(no subject)

Mar 05, 2012 09:02

"Careful," Danny says, and so Steve is: He soothes cold aloe into the red line at the nape of Danny's neck with the pad of his thumb and listens to Danny hiss; he brushes his fingertips over the freckles and fuzz that dot Danny's shoulders, soft as he can, and slides his palms down. Steve's hands are big enough that they nearly span Danny's back, even though it's broad and muscled, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut against the complicated thrill of it-of getting to have Danny; of having him here in his bed, sunburned after their day and sprawled out like he owns the place; of getting to keep Danny, if he's really lucky; of Danny trusting him enough to let him touch, now and all the other times they've done this or something like it. He rests his thumbs in the groove of Danny's spine and lets his fingers fan out like feathers-every time he's reached out to ground himself and keep from flying apart, every time he's laid his hands on Danny to give him comfort or to turn him on, Danny's taken it and given back just as much.

Careful, he thinks, and then he feels Danny shift, and Steve blinks his eyes open again in time to see Danny twisting to look over his shoulder, to see him size Steve up and say, "What are you doing back there, huh? Is this some kind of patented McGarrett first aid? You're ridiculous, come on, come here, come over here." He's grabby and impatient and unmistakeable-there no room for any doubt at all in the curve of his hands, in the press of his fingers into Steve's skin, and Steve's greedy for it, and grateful, and so glad.

h50, snippets

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