TWO THINGS:
1. sdjfhjsdkfhdsjkfhsdjk jfdshfgjksdhfdshfgdsh you guys aphelant podficced two of my fics! She did i'll see you when the sun sets east (don't forget me), the Inception fic where Arthur & Eames are in limbo, and that H50 ficlet where Danny sleeps so hard he left a bruise, which I didn't title because I'm asshole. And she also did a truly magnificent rendition of weatherfront's You're Waiting for an Orgasm, and oh my god, you guys, dsjfhdsjkfhkds THEY ARE AMAZING, THEY ARE ALL SO AMAZING. I'm always just floored when someone wants to podfic my stuff, and these are just. I can't even, she did things with the effects in i'll see you when the sun sets east that are just, oh my god, so much better than the actual fic. AMAZEBALLS. A-MAZE-BALLS.
2. It's hermette's birthday for another 10 minutes (GETTING THIS IN UNDER THE WIRE YES I AM), and she is SO GOOD TO ME ALWAYS AND THE BEST EVER, so I wrote her a ficlet about Danny and Steve being stupid in love with each other in the morning. HAPPY BIRTHDAY BB. ALL OF MY LOVE. ♥
you're a beautiful and violent word
Danny wakes up alone and yawns, mumbles, rolls over. It's a big bed, strangely empty without the haphazard sprawl of Steve, and his fingers forge into the abandoned space, seeking fruitlessly. The sheets are still warm, a little, a lingering piece of him left behind. When Danny chances cracking an eye open it's just barely dawn, hints of sunlight filtering in through the drawn blinds. He blinks, once, twice, and stands up.
Steve's stairs are hard enough to navigate when fully awake, but half asleep they're dangerous. Danny braces himself against the wall and stumbles on, nearly tripping on the landing, catching another yawn against the back of his hand. He considers turning back, but it's not much further, and it's not like doesn't know where Steve will be. He's predictable this way, crawling out of bed at odd hours to do odd things--doubtless he's in the ocean or running a mile, and Danny likes to be up when he gets back. It's a push-and-pull thing, the way they are with each other, and it's less ridiculous that Steve can't rest if Danny doesn't either.
There's something to that, something sharp and stoic, something that's maybe a little warm and fuzzy in the right light. Danny's too tired to bother with it right now.
He makes it to the living room on willpower alone, muscle memory guiding him blindly towards the coffee. It's coincidence, a hint of instinct, that makes him glance outside--there's something shaped like Steve beached on the lanai, stretched out, dark hair contrasting smoothly with the pale expanse of sand. Danny redirects, slip outside, rubs the hard edges of sleep from his eyes, and Steve cranes his neck, slants him a sideways grin.
"Morning," he says, obviously exhausted still. There's a mug of coffee half-buried next to him, and Danny'd bet dollars to donuts there's sand in it; he'd bet Steve doesn't care, too, will drink it anyway, unbothered. That's just the kind of guy Steve is, unfazed by all the things that make normal people crazy, wandering off the beaten path like no one ever taught him to follow a trail.
And there's something to that too, isn't there, to Steve the errant traveler, always charting his own course. But for every stupid, fucked up choice he makes, there are these moments too, Steve sprawled out on the beach, rasping out a greeting, shielding his eyes against the coming sun. Danny's heart is too big for his chest, is too tight for this hour of the day.
"Morning," he says, instead of You big freak or What are you doing out here or Sometimes I love you so much it terrifies me, because you don't make any sense at all and you're clearly not sane and everything you do makes me wonder a little more what goes on in that head of yours, McGarrett, fuck. He rubs a hand against the back of his neck, yawns a third time, not bothering to cover it.
Steve's smile deepens, and he looks back towards the ocean, and it's Sunday, Danny's awake enough now to remember that. He could go upstairs and sleep for years, but he slides down to the ground anyway, rolls into Steve's stupid SEAL chest, rubs his cheek into the hollow space by his collarbone. Steve's got stubble, growing rough, that catches a little against Danny's eyebrow; Danny smiles into Steve's shirt, buries his fingers in the sand, and sighs.
