haolehothead | (no subject)

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- game: tabula rasa

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Danny is beginning to develop a real fondness for the island. Namely, he likes the way he and Steve share space. He almost even likes the adorable way the dog snores in his ear when he slips out of Steve's bed in the middle of the night to curl up with Danny. He really likes when Zulu's owner does the same little trick.

It means he's got a handful of McGarrett as he rouses. Today, he's beaten the odds somehow in being up before Steve and he slides his fingers down Steve's bare back, half-awake and half-coherent as he takes in the look of him.

And that goddamn beautiful tramp stamp.

Zulu is still snoring at his ear, little puppy wuffles and huffs, but Danny displaces him lightly when he starts sinking down the bed with slow kisses down Steve's spine with one goal in mind: get to the treasure.

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What it does serve to do, alongside the pleased sounds in the back of Steve's throat, is make him chuckle. Danny's stumbled across a few ticklish places there before, and he seems to make an effort to not leave them out, every time, without fail. He grins, teeth dragging across his own lower lip, and cranes his neck to peek at Danny upside-down, under his own arm. It's impossible not to look at his partner right now without a fondness in his gaze.

"You're ticklish, you giant freak," Danny pokes at him and goes back to it, his tongue flattening as he shifts and uses the strength of the tip to circle and give Steve every kind of sensation he can possibly provide.

"What? Everyone's a little ticklish," Steve protests, but then it occurs to him that he should probably just shut up and enjoy this while he's able, while Danny has his lower half pinned to the bed as he teases him with his mouth, and the last syllable of the word that leaves his lips turns into a slight whine.

Danny's occupied with the canvas that's practically laid out before him. Steve's body is kind of a work of art, it's not even a little bit of a joke. He's sliding his hand around to Steve's front to work at his dick when Zulu decides now is the perfect time to leap up and present Steve with the goddamn toy.

"...yeah, no," Danny says, drawing away. "I can't do this."

Steve groans a different kind of groan, one that holds a recognizable note of frustration, and while he does lean over to pluck Zulu up in his arms, he also gets up from the bed, taking both puppy and toy into his own room and setting them down on the bed, closing the door behind him when he leaves.

He crawls back onto Danny's bed behind him, kissing the crook between his neck and shoulder, curling the length of his body along his back.

"Don't tell me you still can't."

Danny lets out a heavy exhalation that trembles as he leans back into Steve's grasp, glad that now he won't have to be overly concerned about scarring the dog with sex. "I could maybe be encouraged," he says, trying to sound reluctant about the whole thing.

"Yeah? Anything particularly encouraging over the rest?" Steve asks, while one arm slides around to Danny's front, fingertips caressing the plane of his chest, and he turns his head to finally catch Danny's lips with his own, kissing slow.

Danny lets out a slow sound as he kisses Steve back, shifting until he's on his back and then facing Steve, his palm sliding back around to that tattoo. "Get on your stomach, I wasn't done," he says, his voice thick with want.

Steve sighs at having to give up the position, but he'll admit it here and now, if asked: Danny ordering him around even just a little bit is enough to make him ache, and he obeys almost instantly, shifting past Danny's side and stretching out on his stomach. "Yes, sir."

Danny leans forward, leaning his mouth to the shell of Steve's ear. "That's a good boy," he growls, sliding back until he's at the tramp stamp all over again, starting on a big hickey just on the edge of the ink.

Steve loses his breath in a nearly audible whimper and then never quite gets it back again after that, struggling not to squirm under Danny's hands and mouth, and he can feel the mark as it's made and then swells on his skin to a red that stands out against the black ink.

Danny eases back to study his masterpiece when he thinks he's done, bending forward, ass in the air, as he adds just a little more. It's not like anyone's going to see except maybe if they get company for surfing. He scrapes his teeth to pull more skin in and sucks, pressing a kiss when he's done, sprawling forward to start doing the same to the tattoo at Steve's bicep.

Steve's making quiet noises at this point, small sighs interchanged with a low groan here and there, and he peers out from over his arm when Danny slides up to kiss along his bicep, his fingers curling around Danny's forearm. "I didn't realize you were so into these," he murmurs, leaning in to kiss Danny's forehead.

"Maybe," Danny murmurs, voice low and subdued since Steve is right there, "maybe I just like 'em on you," he admits, ducking his head to the side to steal a brief kiss from Steve, enjoying the indulgence of the morning laziness. He goes back to the hickey that will show, just past the sleeves of Steve's future t-shirts.

Steve's content to let his head fall back against the pillow, taking the opportunity to study the shape of Danny's profile, the fading marks on his neck that Steve had left last week. "No complaints here," he replies, repressing a shiver that starts at the base of his spine and travels up.

Danny grins as he slides his body over slightly, tracing his lips slowly over the hickey when he's through, easing back to study it, tracing it with his fingers. "Only thing is, you're missing some more ink," Danny mock-laments as he slides his palm under Steve's body to wrap around his dick.

"Oh, yeah?" Steve asks, his voice laced with interest as his hips roll back and then forward, making room for Danny to touch him as he eyes him from his spot on his stomach. "More where? Show me."

"Well, man like you, with this many tattoos, I gotta think that you have one from the Navy, yeah?" Danny murmurs, pressing a kiss to Steve's shoulder as he starts to stroke him slowly. "One for the SEALs? So where's Five-O's?"

"Yeah? What would I get for Five-O?" Steve asks, his voice weak while his breath catches and he shifts forward into Danny's touch, hips grinding in time against the bed. "You just want your name on me, don't you? Admit it, babe."

"Hey, you wanna slap my name on you, it's your funeral, Steven," Danny says, but there's a slightly punch-drunk echo in his tone, like he wouldn't even mind that whatsoever. "Tattoos are forever. Didn't they teach you that while you got one of your four dozen," he goes on sarcastically, dragging his thumb down Steve's dick and circling at the head.

"I didn't - I didn't get them with the idea of taking them off, Danny," Steve mutters, a gasp interrupting him mid-sentence, and then he groans, reaching behind him, needing to touch some part, any part of Danny, needing something under his hands.

"Hey," Danny says hoarsely. "Flip," he orders, wanting to finish this off without Steve scrambling to reach behind him like that. "So why'd you get them?" he asks, bringing his other hand into this, both of them now working to bring Steve off.

Danny's gone and asked him a question, and now he actually expects Steve to think when he's got both his hands working to make him come, and Steve fists a grip in the bedsheets and tenses, sucking in a breath. "Danny," he gasps, just to say something, an acknowledgment of how good this feels.

"Why did you get them, Steve," he sing-songs, starting to press slow kisses to his neck as well, nudging his knee in between Steve's thighs from behind, applying pressure to his balls.

Steve can't breathe. He can't find enough air to fill his lungs, and he's drowning in this, of the sensation of Danny's hands working on him and his mouth kissing him and the sound of his voice, rasping and playful, and Steve tenses up, seconds away from coming hard as he rocks wantonly. "Danny, fuck, just - "