Just Hanging Around
Nov. 16th, 2010 06:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ifeelbetterTitle: Just Hanging Around
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ifeelbetter
Word Count: 2,186
Fandom/Pairing: Hawaii-Five-0...Danny/Steve
Summary: Steve develops just the teensiest of obsessions with Danny's tie. And Danny's neck.
Notes: Another incognito prompt fill over at the pineapple_infested kink meme. Also--I'm still taking prompts for December. I only have like six or something.
It was hilarious at first. Steve mocked the ties because, honestly, they were stupid. It's not even like there was variety--the man must have had a drawer stuffed to the brim with nondescript black and navy-blue ties. And that thought alone was a little hilarious, right, because this was Hawaii. No one should have a drawer full of nondescript ANYTHING in Hawaii.
So Steve took pot-shots at the ties ("What did the neck tie say to the hat?" "What did the--are you HIGH?" "It said, 'You go on ahead, I'll just hang around." "...") when he could, when they seemed to fit naturally into the conversation (almost always, even that one time when he had to take the spare gun he had been holding between his teeth out before he could get to the punchline). And that was fun. Mostly because of the way Danny pursed his lips when he frowned.
So, obviously, it became a little Pavlovian. See tie, make joke, enjoy funny Danny face. Which meant that Steve's eyes dropped to Danny's neck when he entered a room. Like, immediately.
And that was when he started to notice that there were a few variations in Danny's ties. There was one with stripes--he liked that one especially because Danny wore it that one time when they had to hide up a tree and it had frayed a little, just the tiniest bit, right in the middle. And Steve liked that he frayed the tie, in an indirect way, and that Danny had it on. So he kept an eye out for that one.
And then there was the dark brown one he wore when he wore that beige shirt. That one must sit funny or something because Danny always ended up tugging it loose in the early afternoon. And he tended to loosen his ties even earlier if Steve insisted on something batshit insane earlier in the day.
Which was not at all dissuasive for Steve doing batshit insane things.
He had long since run out of jokes--had Googled "jokes about ties" and then run out of those too--but there was always the tried-and-true "You're in HAWAII" one to fall back on. Steve decided to allow that as justification for the way he now kept a mental catalog of all of Danny's ties. And that the catalog was detailed enough that he knew, towards the end of a laundry cycle, which ties Danny had left and could predict which ones would make an appearance on which day.
And since he was noticing anyway, he noticed the knot too. Because Danny's knot was always spot on. There was a perfect dimple in the tie, they always sat perfectly nuzzled against his throat, the skinny end never was longer than the wide end. And the knots--the knots were lovely. Half-Windsors, mostly, but Danny could be depended to swap it out for a full-Windsor a couple times a week. He saved the Prince Albert and the Four-in-hand for special occasions (like the day Kono beat Steve at chess). But he did them all perfectly.
And it would be ridiculous to criticize a man for admiring a thing done well, right? So there was no harm in the fact that Steve had moved all the information about Danny's ties from the "Ridiculous as fuck" section of his brain to the "Private time" section. Because skill was something Steve could appreciate.
Not at all because of the piece of neck that the tie obscured most of the day. Because that would be weird.
"Your tie is gonna get caught in the chainsaw," Steve pointed out. "You should probably take it off."
"Ha. I'm not defeated so easily." Danny snorted and swung the tie over his shoulder. It didn't get caught in the chainsaw.
"You guys are insane!" the suspect shrieked as the wood shavings got caught in his hair.
"Your face is insane," Steve said. It wasn't his strongest come-back to date, no, but he was distracted. Because it, apparently, took more than a chainsaw to get Danny out of his tie.
Two days later, the brown one was back. Steve had never loved the brown one so much before. It had been WEEKS since Danny loosened his tie in the office and he was dying.
And it wasn't like he purposefully found a suspect who wanted to try running down the beach and then swimming away, forcing Danny to follow Steve when he splashed into the ocean. But that's the way the cookie crumbles and the brown tie was toast.
"I liked that tie," Danny said later, looking down at the soggy, misshapen end dangling from his neck.
"You hated that tie," Steve corrected. "You always take it off by the end of the day."
Danny tilted his head to the side and sort of squinted at Steve. He contemplated a beat too long fro Steve's taste but real men don't break eye contact first so he didn't. He squirmed under Danny's gaze, though. Real men are allowed to squirm.