"What was wrong with the bed," he manages, feeling sleep tugging at him already. "Too comfortable, huh?"
"Sunrise," Steve says. "Appreciating the little moments, Danno, it's a thing people do."
"Mmmm," Danny agrees, and there's definitely something to that, something he'll think about in an hour, two, when Steve shifts and dislodges him, makes him go inside.
2. It's hermette's birthday for another 10 minutes (GETTING THIS IN UNDER THE WIRE YES I AM), and she is SO GOOD TO ME ALWAYS AND THE BEST EVER, so I wrote her a ficlet about Danny and Steve being stupid in love with each other in the morning. HAPPY BIRTHDAY BB. ALL OF MY LOVE. ♥
you're a beautiful and violent word
Danny wakes up alone and yawns, mumbles, rolls over. It's a big bed, strangely empty without the haphazard sprawl of Steve, and his fingers forge into the abandoned space, seeking fruitlessly. The sheets are still warm, a little, a lingering piece of him left behind. When Danny chances cracking an eye open it's just barely dawn, hints of sunlight filtering in through the drawn blinds. He blinks, once, twice, and stands up.
Steve's stairs are hard enough to navigate when fully awake, but half asleep they're dangerous. Danny braces himself against the wall and stumbles on, nearly tripping on the landing, catching another yawn against the back of his hand. He considers turning back, but it's not much further, and it's not like doesn't know where Steve will be. He's predictable this way, crawling out of bed at odd hours to do odd things--doubtless he's in the ocean or running a mile, and Danny likes to be up when he gets back. It's a push-and-pull thing, the way they are with each other, and it's less ridiculous that Steve can't rest if Danny doesn't either.
There's something to that, something sharp and stoic, something that's maybe a little warm and fuzzy in the right light. Danny's too tired to bother with it right now.
He makes it to the living room on willpower alone, muscle memory guiding him blindly towards the coffee. It's coincidence, a hint of instinct, that makes him glance outside--there's something shaped like Steve beached on the lanai, stretched out, dark hair contrasting smoothly with the pale expanse of sand. Danny redirects, slip outside, rubs the hard edges of sleep from his eyes, and Steve cranes his neck, slants him a sideways grin.
"Morning," he says, obviously exhausted still. There's a mug of coffee half-buried next to him, and Danny'd bet dollars to donuts there's sand in it; he'd bet Steve doesn't care, too, will drink it anyway, unbothered. That's just the kind of guy Steve is, unfazed by all the things that make normal people crazy, wandering off the beaten path like no one ever taught him to follow a trail.
And there's something to that too, isn't there, to Steve the errant traveler, always charting his own course. But for every stupid, fucked up choice he makes, there are these moments too, Steve sprawled out on the beach, rasping out a greeting, shielding his eyes against the coming sun. Danny's heart is too big for his chest, is too tight for this hour of the day.
"Morning," he says, instead of You big freak or What are you doing out here or Sometimes I love you so much it terrifies me, because you don't make any sense at all and you're clearly not sane and everything you do makes me wonder a little more what goes on in that head of yours, McGarrett, fuck. He rubs a hand against the back of his neck, yawns a third time, not bothering to cover it.
Steve's smile deepens, and he looks back towards the ocean, and it's Sunday, Danny's awake enough now to remember that. He could go upstairs and sleep for years, but he slides down to the ground anyway, rolls into Steve's stupid SEAL chest, rubs his cheek into the hollow space by his collarbone. Steve's got stubble, growing rough, that catches a little against Danny's eyebrow; Danny smiles into Steve's shirt, buries his fingers in the sand, and sighs.
"What was wrong with the bed," he manages, feeling sleep tugging at him already. "Too comfortable, huh?"
"Sunrise," Steve says. "Appreciating the little moments, Danno, it's a thing people do."
"Mmmm," Danny agrees, and there's definitely something to that, something he'll think about in an hour, two, when Steve shifts and dislodges him, makes him go inside.