haolehothead | (no subject)

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It's been one hell of a long day and a half. Danny's been retracing his steps for so long that he feels like this ought to have a case file, but he's found out just enough information to know that he'd acted like a real jackass the day before and somehow, he got the idea to chop the hell out of his hair. He's been left with a shaved head the likes he hasn't had since his early twenties and while it's not the end of the world, it's one of those things that he would've at least liked to do when he was aware he was doing it.

When he made sure Savannah was settled away, Danny headed back for the house, grabbing a bottle of wine from the Hub as he went, a blanket, and a bunch of cookies from the bakery, making a spot on the beach with the dog. He's watching the tide come in, trying to eat and drink away the day while he ignores the real regret -- a part of him, after all, just wanted to spend a quiet evening in with Steve, but somehow that never happened. He still doesn't even know how that's possible.

He rubs a hand over his head again, getting used to the lack of hair. It'll grow back brighter, bleached by the sun, and in about six weeks no less (given that it's mostly gel that does the trick). Until then, he's probably going to develop the bad habit of rubbing it, more than a little.

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Steve loses his footing for a small span when Danny gets to work on his boots, leaning back against the door with a dull thudding sound before he presses a hand there to steady himself. "Or any of those too," he whispers, running his palm over Danny's head.

Danny grins, sliding his palms up the back of Steve's thighs, cupping his ass tightly as he eases back, staring up at Steve with half-lidded eyes, his lower lip wet from a sharp lick. "Babe," he murmurs. "I want you to do something to me."

Steve's fingertips curl around Danny's ear, the pad of his thumb gently rubbing the lobe as he leans back, tilting his head to one side in order to see Danny directly. "What kind of something?" he asks, grinning loosely.

Danny leans back on his haunches, sliding his thumb into the groove of Steve's ass dimple, digging the blunt nail in there and twisting. "Tattoo me."

"Wait, what?" Steve knocks his hand away with a nudge of his fingers, trying to make sure he's hearing this right. "What did you just say?"

Danny shifts to his feet, cocking a brow upwards as he heads for the bedroom, stripping off his t-shirt as he goes, letting Steve process what Danny's said. He means it, too. He's been thinking about it ever since their anniversary started creeping up and yes, it's permanent. But so's their relationship and Steve tattooed himself within months.

It's Danny's turn, now.

"Wait, really?" Steve finally asks, hitching his pants up a little before he starts walking in, pausing briefly to give Zulu a quick scratching behind the ears when the puppy begs for the attention.

"I haven't actually opened that thing yet," he admits, looking to the kit resting in the corner of the room. "Using the gun is a little different than the prison method."

Danny lets his t-shirt trail off the edge of his fingers, wiggling his hips until the sweats sink a little lower, exposing the top of his ass. "Babe, you just talked about prison-ink," he informs him. "That is definitively unsexy, I hope you know that."

"Look, all I'm saying is that it's trickier to wield a gun like that without practicing first, and - if we're going to do this, I want to do it right," Steve insists, loosely crossing his arms. "I don't want to hurt you, or make a mistake in any way."

Danny lets the sweats slip just a little further, glancing over his shoulder and resting his chin there as he peers down. He ignores everything Steve is saying, giving a hum of acknowledgement. "So where do you think it ought to go?"

"Hmm? Oh, I don't know. Where were you thinking?" Steve absently replies, crossing the room as he tugs off his t-shirt by pinching it in the back, between his shoulderblades. The moment the shirt comes up over his head, though, he gets a glimpse of Danny and smiles briefly, a small upturn at one edge of his mouth, and slowly sinks to his knees behind him, nuzzling just above the curve of his ass. "What, you thinking right here?"

"Right at the top of my ass, yeah," he says, his voice a bit hazy. After all, it's not like he can think properly, what with Steve being right there and all. "Maybe, you know, a little SEAL insignia, wrapped around your name. Right on my ass, where you'll appreciate it."

"Oh, I'll appreciate it," Steve mutters, giving that little patch of skin a gentle nip before he curls his fingers underneath the waistband of Danny's sweats, tugging them down lower on his hips. "You better believe I'll appreciate it. Property of Steve McGarrett, huh?"

"I'm not tattooing that on my ass, it's practically a novel," Danny gripes, swaying his hips backwards just enough to push them into Steve's hands. "But I'll let you sew that into all my sweatpants and I'll wear 'em out in public. You'd like that, right?"

"Maybe nothing that obvious," Steve concedes, shoving the sweats down further until he can cup both cheeks in his palms, gently kneading the flesh. "And I'm the only one who needs to see it up close."

"Yeah, well, other people might see it," Danny points out, taking hold of Steve's hand to slide it up slightly, pushing it against the skin flush where he wants it, at the base of his spine. "There, babe. I want it there."

"Right here," Steve replies, pressing a slow kiss to that dipping curve as his palms slide over Danny's ass, thumbs kneading equally slowly. "I get it, babe."

Danny's eyes have fallen shut and every additional knead that Steve gives him puts Danny in an absolutely useless state, babbling ridiculously as he lets out a soft moan. "Shit, I can't be on my feet if we're doing this," he breathlessly says.

"So don't be," Steve replies, all too matter-of-fact given the way he leans in to gently nip at Danny's rear, teeth scraping over skin just hard enough for him to feel it. Those sweats are pushed down to his knees by the time Steve leans in, lets his tongue flick over Danny's ass before pressing in, a slick nudging.

Danny falters forward, swaying as his knees hit the bed and he breathes in sharply. "Steven, I know you want to be caveman and crazy, like this," he breathes out, "but I got a bum knee and if you keep doing that to my ass, I'm gonna collapse."

"Then lay down already," Steve mutters, sitting back on his heels and delivering a sound smack to the back of Danny's thigh. He's not going to do anything that's going to make Danny hurt himself, but he'll be damned if he's going to get derailed now.

Danny turns around and forcibly smacks at Steve's head to get him to quit for just a second, crouching over to haul his pants back up. "I'm going to bed. You're coming with me, and you're gonna draw the tattoo before you're allowed anything else."

"And how am I supposed to draw this now, exactly? Any pen will just wash off," Steve replies, slowly rising to his feet again. "You're gonna want me to do this on a piece of paper before I transfer anything to skin."

"So draw it on paper," Danny says, shucking his pants off and crawling naked into bed, leaning his weight on his elbow as he looks over Steve. "Come here," he summons, tapping his hip. "Come here and draw it on paper right on top of my skin, see how it looks."

"I don't think you realize what a difficult time I'm going to have trying to concentrate on keeping a steady hand," Steve says, drawing in a shallow breath at the sight in front of him. "Do you?"