"You could take it off now. Because of it being so wet. And it's probably wool, right?" Steve said. "You'll never get the wrinkles out again."
"Oh my god," shrieked the suspect. Both Danny and Steve were sitting on him. "You're fucking lunatics!"
"That's just not polite," Danny said. "You don't hear me making personal statements about you even though I think you're a rotten scumbag, do you? That's because I have manners."
Steve considered the point. "Jersey manners, maybe."
"Don't you start on Jersey," Danny said.
But Steve considered the day a win when Danny used the brown tie to gag the suspect later.
Steve begrudgingly admitted he had a problem when his first thought, a couple weeks later, after getting shot in the arm wasn't, "Is there lasting damage" or "Can I flex my fingers" or, even, "Is there anyone else here I can shoot now that my arm hurts so very much." No, the very first thing he thought was, "We don't have a first-aid kit and Danny's going to have to use his tie."
So there might be a problem.
That, and the knife wound in his gut. That might also be a problem. And the broken nose.
Of course he killed everyone else before it finally caught up with him--all that blood loss and everything aching. Danny was smacking some punk handcuffed to a pipe upside the head (they'd get the rest of the gang through him) when Steve started to tilt.
He hit the ground hard. It only took half a shallow breath for Danny's face to appear over him.
"I'm gonna kick your face so hard if you die, I'm not even playing," Danny was saying, checking the many patches of blood on Steve's shirt until he found the bullet hole in his arm.
Steve must have lost more blood than he thought (probably the other knife wound in the thigh, now that he thought about it) because it seemed distinctly unfair that Danny's fingers got to tug at the stupid gray tie.
"Hey, hold on," he said, reaching towards Danny's throat with his good (well...better) hand, "it's totally my turn."
Danny was perplexed enough by the sentiment that he didn't try to swat Steve's hand away, he just let him dip a finger behind the knot and give it a tug. And Steve's finger totally grazed some skin and that was awesome.
And then he passed out for a bit. And he totally ruined the stupid gray tie with his blood so. Win.
Later, after he left the hospital in what was, admittedly, not the most obvious of ways (by his window) and had returned to his house, he wasn't all that surprised when Danny showed up in an apoplectic rage.
"You know how you have stitches in like nine different places? That means you shouldn't be shimmying down drainpipes, you psycho!" Danny shouted at his door. Steve opened it. Danny was ready with an accusatory finger (that, it seemed, had been jabbing into the wood of his front door before it found softer purchase in Steve's abdomen) and still shouting.
"I don't shimmy," Steve pointed out seriously. It seemed like a pretty important point.
"That. Is. Not. My. Point." Danny was hissing through gritted teeth.
He also wasn't wearing a tie. And there were a good three buttons undone in his shirt. It was the same shirt from before and it may or may not have had some of Steve's blood caking on it.
"I didn't re-open anything if that's what you're worried about," Steve said. He was finding it impossible to look away from the spot on Danny's neck and the V-opening in the shirt.
"Could we just go back to the hospital and maybe let the doctors make that call? Because excuse me if I don't think your assessment is based in the years of fucking medical school and professional judgment that theirs are," Danny shouted. His hands were all over the place and that much motion should have been enough to drag Steve's eyes away from that spot on his neck but, no. That didn't seem to be working.
"It doesn't take a trained doctor to tell there's no new bleeding," Steve said.
"You are such--if I could just--" Danny spluttered and then scraped a hand over his eyes. "You won't go back to the hospital."
"I climbed out a window. I think that's a pretty clear 'no.'"
"Fine," Danny said. "Fine. You just...you just do whatever. I'm going home for a change of clothes. And a nice long shower."
Which meant a new tie. "You could--" Steve started to say. "I have a shower. And shirts." Danny gave him that weirdly penetrating look again. "What? You're the one who's all worried."
"Fine. Just..." Danny sighed. "Fine." Steve stepped aside so Danny could move past him, into the house.
The tally in Steve v. Ties was then 3:0. Suck on that.
"It's like you have a vendetta against my ties," Danny said and Steve nearly jumped. "First the brown one, now my gray. I liked my gray."
Steve opened his mouth to object.
"No, really. I liked that one. It was some sort of silk-blend, I think." Danny looked down at his shirt. "God, I'm a mess."
