haolehothead | (no subject)

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- game: tabula rasa

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When the morning sunlight comes spilling into his room, Danny makes a muffled noise of protest as he rolls back onto his stomach and starts to regret asking Steve to put in windows. Sure, windows are great and they let the light in and now he feels like he lives in a home and not a shack, but in the morning, now he just feels grumpy and glared on.

Danny rolls onto his back and sighs, staring at the ceiling and glancing at the wall to his side that separates his room from Steve's. Usually he just knocks on it and asks if Steve wants breakfast, but Danny's got a full day with a shift at the IPD and then over to the Children's Office. Not to mention, he does want to see some people about house repairs. So, it's a long day, and he'd still like to squeeze in Date Number Six.

He finally coaxes himself out of bed. The sooner he gets to the office, the sooner he gets back for dinner. He knows he's going to be around little ones inevitably, so he doesn't go for the tie, getting an old Jets football jersey and sliding it on atop a pair of worn-in jeans. Yeah, he's gonna catch hell, but he learned his lessons about ties around babies when Grace was tiny.

He makes a note to pick up hair gel when he comes back because his hair is flyaways and tears, no order to it as he starts making noise to tell Steve that he's up. "Hey! I'm making fruit for breakfast. You know, just like every other day, since you haven't put a stove in for me!" he shouts, voice escalating on every word.

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"What's wrong with this?" Steve asks, holding out his arms and looking down at himself, frowning while he gives his own appearance a quick study. "You can change if you want," he adds, jerking a thumb over his shoulder to the table. "I just finished setting."

"Well, I brought you back dinner," Danny says as he lingers in his bedroom, keeping the door open as he strips off the jersey and the jeans, wandering around the room in his boxers as he slides into a pair of pressed black slacks and a deep-purple shirt, fetching a silver tie and sliding it under the collar, fingers expertly knotting it. "You look good!" Danny calls out. "Good enough to eat. What's it you say in pidgin? Lani," he draws out the word.

"You're learning," Steve calls back, briefly glancing to the bedroom door as one hand reaches out for the wine, and at that moment Danny wanders by, clad in just a pair of boxers, and his fingers stumble against the bottle and he knocks it over with a loud, dull sound. He winces, scrambling to pick it up and ensure that it isn't broken as he quickly averts his gaze.

Danny finishes with his tie and changes into a new pair of socks before coming back out in time to see Steve putting the wine bottle back, not a drop poured out of it. Danny affords him a suspicious and dubious look. "Hi," he draws out that word too, bemused.

"Hi," Steve quickly answers, clearing his throat and moving to set the food out on the plates, bringing the wine bottle along as a brief afterthought. When he looks up again, he can't help grinning. "Nice tie."

"What can I say, I wanna dress nice for this date with this guy I know," Danny says, off-the-cuff as he grabs a couple of napkins and brings them to the table. He slides two wine glasses down, as well, licking his lips as he takes a seat. "So, Steve, did you stay good and pent-up like I wanted?"

"You'll get the answer to that question after dinner," Steve responds, quiet and even, and reaches out for the wine, pouring a decent amount into both glasses before he looks down at the plate in front of him, making a surprised sound. "You made steak? What, is this a special occasion or something?"

Danny leans forward for his glass of wine, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to the elbow and giving an indignant noise. "Why wouldn't I make you steak? And of course it's a special occasion. I have graciously agreed to put out. There is nothing more special than that."

"You said you were going to make pasta," Steve says, picking up his own glass in the same moment and leaning back in his seat, testing the strength of that superglue. "I'm not complaining, just noticing."

"Well, originally, yes, I did intend to make you some good Italian pasta, the likes of which Jersey excels at. But as I sat there thinking, I would like to wine and dine my person, do you know what came to me? It came to me that I want to put steak and potatoes on a plate and really get your energy up."

"Hmm," Steve says, a soft hum of thought as he picks up both fork and knife, digging into his steak and cutting off a piece small enough to chew slowly. "You know what steak does? Makes me sleepy."

"I will take that away from you," Danny warns sharply, leaning forward over the table to grab at Steve's plate. "I will get you tuna or fish or whatever it is that makes you wanna stay up all night, don't think I won't."

Steve makes a sound of protest and slides his arm around the plate, drawing it close. "Don't even think about it. Trust me, I'll be wide awake for whatever comes next."

Danny eyes him suspiciously, still leaning over the table, but he settles back when he decides that yes, Navy SEAL Steve probably will stay awake. "You look good," Danny says after he settles down again, clearing his throat. "I mean. Shit, Steve, you always look good, but I like you in button-downs."

Steve cuts into his potato, blowing over the bite-sized piece he sticks his fork into. "Special occasion, right?" he answers, one corner of his mouth quirking up into a small smirk. "Figured I'd dress the part."

Danny just grins as he stares down at the table, hooking his fingers under his glass of wine as he swills it and just leans back to stare at Steve, steak half-eaten. "How was your day, babe? The place looks great, I can see a difference."

"No stove yet, though, but I did get a little more work done on extending the porch," Steve admits, making an apologetic expression as he washes down his next bite of steak with a sip of wine. "Did you talk to the guy about installing the A/C?"

"I did," Danny agrees with a bright grin. "He's gonna come by on the weekend, and I talked to the housing people about a fridge. They're gonna come by and make sure it's working real proper. They'll do the electricity, too." Hell, at this rate, it's almost coming together to the point they have a decent place.

Danny furrows his brow, having been thinking about this all day. "Hey, so, all that stuff. That's me stuff, it's stuff I asked for. But what do you want in a home?"

"Well, at this rate, we'll be cooking our own meals by the weekend," Steve says, setting his fork down so he isn't rushing through his meal too quickly. Tonight would be the worst night for him to stuff himself to the point of bursting. He glances over at Danny, thoughts filled with potential additions to install on the hut, but then the look in his eyes changes.

"Who says I haven't got exactly what I want?"

"Cuz, I mean, cuz, you have this habit of thinking things and not telling me what you're thinking about," Danny points out, swallowing down a bit bite of potato and giving a small moan. "Fuck, that's good," he mutters under his breath. "So, no, Steve, I don't know what you want."

Slowly, he takes a sip of wine, lets it burst into subtle flavor on his tongue, clicks his tongue against his teeth, and when he looks over at Danny, there's a fondness and a warmth that accompanies the smile. "I think you do know," Steve replies, with a little extra emphasis on the word.

Call Danny clueless, then, because right now, he is just lost. "Okay, so we're close to the ocean and one day a big wave is gonna come kill me," Danny concedes, waving a hand in Steve's direction.

"Danno," Steve says, pushing his chair back from the table and scooting to the end of his seat, reaching over to rest a hand on top of Danny's knee. "What I want in a home is everything I've got right here: a roof over my head, a beachfront view, and someone to share it with."

Oh.

Oh. Fuck. Danny can feel the bright prickle of heat in his cheeks as he realizes what Steve's talking about and he licks his lips awkwardly. He leans forward against Steve's touch, gauging how much food and wine they've each got left. "Shit," he says, hoarsely. "Get up."

When he rises, he isn't sure if he should feel concerned or not; Danny's tone is somewhat ambiguous, and Steve squeezes his knee before standing, glancing down at his partner. "Is that - did I say something wrong?"