.

Danny was fairly certain that his current grin matched the two in the photo, but he couldn't help it. He had no idea how long he spent staring at that photo, but suddenly, he heard an uncertain voice call his name. It sounded loud in the otherwise silent apartment, though it couldn't have been more than an utterance. He looked up, towards the hall that led to the other rooms of the apartment, and was met with a very shocked-looking Martin.

His cheeks were flushed – from embarrassment, or the shower, or anger, Danny didn't know – and his expression looked almost guilty. Worried, was a better word. Actually, Martin looked utterly terrified, like he'd been the one caught out. Neither said anything.

Neither moved.

But then Danny thought he saw a frown flash across Martin's brow. He began to stand up, photo still in his hand, but before he was able to stand upright, he was on the floor again. He landed half-sitting, his elbows on the floor behind him, holding him up, and when Martin had learned to move that fast, he wasn't sure.

Only that didn't really matter, because Martin was on top of him, hands either side of Danny's head, one leg between his own, breathing hard, face flushed, and this felt too much like something else. For a second, he honestly expected Martin to hit him – wouldn't really have been unfounded – but instead, Martin jerked forward, enough to bring them within an inch of each other, before stopping.

The intent in Martin's eyes was unmistakable.

Somehow, though, it still shocked Danny when Martin kissed him.

Probably, he thought later, because the kiss wasn't violent. Wasn't angry, wasn't bruising. It was soft, undemanding, but so damn good: lips parted just so, all Martin's weight pressing him into the floor. And that feeling that had been playing in Danny's chest for the past half-hour was suddenly overwhelming. His hand moved almost automatically to Martin's neck, thumb behind his ear, fingers in still-damp hair.

Martin leaned in a little closer, just as the phone in Danny's trouser pocked buzzed. Martin yelped, breaking the kiss. Danny held back a complaint, content, for the moment, to just let Martin stay where he was. Until the phone buzzed again, and seemed to remind Martin that he was still straddling Danny's leg. He stood up a little awkwardly, and Danny had to force himself to do the same, pulling the phone out of his pocket in the process.

"Taylor," he answered automatically, hoping that whoever it was wouldn't hear the remnants of what had just happened.

"Where the hell are you?" Accusatory, and oops. Jack. And oh, God, Martin. He'd just kissed Martin. A small glance at Martin told Danny that he seemed to be slowly coming to the same conclusions. Guilt and embarrassment painted Martin's face, again, and Danny got Jack off the phone as fast as he could.

He let Jack hang up first, and looked at Martin. When they made eye contact, Martin's expression suddenly changed from embarrassment to obviously forced calm. When he spoke, though, his voice was slightly desperate.

"We're late for -"

"Wham!?" Danny interrupted, smirking at Martin's instant blush. Danny realized that there were a hell of a lot more pressing things for them to discuss, but now was not the time. Instead, his smirk grew as Martin walked quickly into the kitchen and collected his coffee.

He was surprised when Martin returned from the kitchen with a matching smirk.

"Not Wham!," he argued casually. Danny raised an eyebrow. "George Michael."

Danny chuckled once and threw Martin his backpack, shaking his head in wonder. Following Martin out of the apartment, he placed the photo on the coffee table with a grin. As he caught up with Martin at the elevator, he couldn't resist one last dig.

"You've got some Cher, too, don't you?"

Martin only grinned.

I'm sorry, that story was awful, wasn't it? It's like one in the morning and I had homework and a deadline to compete with. But it you got this far, then thanks for readin and hopefully, it wasn't as horrible as I think...