And Steve made a decision. It had a lot to do with his advantage--his home turf and the chances that Danny wouldn't hit him were higher now that it'd be one of those "rude even by Jersey standards" things--and not much to do with extensive thought.
"OK, I'm just gonna--but you have to remember I have stitches in nine places, right?" Steve said as he crossed the room towards Danny.
"That's what I've been sayi--" Danny started to say but Steve was pressing his mouth into that spot on Danny's neck and, dammit if it wasn't just as amazing as his imagination had said it would be. He let his tongue trail across the nape of Danny's neck, just to be sure, and moved up his jaw.
He pulled back--because people don't deck people with stitches in nine places for only so long, right--but he barely had broken the contact when Danny made this sound and it was sort of fantastic. And then Danny was matching him and it seemed ridiculous that their mouths hadn't met yet so, obviously, Steve fixed that and it was messy and just this side of obscene.
And then Danny pulled back, really pulled all the way back. "You're a fucking menace," he said but he was breathing hard and it sounded not at all like anger.
"You're not--" Steve said, frowning.
"You. Have. STITCHES. In. NINE PLACES," Danny shouted in a crescendo of fury. "I am NOT popping your stitches with all the wild monkey sex we are OBVIOUSLY going to have. And you have no one to blame but yourself."
"I wasn't the one who--"
"And SHAME ON YOU for--" Danny shouted, flapping his hands towards his lower half, "--when you have STITCHES in NINE PLACES and I can't just--"
"You totally could," Steve said.
"You know what? I AM going home," Danny shouted. "And you can just sit in your room and think about the many, many things I would have been able to do to you if you didn't have stitches in NINE PLACES and hadn't just gone AWOL from a hospital. Just you think about that."
He slammed the door behind him. Steve winced as he stood--there was nothing wrong with admitting that there were some wince-worthy spots on his body at that particular time--and crossed to the door. When he opened it, Danny was just opening the door of his car.
"But the wild monkey sex IS going to happen, right?" he shouted. One of his neighbors was jogging with her chihuahuas and tripped over them when Steve shouted. He'd have to send her a fruit basket later.
"Well OBVIOUSLY," Danny shouted back.
Steve grinned.
Author:
ifeelbetterWord Count: 2,186
Fandom/Pairing: Hawaii-Five-0...Danny/Steve
Summary: Steve develops just the teensiest of obsessions with Danny's tie. And Danny's neck.
Notes: Another incognito prompt fill over at the pineapple_infested kink meme. Also--I'm still taking prompts for December. I only have like six or something.
It was hilarious at first. Steve mocked the ties because, honestly, they were stupid. It's not even like there was variety--the man must have had a drawer stuffed to the brim with nondescript black and navy-blue ties. And that thought alone was a little hilarious, right, because this was Hawaii. No one should have a drawer full of nondescript ANYTHING in Hawaii.
So Steve took pot-shots at the ties ("What did the neck tie say to the hat?" "What did the--are you HIGH?" "It said, 'You go on ahead, I'll just hang around." "...") when he could, when they seemed to fit naturally into the conversation (almost always, even that one time when he had to take the spare gun he had been holding between his teeth out before he could get to the punchline). And that was fun. Mostly because of the way Danny pursed his lips when he frowned.
So, obviously, it became a little Pavlovian. See tie, make joke, enjoy funny Danny face. Which meant that Steve's eyes dropped to Danny's neck when he entered a room. Like, immediately.
And that was when he started to notice that there were a few variations in Danny's ties. There was one with stripes--he liked that one especially because Danny wore it that one time when they had to hide up a tree and it had frayed a little, just the tiniest bit, right in the middle. And Steve liked that he frayed the tie, in an indirect way, and that Danny had it on. So he kept an eye out for that one.
And then there was the dark brown one he wore when he wore that beige shirt. That one must sit funny or something because Danny always ended up tugging it loose in the early afternoon. And he tended to loosen his ties even earlier if Steve insisted on something batshit insane earlier in the day.
Which was not at all dissuasive for Steve doing batshit insane things.
He had long since run out of jokes--had Googled "jokes about ties" and then run out of those too--but there was always the tried-and-true "You're in HAWAII" one to fall back on. Steve decided to allow that as justification for the way he now kept a mental catalog of all of Danny's ties. And that the catalog was detailed enough that he knew, towards the end of a laundry cycle, which ties Danny had left and could predict which ones would make an appearance on which day.
