Ocean’s 11, On The In

Title: On The In [Danny/Rusty]
Rating/Warnings: Danny/Rusty, R for prison jokes.
Summary: The thing in the elevator barely took the edge off. Danny’s been gone a long time.
AN: for musesfool, even though i ruined the surprise by having her beta, not like it was a surprise anyway. all this O11 love is her fault anyway, as is the dialogue in the shower phenomenon. And anyway, this is a sequel to her A Little Less Conversation, A Little More Action.

On The In

The room Rusty is sleeping in is nice, but not distinctive, and Danny isn’t looking at it anyway, is having a hard time keeping his eyes on anything but Rusty, on the way Rusty is pushing the door shut with his hip as he leans the roll of plans carefully against the wall. Danny’s fingers flex to keep from locking up with tension as though he’s about to make a lift; the thing in the elevator had wound him up even tighter rather than taking the edge off, reminding him how good Rusty could feel under his hands.

Rusty is back under Danny’s hands the instant the door is closed, pressed up against the fake wood and Danny thinks that maybe they should talk about this or something after four years and Tess and Incan matrimonial head masks, but his mouth is busy with the flow of Rusty’s neck into shoulder and Rusty’s hands are fisted in his shirt and pulling him closer and pushing him backwards at the same time and Danny lets him do it because Rusty is the detail man after all and presumably there is a bed behind him someplace.

The unspoken deal had always been that Rusty dealt with the bed while Danny dealt with the clothes, it had always worked before, and it was certainly working now because by the time the backs of Danny’s knees bumped against furniture, Rusty’s jacket was a thing of the past and his shirt was hanging from his elbows.

“You haven’t lost your touch, I see,” Rusty comments, letting go of Danny just long enough to shrug the shirt down to his wrists and flick it off, but it’s long enough for Danny to do some fingerwork on his own buttons that would do Bobby Caldwell proud, and both shirts hit the ground almost at the same moment.

And then there’s the awkward part where they both have to kick off their shoes because amazing Danny might be but he has yet to work out a way to magick away the shoes out from under somebody’s feet, although he’s sure there’s money in there someplace once he does. And then Rusty plants a hand on his chest and shoves him backwards, and he goes tumbling onto the bed, which turns out to be larger than Danny would have thought given the rest of the room he hasn’t really seen, but then again Rusty always did know about creature comfort.

“Christ,” Rusty laughs as he crawls onto the bed, all graceful fingers and soft mouth, and Danny is staring, “could you stop thinking for five seconds?”

No, Danny can’t, but it makes him smile as he reaches out to pull Rusty’s wrist out from under him and sends him sprawling facefirst into the comforter. He sits up and gets his knees under him so he can run hands over Rusty’s back, skin slick with warmth under his palms, and Danny wonders just where Rusty got this tan that seems to go all the way down. He coaxes Rusty into sprawling out on the bed the right way, and Rusty folds his arms under his head, turning his head to watch Danny move him. Danny presses thumbs into the small of Rusty’s back, where all his tension gathers across his spine during a job, and Rusty’s eyes roll back into his head a little.

Danny takes his time working Rusty’s muscles loose, and he would think that Rusty had fallen asleep if he didn’t recognize the buzz of the silent sighs that radiate up through Rusty’s back and into Danny’s fingers. After a few minutes, Danny throws one knee over Rusty’s waist and settles on the backs of his thighs; it means losing sight of Rusty’s half-slit eyes and the flush across his nose, but this way Danny can dig the heels of his hands in hard underneath Rusty’s shoulderblades until Rusty actually moans out loud and turns his head to pillow his forehead on his wrists.

The moan shivers through both of them, and Danny bends to lick the top of Rusty’s spine, hands sliding down from his back to stroke his sides, then underneath him to brush across his stomach on the way to the button of his pants. Rusty didn’t use to wear this brand, and with his thighs pressed against Rusty’s Danny can feel the chuckle when he fumbles with the unfamilar catch for a split-second.

