haolehothead | (no subject)

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- game: tabula rasa

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Danny's been trying to think up some way to try and mend the bridge between him and Steve. It's not that it's destroyed or damaged, but going home and seeing his father being taken from him like that (and seeing Danny taken as well) has got to leave a kind of mark in the brain. Steve's acting like he's fine, but when Danny himself has been having trouble sleeping and can't seem to manage to find a state of peace, he knows that drastic measures are necessary.

Drastic, in this case, involves a pigskin.

Danny's got the ball in his hands and is tossing it up and down, thinking of the last time he played -- which he thinks was Thanksgiving at home with Matt and his three sisters, when they all ganged up on him (even Matt) and somehow Danny was meant to win just him and their father. Sure, they didn't manage to pull out a victory, but they'd put up a good fight.

He'd left a note at the hut for Steve to come down to the volleyball net by the beach and Danny's wearing very little. His t-shirt is tucked into the back pocket of his board shorts and shows off a tan, which matches the brightness of his hair. It's all further evidence that he's been on some kind of island for far, far too long.

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Steve hauls himself to his feet, hardly caring that he's got sand all over his back now. It's nothing a dip in the ocean won't fix, and he's still smiling as he backs up a few feet, bending down low to assume the position of a defensive lineman. "Trying to get past me now?"

Danny laughs at that, shifting his shoulders as he debates which way to take. "I dunno, you tell me. Aren't you supposed to be the big record-breaker of Kalui...or Waikipika...or something high? Kukui?"

"Kukui High School," Steve replies, nodding as Danny finally gets it. "I don't know, though. I still think Chin might've been a little better than me."

"And, what, your ambition to please your Dad did the rest of the work?" he supposes, even if he's trying to avoid the subject of Steve's Dad, some things are inevitable. "Or did you end up getting all McGarrett about it and playing dirty?" he asks, trying to dart around Steve from the left.

Steve's still not trying to do anything to aggravate his shoulder - the last thing he needs is another flare-up of pain to cause Danny more worry - which is why he waits until Danny fakes right and then goes left, watching his torso to guarantee where he's going to turn before he reaches out for him, grabbing him around the waist with one arm and hauling him back against his chest right as he starts to dart past. "I never play dirty," he teases, hugging Danny tightly.

Danny is pressed snugly up against Steve's chest to the point that he can feel his heart beating. He laughs, softly, and brushes a kiss back against Steve's temple. "That what you would teach a son? Never fight dirty, just fight creatively?"

"Exactly," Steve replies, with an equally matter-of-fact tone and shrug, giving Danny one last squeeze before letting him go and snatching the football out of his hands in the process, running a few feet and pretending to score a touchdown. "Creativity is nine-tenths of how to play the game."

Danny lunges for Steve, but can't seem to reach him, letting out a sharp growl of frustration before jogging the rest of the way after him, losing his shirt in the sand. He has to haul his shorts up and push his hair back when it gets loose and in his eyes. "So," he asks breathlessly. "That a thing, now? You want a boy to be the man your father wants you to be?"

"Who said anything about it being a thing?" Steve asks, squinting into a frown as he glances back over his shoulder at Danny, letting the ball hang loose in his fingertips as his arms fall to his sides. "Boy, girl, doesn't matter - as long as they're their own person, that's what matters."

"I mean, I will admit, I am biased towards little girls," Danny says, darting fast, but only to knock the ball loose from Steve's grip and not to actually grab it. "You would be surprised how much fun you can have at a tea party."

Steve fumbles, reaching out for the ball, but it spins out and across the sand before he can do anything about it, and he turns to Danny with a grin. "Oh, yeah? Lots of pink - tiny little teacups?" he asks, not even trying to hide his amusement.

While Steve's being amused by all of this, Danny's putting his weight on the tips of his toes to lunge forward and full-on tackle Steve to the ground, wrapping his arms around his waist and smirking. "Yeah," he agrees. "Also, don't taunt a man who has a little brother who had no problem roughing around."

"Now who's trying to get who horizontal?" Steve challenges, grinning wide and just laying back as he waits for Danny to get off of him. All things considered, he's fine with Danny just wanting to lay here a while. "You've got the advantage."

Danny doesn't actually think he wants to get up. Not yet, at least. He wiggles his hips and hauls the shorts up again. "The damn things keep falling off," he complains. "I think I grabbed one of yours. Too tight in the ass, too big on the waist."

"Looks like mine," Steve admits, sitting up slightly and glancing over Danny's shoulders to check out his ass in the shorts. He even reaches down to sneak in a grope too, blatantly squeezing one firm cheek. "Feels like mine, too."

"I'm so glad that you can determine whose shorts are whose by groping," Danny deadpans with a mildly amused look in Steve's direction, wiggling his ass at him. "Can you tell if they were laundered recently with another copped feel?"

"My sense of touch isn't that attuned," Steve replies, giving him a look before he deliberately gives Danny's ass a sharp pinch and then eases up into a sitting position, reaching for the football and unconsciously spinning it around in his hands.

Danny sits up as well, groaning as he pushes to his feet and runs both hands through his hair to get it messy before he cracks his neck and takes a few steps back. "So, come on. Tackle me. Really tackle me."

"You don't want me to do that," Steve replies, matter-of-factly as he leans forward, bracing his hands on the top of his thighs, blinking slowly as his gaze focuses in on Danny and not on the sun glaring bright overhead. "Really, Danny, I don't think it's a good idea. You know what happens when it gets too rough."

Danny gives Steve a challenging look that borders on daring as he leans into his light and blocks Steve from really seeing him. "Are you trying to treat me delicately, Steven? Because I think you know how well that will go over."

"I'm trying to treat your knee delicately, Daniel," Steve replies calmly, barely reacting to the shift in movement - except where it means he can't see Danny's face, only the shadow of his silhouette, but it's enough for him to tell where he's standing. "Should I not bother doing that?"

"You were planning on tackling my knee?" Danny replies with a bemused snort. "Steve, I don't know football so well as you, but I kind of think that maybe you should be doing it a little higher if you want to keep me down. Not my dick, obviously, but higher."

"Fine. If I'm going to tackle you, you're going to have to fall properly so you don't hurt yourself. Taking a hit is just as important as making the hit to begin with," Steve answers, briefly using the collar of his shirt to dab sweat off his face, crouching low in the sand.

"And how am I going to take a hit, dearest?" Danny says in return, only mildly mocking him since he's already adjusting his body as though he's trying to figure out exactly how to do it.

"Don't tense up," Steve murmurs, feet scuffing in the sand as he lets one leg drift back, ready to put a little power behind this particular tackle. "The worse thing you can do is go stiff before you take a hit. Stay relaxed, stay loose, and it won't hurt as much."