And since he was noticing anyway, he noticed the knot too. Because Danny's knot was always spot on. There was a perfect dimple in the tie, they always sat perfectly nuzzled against his throat, the skinny end never was longer than the wide end. And the knots--the knots were lovely. Half-Windsors, mostly, but Danny could be depended to swap it out for a full-Windsor a couple times a week. He saved the Prince Albert and the Four-in-hand for special occasions (like the day Kono beat Steve at chess). But he did them all perfectly.
And it would be ridiculous to criticize a man for admiring a thing done well, right? So there was no harm in the fact that Steve had moved all the information about Danny's ties from the "Ridiculous as fuck" section of his brain to the "Private time" section. Because skill was something Steve could appreciate.
Not at all because of the piece of neck that the tie obscured most of the day. Because that would be weird.
"Your tie is gonna get caught in the chainsaw," Steve pointed out. "You should probably take it off."
"Ha. I'm not defeated so easily." Danny snorted and swung the tie over his shoulder. It didn't get caught in the chainsaw.
"You guys are insane!" the suspect shrieked as the wood shavings got caught in his hair.
"Your face is insane," Steve said. It wasn't his strongest come-back to date, no, but he was distracted. Because it, apparently, took more than a chainsaw to get Danny out of his tie.
Two days later, the brown one was back. Steve had never loved the brown one so much before. It had been WEEKS since Danny loosened his tie in the office and he was dying.
And it wasn't like he purposefully found a suspect who wanted to try running down the beach and then swimming away, forcing Danny to follow Steve when he splashed into the ocean. But that's the way the cookie crumbles and the brown tie was toast.
"I liked that tie," Danny said later, looking down at the soggy, misshapen end dangling from his neck.
"You hated that tie," Steve corrected. "You always take it off by the end of the day."
Danny tilted his head to the side and sort of squinted at Steve. He contemplated a beat too long fro Steve's taste but real men don't break eye contact first so he didn't. He squirmed under Danny's gaze, though. Real men are allowed to squirm.
"You could take it off now. Because of it being so wet. And it's probably wool, right?" Steve said. "You'll never get the wrinkles out again."
"Oh my god," shrieked the suspect. Both Danny and Steve were sitting on him. "You're fucking lunatics!"
"That's just not polite," Danny said. "You don't hear me making personal statements about you even though I think you're a rotten scumbag, do you? That's because I have manners."
Steve considered the point. "Jersey manners, maybe."
"Don't you start on Jersey," Danny said.
But Steve considered the day a win when Danny used the brown tie to gag the suspect later.
Steve begrudgingly admitted he had a problem when his first thought, a couple weeks later, after getting shot in the arm wasn't, "Is there lasting damage" or "Can I flex my fingers" or, even, "Is there anyone else here I can shoot now that my arm hurts so very much." No, the very first thing he thought was, "We don't have a first-aid kit and Danny's going to have to use his tie."
So there might be a problem.
That, and the knife wound in his gut. That might also be a problem. And the broken nose.
Of course he killed everyone else before it finally caught up with him--all that blood loss and everything aching. Danny was smacking some punk handcuffed to a pipe upside the head (they'd get the rest of the gang through him) when Steve started to tilt.
He hit the ground hard. It only took half a shallow breath for Danny's face to appear over him.
"I'm gonna kick your face so hard if you die, I'm not even playing," Danny was saying, checking the many patches of blood on Steve's shirt until he found the bullet hole in his arm.
Steve must have lost more blood than he thought (probably the other knife wound in the thigh, now that he thought about it) because it seemed distinctly unfair that Danny's fingers got to tug at the stupid gray tie.
"Hey, hold on," he said, reaching towards Danny's throat with his good (well...better) hand, "it's totally my turn."
Danny was perplexed enough by the sentiment that he didn't try to swat Steve's hand away, he just let him dip a finger behind the knot and give it a tug. And Steve's finger totally grazed some skin and that was awesome.
And then he passed out for a bit. And he totally ruined the stupid gray tie with his blood so. Win.
Later, after he left the hospital in what was, admittedly, not the most obvious of ways (by his window) and had returned to his house, he wasn't all that surprised when Danny showed up in an apoplectic rage.