Hooking his thumbs in the waistband of both pants and briefs, Danny wonders when Rusty stopped going commando as he edges backwards and stretches out on his stomach along Rusty’s legs until his lips are even with the skin just above the waistband. Danny draws the pants down a few centimeters at a time, kissing and sucking each new inch of skin as it appears, and the tan does go all the way down, even over the curves of Rusty’s…

“What the hell is that?” Danny demands suddenly. Rusty stiffens under his hands and twists his neck to peer over his shoulder, then rolls over suddenly when Danny is just about to press a thumb into his skin to make sure it’s real. Danny’s chin is hovering just below the crease of Rusty’s thigh now, right where his trousers are gathered, just high enough to still be caught on Rusty’s erection.

Rusty stares at Danny down the length of his body, lips pressed thin.

“I just thought I’d be the one to come back with tattoos,” Danny remarks, already regretting his outburst, but the thought of anybody else being so familiar with that particular patch of skin grates something low in Danny’s stomach, not to mention the tattoo artist…

“Are you saying you didn’t come back with tattoos?” Rusty asks, tone as sharp as the skin of his hips under Danny’s thumbs is soft, and Danny narrows his eyes in a way that asks how Rusty knows that he didn’t. Rusty isn’t playing though, and says, “Are we supposed to be on a one-to-one tattoo ratio now? Dammit, Danny, you were gone a long time.”

Danny is opening his mouth to say that it wasn’t exactly his idea when Rusty adds, “and I don’t mean prison.” Danny shuts his mouth and kisses the skin of Rusty’s belly instead because he is, at heart, a talker and the set of Rusty’s jaw says he doesn’t want to hear it right now.

He turns his head to kiss the inside of Rusty’s wrist where Rusty’s hands have flopped down by his waist, and this tattoo Danny is familiar with, remembers the taste of these lines when they were slick black and still raised, before that when the skin was still bleeding, and before that when Rusty’s wrist was unmarked if Danny hadn’t bit it recently.

Rusty’s pulse steadies under his lips, and when Danny finally does look up again, Rusty is still watching him, chewing on his lower lip, but the corners of his mouth are resigned and Danny knows he’s in. It’s a relief, the set of Rusty’s mouth, because Danny doesn’t like conning Rusty unnecessarily. He moves forward to wrap arms around Rusty’s back and rolls them over, letting Rusty’s cock come to rest just below his own and raising his hips a little to show it isn’t accidental.

“Go ahead,” he says. Rusty’s eyebrow makes the standard prison joke, and Danny’s dropped gaze is the punchline.

Danny has been gone a long time, long enough that his body is claiming to have forgotten how it all goes, but Rusty is in and then Rusty is in and either one is enough to make Danny’s tilt-a-whirl of thought stutter to a merciful halt, and in Danny’s world that’s a precious thing.

In the end, Danny comes to rest tucked under Rusty’s chin, cheek rising and falling with the steady breaths that are stirring his hair. This lasts for about two and a half minutes, until Rusty tugs his pants back up to his waist and grabs his shirt from the floor on the way to go out and get a package of Peanut M&Ms from the vending machine and Danny supposes it makes just as much sense as a cigarette.

Danny is laying on his back with his hands folded behind his head when Rusty returns and reclines against the headboard beside him. He hasn’t bothered to re-button his shirt, Danny notices, which speaks of relaxation for Rusty. Danny hears him tear the corner off the package and pour a few into his mouth before fingers are holding an M&M up to Danny’s mouth. Danny parts lips to let the candy roll in, just brushing the tips of Rusty’s finger and thumb with his tongue. He chews thoughtfully, enjoying the cooperation of sweet and salty.

“You think we ought to start training somebody new?” he asks, picking up a conversation that isn’t any the worse for wear for being dropped roundabout four years ago.

The bag crinkles as Rusty pours a few more M&Ms into his mouth.

“You like toying with the new ones.”

Rusty cracks an M&M sharply between his molars.

“We’ll get someone new.”

Danny hears Rusty crush the bag into a ball and the soft whiff as it lands in the trash can beside the bedside table, and is mildly surprised when the last M&M is tapped against his lips. He sucks it into his mouth, and Rusty’s fingers with it, and turns his head just far enough to see Rusty’s smirk out of the corner of his eye.

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