augh, i don't know how this got plot. i have a bff coming over for her bday party in a bit but i'm going to write as long as i can!
It doesn’t ever really get cold on the island, in Danny’s opinion, but he supposes if he was wearing as little as Kono sometimes has to, he would prefer the van as well. As it is, the night is damp enough to make it almost chilly, though Danny hasn’t busted out the light sweaters the way Chin and Kono have. Maybe he’ll regret that after the van has been off for a while, but at the moment Danny is enjoying the feeling of not continually roasting, thanks very much.
Steve is shivering, from where Danny can see him through his binoculars (they aren’t terribly far away in case Steve needs backup, but they are far enough that Danny’s sense of relief at being able to watch Steve’s back is overriding his creep-factor)-or it might be just an act. Wilson goes for junkies when his twinks aren’t readily available, and thanks to the Governor-sponsored free-meal vouchers Danny passed around earlier, twinks are scarce tonight. Steve’s head is tucked low, hip cocked, lips parted and looking very much like they want a cigarette to suck on, if only Steve had the cash.
And it’s un-fucking-canny, how much Steve looks like the boys Danny used to spend his short-lived Vice Cop days ushering off the street and into shelters, only to find them one block over the next day, ‘peddling their wares.’ Danny wants to grab Steve and march him into a diner, buy him coffee and pancakes and a serving of vegetables, wants to give Steve all the pamphlets and beg him to insist on a condom with his johns.
There was a reason Danny didn’t do well in vice. At least with homicide there’s a feeling of accomplishment when the murderer’s put in jail. Prostitution is a symptom of a bigger problem Danny isn’t equipped to deal with.
But he can get this fuckwad off the streets, and there’s a god damn start.
“That’s Wilson’s car,” Chin says, startling Danny out of his own head. And it is, a huge fuck-off gas guzzler of an SUV, with tinted windows, one of which rolls on down as they pull up to Steve’s corner. He’s waved on three guys already, Steve has, and Chin has every last one of their license plates stored in triplicate, waiting for HPD to collect them.
Wilson doesn’t lean out, makes Steve stumble to him on coltish, needy legs, and Danny knows it’s an act but his knuckles go white on the binoculars anyway.
“Lookin’ for a good time?” Steve asks, voice tinny on the wire. And a little raspy, too, Danny doesn’t think he’s imagining that. Though he is imagining how Steve’s voice might’ve gotten that way, and shit. He shifts in his seat.
Suddenly Steve gasps and lurches further into the car, and Danny’s on his feet before he can think to move. His bad knee almost gives out on him.
And then Steve is saying, “Chin-grabber, huh? I can work with that.” Voice tight like Wilson still has a grip on his jaw. It’s also a signal not to go in guns blazing, but fuck if Danny can sit down without Kono making him do it.
“We just have to get him soliciting on tape,” she whispers, even though Wilson can’t hear her. “That’s it. Just a little bit longer, Danny, he’ll get it.”
And Danny knows that’s true, but he has this ugly jealous side that’s telling him Wilson’s paws are on what’s his, and even the view of Steve’s ass from here isn’t doing much to get that impulse under control.
It doesn’t ever really get cold on the island, in Danny’s opinion, but he supposes if he was wearing as little as Kono sometimes has to, he would prefer the van as well. As it is, the night is damp enough to make it almost chilly, though Danny hasn’t busted out the light sweaters the way Chin and Kono have. Maybe he’ll regret that after the van has been off for a while, but at the moment Danny is enjoying the feeling of not continually roasting, thanks very much.
Steve is shivering, from where Danny can see him through his binoculars (they aren’t terribly far away in case Steve needs backup, but they are far enough that Danny’s sense of relief at being able to watch Steve’s back is overriding his creep-factor)-or it might be just an act. Wilson goes for junkies when his twinks aren’t readily available, and thanks to the Governor-sponsored free-meal vouchers Danny passed around earlier, twinks are scarce tonight. Steve’s head is tucked low, hip cocked, lips parted and looking very much like they want a cigarette to suck on, if only Steve had the cash.
And it’s un-fucking-canny, how much Steve looks like the boys Danny used to spend his short-lived Vice Cop days ushering off the street and into shelters, only to find them one block over the next day, ‘peddling their wares.’ Danny wants to grab Steve and march him into a diner, buy him coffee and pancakes and a serving of vegetables, wants to give Steve all the pamphlets and beg him to insist on a condom with his johns.
There was a reason Danny didn’t do well in vice. At least with homicide there’s a feeling of accomplishment when the murderer’s put in jail. Prostitution is a symptom of a bigger problem Danny isn’t equipped to deal with.
But he can get this fuckwad off the streets, and there’s a god damn start.
“That’s Wilson’s car,” Chin says, startling Danny out of his own head. And it is, a huge fuck-off gas guzzler of an SUV, with tinted windows, one of which rolls on down as they pull up to Steve’s corner. He’s waved on three guys already, Steve has, and Chin has every last one of their license plates stored in triplicate, waiting for HPD to collect them.
Wilson doesn’t lean out, makes Steve stumble to him on coltish, needy legs, and Danny knows it’s an act but his knuckles go white on the binoculars anyway.
“Lookin’ for a good time?” Steve asks, voice tinny on the wire. And a little raspy, too, Danny doesn’t think he’s imagining that. Though he is imagining how Steve’s voice might’ve gotten that way, and shit. He shifts in his seat.
Suddenly Steve gasps and lurches further into the car, and Danny’s on his feet before he can think to move. His bad knee almost gives out on him.
And then Steve is saying, “Chin-grabber, huh? I can work with that.” Voice tight like Wilson still has a grip on his jaw. It’s also a signal not to go in guns blazing, but fuck if Danny can sit down without Kono making him do it.
“We just have to get him soliciting on tape,” she whispers, even though Wilson can’t hear her. “That’s it. Just a little bit longer, Danny, he’ll get it.”
And Danny knows that’s true, but he has this ugly jealous side that’s telling him Wilson’s paws are on what’s his, and even the view of Steve’s ass from here isn’t doing much to get that impulse under control.
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