"You know how you have stitches in like nine different places? That means you shouldn't be shimmying down drainpipes, you psycho!" Danny shouted at his door. Steve opened it. Danny was ready with an accusatory finger (that, it seemed, had been jabbing into the wood of his front door before it found softer purchase in Steve's abdomen) and still shouting.
"I don't shimmy," Steve pointed out seriously. It seemed like a pretty important point.
"That. Is. Not. My. Point." Danny was hissing through gritted teeth.
He also wasn't wearing a tie. And there were a good three buttons undone in his shirt. It was the same shirt from before and it may or may not have had some of Steve's blood caking on it.
"I didn't re-open anything if that's what you're worried about," Steve said. He was finding it impossible to look away from the spot on Danny's neck and the V-opening in the shirt.
"Could we just go back to the hospital and maybe let the doctors make that call? Because excuse me if I don't think your assessment is based in the years of fucking medical school and professional judgment that theirs are," Danny shouted. His hands were all over the place and that much motion should have been enough to drag Steve's eyes away from that spot on his neck but, no. That didn't seem to be working.
"It doesn't take a trained doctor to tell there's no new bleeding," Steve said.
"You are such--if I could just--" Danny spluttered and then scraped a hand over his eyes. "You won't go back to the hospital."
"I climbed out a window. I think that's a pretty clear 'no.'"
"Fine," Danny said. "Fine. You just...you just do whatever. I'm going home for a change of clothes. And a nice long shower."
Which meant a new tie. "You could--" Steve started to say. "I have a shower. And shirts." Danny gave him that weirdly penetrating look again. "What? You're the one who's all worried."
"Fine. Just..." Danny sighed. "Fine." Steve stepped aside so Danny could move past him, into the house.
The tally in Steve v. Ties was then 3:0. Suck on that.
"It's like you have a vendetta against my ties," Danny said and Steve nearly jumped. "First the brown one, now my gray. I liked my gray."
Steve opened his mouth to object.
"No, really. I liked that one. It was some sort of silk-blend, I think." Danny looked down at his shirt. "God, I'm a mess."
And Steve made a decision. It had a lot to do with his advantage--his home turf and the chances that Danny wouldn't hit him were higher now that it'd be one of those "rude even by Jersey standards" things--and not much to do with extensive thought.
"OK, I'm just gonna--but you have to remember I have stitches in nine places, right?" Steve said as he crossed the room towards Danny.
"That's what I've been sayi--" Danny started to say but Steve was pressing his mouth into that spot on Danny's neck and, dammit if it wasn't just as amazing as his imagination had said it would be. He let his tongue trail across the nape of Danny's neck, just to be sure, and moved up his jaw.
He pulled back--because people don't deck people with stitches in nine places for only so long, right--but he barely had broken the contact when Danny made this sound and it was sort of fantastic. And then Danny was matching him and it seemed ridiculous that their mouths hadn't met yet so, obviously, Steve fixed that and it was messy and just this side of obscene.
And then Danny pulled back, really pulled all the way back. "You're a fucking menace," he said but he was breathing hard and it sounded not at all like anger.
"You're not--" Steve said, frowning.
"You. Have. STITCHES. In. NINE PLACES," Danny shouted in a crescendo of fury. "I am NOT popping your stitches with all the wild monkey sex we are OBVIOUSLY going to have. And you have no one to blame but yourself."
"I wasn't the one who--"
"And SHAME ON YOU for--" Danny shouted, flapping his hands towards his lower half, "--when you have STITCHES in NINE PLACES and I can't just--"
"You totally could," Steve said.
"You know what? I AM going home," Danny shouted. "And you can just sit in your room and think about the many, many things I would have been able to do to you if you didn't have stitches in NINE PLACES and hadn't just gone AWOL from a hospital. Just you think about that."
He slammed the door behind him. Steve winced as he stood--there was nothing wrong with admitting that there were some wince-worthy spots on his body at that particular time--and crossed to the door. When he opened it, Danny was just opening the door of his car.
"But the wild monkey sex IS going to happen, right?" he shouted. One of his neighbors was jogging with her chihuahuas and tripped over them when Steve shouted. He'd have to send her a fruit basket later.
"Well OBVIOUSLY," Danny shouted back.
Steve grinned.
