what fresh madness hath tumblr wrought:
Right, so, yesterday--WAS IT ONLY YESTERDAY, JESUS CHRIST, I FEEL LIKE TUMBLR IS A TIME VORTEX AND YOU WANDER IN AND NEVER LEAVE--arineat was like, I feel like drawing rooster Steve and rooster Danny! And I was like PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DO THAT I WILL WRITE YOU A FICLET, and SHE DID OH MY GOD :D :D :D. (AND THEN SHE GOT ME A SNAIL BECAUSE SHE IS THE BEST PERSON EVER.)
And then I wrote...uh...this, which is not about Danny and Steve as roosters so much as about domesticity and dreams and bad puns and Steve being a failboat. I don't even know. THIS IS NOT REAL FIC, SORRY RINNY, YOU DESERVE BETTER, I HOPE YOU ARE NOT TOO APPALLED AT ME FOR THIS.
Telling Danny about the dream is a mistake; Steve realizes it a second after he finishes talking, and winces. He hadn't had much choice, after jerking out of bed like that--Danny can be a little intense with the worry, a little much sometimes, poking and prodding him until he spits out whatever's bugging him. This morning had been no exception, but based on the look on Danny's face, he should have just lied this time.
"You dreamed we were roosters?" Danny says finally.
"Let's just not talk about it," Steve says, even though he knows it's hopeless. Once Danny stops working his mouth up and down like a beached whale, it's going to be mockery, Steve knows it--the man is obsessed with terrible puns, it's like he's got some sort of compulsion, Steve is doomed. He braces himself, waiting for it, but Danny just blinks, once, twice, and punches him in the arm.
"Hey!" Steve says. "What the hell?"
"I thought it was," Danny waves a hand, "you know, one of the other dreams, the--fuck, McGarrett, roosters, what is the matter with you, you are not allowed to react that badly to rooster dreams, that doesn't qualify as a nightmare. Asshole."
"I was sleeping," Steve points out, not that it's going to do any good. "It's not like I did it on purpose."
"Oh," Danny says, "oh, yes you did, I know you," and he's off, bitching about anything and everything--the available coffee, the fact that they're almost out of shampoo, Steve's driving--until they get into the office. Steve, having long since gotten used to this as part of Danny's morning ritual, lets it wash over him easily enough. It's almost comforting, at this point, which says things about him he doesn't want to consider too much.
He's a little freaked out that Danny hasn't made a joke about the rooster thing--hell, even the befeathered version of Danny in Steve's dream had made a "half-cocked" crack--but he figures he's just biding his time. No reason to mock Steve alone when he could mock Steve publicly, after all, and Kono and Chin will get a kick out it.
Except the joke doesn't come, and doesn't come, and doesn't come. Danny doesn't ask him if he thinks he's cock of the walk when he calls in a favor from a friend, doesn't pointedly comment that he's preening when he takes an extra minute in the bathroom; he doesn't tell Steve there's no need to crow about it when Steve gloats over his morning takedown, even though Steve is, undoubtedly, crowing. At lunch, he orders a chicken sandwich just to give Danny the in, but Danny passes it to him without so much as an eyeroll, and, okay, what the hell.
"You feeling alright, Danno?" Steve says, chasing down their second suspect of the day that afternoon.
"No," Danny snaps, "I am feeling like I am going to break my streak, you know how long it's been since I puked, if you don't slow down, Steven, so help me--shit, there he goes, the garage, come on come on come on."
And it's…it's ridiculous, that's what it is, to feel like something's wrong because Danny isn't taking an opportunity to laugh at him. It says things about their relationship that are probably less than ideal, things like "unhealthy" and "unsustainable" and "McGarrett, you broken motherfucker"--admittedly, that last one in Danny's unmistakeable tones, but still. It makes Steve nervous that he's nervous, and what kind of SEAL is he, what has this Jersey loudmouth done to him. And also, what's happened to Danny's terrible, odd sense of humor, to the guy that had made a Jack-in-the-Box joke about a severed head? Not that Steve wants to encourage that kind of behavior, but maybe he does, a little. Maybe he likes Danny for being Danny, for all that he's kind of a bastard.
Maybe he's been bodysnatched, Steve thinks hopefully as they head out of the office for the day, but then he suggests pineapple and ham pizza and Danny smacks him upside the head, so that's out.
He's contemplating how to bring it up when they get home, but he can't figure out a good way to say it. "I've been waiting all day for you to make a joke at my expense and the fact that you haven't is freaking me out," is accurate but crazy; "MOCK ME ALREADY SO I CAN RELAX," is equally problematic. He grabs the trash to take it out, thinking maybe he'll just start clucking when he comes back in. If that doesn't break Danny, Steve will just take him to the hospital and be done with it.
He shoulders the door open, walks outside with the trashbag, and tucks it into the garbage shed. He's almost back inside when he hears Danny's footfalls from inside the house, and then:
"McGarrett," Danny yells, "shut the door behind you, Christ. What were you, raised in a barn?"
Steve freezes for half a second, his foot hovering in the air, and then he hears it--Danny's laugh, more like a cackle than anything else, thick and ridiculous because he cracks himself up. It's like the tension's been bled out of Steve's shoulders all at once, and if he were the type of guy to self-analyze, he'd probably come up with some pretty disturbing conclusions here; as it is, he goes into the house, the grin that slips over his face entirely out of his control.
