newkindofcop | (no subject)

Entry tags:

danny williams

(no subject)

The days have been busier for them, between Danny's heightened responsibilities at the IPD and Steve's decision to run for Council a second term. Sometimes, the only moments when they manage to locate one another are in bed, asleep, and then waking up in the morning to do it all over again. It might be a taste of what life would be like if they'd gone and done this back home, with work slipping to the forefront for a while until they managed to get their bearings.

It's why, when Danny suggests an early evening game of baseball, just the two of them, Steve doesn't hesitate - though what he sees when he finally gets there is enough to warrant some surprise, and maybe a little teasing. He's only seen Danny in a shirt and tie - and a t-shirt, more often, for sleeping - but he doesn't know what to say when he happens upon his husband wearing a pair of cargo pants - his cargo pants.

"Okay, I'm actually at a loss for words in this moment," he says, holding up a hand. "Did you have an aneurysm of your own when I wasn't looking?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Yeah, I'm poking you right now," Danny agrees defensively, a teasing grin on his lips. He's amused by this, mostly giving Steve grief just because he can. "What, what would work?"

"If someone used you to get to me." He curls his fingers inside his glove, working the leather by opening and closing his hand until it feels a little more relaxed.

Danny looks Steve up and down, not really sure that he believes that. "Babe, come on, you're a rough, tough Navy SEAL. If someone used me to get to you, you'd figure something out," he says, with an easygoing shrug. "You'd just solve it, I'd live or I'd die, but they wouldn't get anything out of you. You're stoic. You're Navy. You're a SEAL."

"You sure about that?" Steve asks, his gaze settling into a calm one as he regards Danny quietly, plucking the ball out of his glove and then tossing it back into the grip of his fingers. "Can you honestly say I'm the same person who got off the boat to apprehend Hesse all those months ago? Am I the same person I was before Five-O? Before I met you?"

"No, you're not the same person, but..." Danny fixes Steve with a hard look, one that looks like he's trying to get to know every intimate part of Steve. "If something turned up here and gave you a lead to Hesse, to your Dad's case, to solving your mother's murder, to putting away this Wo Fat guy that we keep hearing about. Do I think you'd leap at the chance? Yeah, Steve. I do."

"I would, but - not at the cost of your safety. Danny - you're the most important thing to me now, you know? Before it was the case, but - I can't say that with confidence anymore. You changed all that for me," he murmurs, his tone as gentle as it is pressing.

"So, what, if I got kidnapped by some evil crazy megalomaniac," Danny says, clearly teasing by the fond look on his face, "What would you do, huh? Big scary Navy SEAL, what would you do for me?"

"You know what," Steve says, finding Danny's eyes as he moves in close enough to feel his breath against his jaw, body heat radiating off his skin. "I'd go in there with guns blazing and haul your ass out of there."

"I know," Danny admits with a sheepish grin because he does know Steve and he knows what he would do. "I just like hearing it," he admits, because it is the kind of thing that can fluff up an ego. "I'd do the same for you, swear to god, I would tear someone apart if they hurt you," he says severely, slipping one hand to the small of Steve's back.

"You like hearing it, huh?" Steve asks, tucking his baseball glove under one arm as he runs fingertips along the collar of Danny's shirt, lightly touching. "Maybe it should go without saying then, since you already know what I'd do."

"Maybe I like hearing you talk about all the asses you'd kick in my name," Danny says with a smirk. "Actually, can you talk about you doing it shirtless? I like thinking about you being shirtless and avenging things and possibly you're wet and the tattoos are gleaming."

"Yes, Danny. For the purposes of your mental image, you can think about me doing it without a shirt on," Steve replies, even though the logistics of carrying off that kind of an op with at least some freeform kevlar is a suicide mission waiting to happen.

"See, now I'm liking this situation even better," Danny says with a grin, sliding his hands up and down Steve's waist and hips, easing them closer together with a light step and nudge. "So you like my cargo pants, huh?"

"Well, technically, they're my cargo pants, but - " Danny's decision to ease together earns him a soft hiss, and Steve's jaw tenses visibly as he swallows, unable to stop himself for reaching out to clutch at Danny's hip with an ungloved hand.

Danny smirks, pleased to have gotten his way. He cocks a brow upwards, pinching at Steve's waist (and all the non-fat there) before sliding that hand to his ass. "What do you like about me in your cargo pants?"

"Well, for starters, they don't really fit, do they?" Steve asks, briefly sliding a fingertip underneath the waistband of the pants before letting them snap back against his hip.

"No, no, they do not, but that has more to do with you being a hulk of a man," Danny replies, tipping his head to one side and then the next as he tries to hide his amused grin. "Is that a comment about my height or my ass?"

"Serves you right for trying to fit into my clothes," Steve murmurs, leaning in, one hand sliding to the small of Danny's back. "What if it's a comment about both?"

"Trying to fit into your..." Danny gives a slight harrumph. "How about you march inside our hut and you put on one of my shirts and then we can talk about trying to fit into my clothes, huh? I needed these, are you saying I should've come out here naked, is that what you're saying, dear?"

"And you wouldn't have needed to borrow my clothes if - what?" Steve replies, leaning in to let Danny finish that sentence, his mouth already starting to shift into a broader grin.

"If you hadn't already made such a mess of them?" Danny suggests, his eyes bright and wide. "Is that the answer you're looking for? If my husband was not so acrobatically and endurance-ly good at sex, I'm sure some of my clothes would still be in decent shape."

"Okay, that last shirt was not my fault," Steve insists, both eyebrows rising as he presses his palms against Danny's forearms. "Shoddy craftsmanship, and you - you have to know how good you look coming home at the end of the day."

"There are buttons that I'm pretty sure the dog is eating because of how far they scattered," Danny says, a genuinely worried look on his face as he pushes right into Steve's touch. "You, big guy, ought to have at least some idea of how to behave when I get home at the end of the day. Covered in paint and policework, most often."

"I know how to behave," Steve insists, his gaze subtle in its amusement as it lingers on Danny's face. "And I picked up those buttons later, alright? There weren't that many of them."

"Yeah, only because it was the one shirt," Danny agrees, holding back on saying 'this time'. He doesn't want to encourage Steve to make it into a repeating kind of thing. "So, are we playing baseball or are you just manhandling my ass, because I have forms to create for the IPD."

"Not that I don't appreciate a good ass-groping."