"You're an asshole," Steve says, and Danny says, "Roosters, you just lobbed it to me, I couldn't waste it, do you know how long I waited, the perfect moment," his laughter infectious and rough and maybe just a little bit mean. It's a stupidly perfect sound, but Steve can't help but kiss him quiet, relishing it, anything else he might have said caught between their tongues.
And then I wrote...uh...this, which is not about Danny and Steve as roosters so much as about domesticity and dreams and bad puns and Steve being a failboat. I don't even know. THIS IS NOT REAL FIC, SORRY RINNY, YOU DESERVE BETTER, I HOPE YOU ARE NOT TOO APPALLED AT ME FOR THIS.
Telling Danny about the dream is a mistake; Steve realizes it a second after he finishes talking, and winces. He hadn't had much choice, after jerking out of bed like that--Danny can be a little intense with the worry, a little much sometimes, poking and prodding him until he spits out whatever's bugging him. This morning had been no exception, but based on the look on Danny's face, he should have just lied this time.
"You dreamed we were roosters?" Danny says finally.
"Let's just not talk about it," Steve says, even though he knows it's hopeless. Once Danny stops working his mouth up and down like a beached whale, it's going to be mockery, Steve knows it--the man is obsessed with terrible puns, it's like he's got some sort of compulsion, Steve is doomed. He braces himself, waiting for it, but Danny just blinks, once, twice, and punches him in the arm.
"Hey!" Steve says. "What the hell?"
"I thought it was," Danny waves a hand, "you know, one of the other dreams, the--fuck, McGarrett, roosters, what is the matter with you, you are not allowed to react that badly to rooster dreams, that doesn't qualify as a nightmare. Asshole."
"I was sleeping," Steve points out, not that it's going to do any good. "It's not like I did it on purpose."
"Oh," Danny says, "oh, yes you did, I know you," and he's off, bitching about anything and everything--the available coffee, the fact that they're almost out of shampoo, Steve's driving--until they get into the office. Steve, having long since gotten used to this as part of Danny's morning ritual, lets it wash over him easily enough. It's almost comforting, at this point, which says things about him he doesn't want to consider too much.
He's a little freaked out that Danny hasn't made a joke about the rooster thing--hell, even the befeathered version of Danny in Steve's dream had made a "half-cocked" crack--but he figures he's just biding his time. No reason to mock Steve alone when he could mock Steve publicly, after all, and Kono and Chin will get a kick out it.
Except the joke doesn't come, and doesn't come, and doesn't come. Danny doesn't ask him if he thinks he's cock of the walk when he calls in a favor from a friend, doesn't pointedly comment that he's preening when he takes an extra minute in the bathroom; he doesn't tell Steve there's no need to crow about it when Steve gloats over his morning takedown, even though Steve is, undoubtedly, crowing. At lunch, he orders a chicken sandwich just to give Danny the in, but Danny passes it to him without so much as an eyeroll, and, okay, what the hell.
"You feeling alright, Danno?" Steve says, chasing down their second suspect of the day that afternoon.
"No," Danny snaps, "I am feeling like I am going to break my streak, you know how long it's been since I puked, if you don't slow down, Steven, so help me--shit, there he goes, the garage, come on come on come on."
And it's…it's ridiculous, that's what it is, to feel like something's wrong because Danny isn't taking an opportunity to laugh at him. It says things about their relationship that are probably less than ideal, things like "unhealthy" and "unsustainable" and "McGarrett, you broken motherfucker"--admittedly, that last one in Danny's unmistakeable tones, but still. It makes Steve nervous that he's nervous, and what kind of SEAL is he, what has this Jersey loudmouth done to him. And also, what's happened to Danny's terrible, odd sense of humor, to the guy that had made a Jack-in-the-Box joke about a severed head? Not that Steve wants to encourage that kind of behavior, but maybe he does, a little. Maybe he likes Danny for being Danny, for all that he's kind of a bastard.
Maybe he's been bodysnatched, Steve thinks hopefully as they head out of the office for the day, but then he suggests pineapple and ham pizza and Danny smacks him upside the head, so that's out.
He's contemplating how to bring it up when they get home, but he can't figure out a good way to say it. "I've been waiting all day for you to make a joke at my expense and the fact that you haven't is freaking me out," is accurate but crazy; "MOCK ME ALREADY SO I CAN RELAX," is equally problematic. He grabs the trash to take it out, thinking maybe he'll just start clucking when he comes back in. If that doesn't break Danny, Steve will just take him to the hospital and be done with it.
He shoulders the door open, walks outside with the trashbag, and tucks it into the garbage shed. He's almost back inside when he hears Danny's footfalls from inside the house, and then:
"McGarrett," Danny yells, "shut the door behind you, Christ. What were you, raised in a barn?"
Steve freezes for half a second, his foot hovering in the air, and then he hears it--Danny's laugh, more like a cackle than anything else, thick and ridiculous because he cracks himself up. It's like the tension's been bled out of Steve's shoulders all at once, and if he were the type of guy to self-analyze, he'd probably come up with some pretty disturbing conclusions here; as it is, he goes into the house, the grin that slips over his face entirely out of his control.
"You're an asshole," Steve says, and Danny says, "Roosters, you just lobbed it to me, I couldn't waste it, do you know how long I waited, the perfect moment," his laughter infectious and rough and maybe just a little bit mean. It's a stupidly perfect sound, but Steve can't help but kiss him quiet, relishing it, anything else he might have said caught between their tongues.