Fic: To the Shore - Part 2/2 (H50, Steve/Danny, NC-17)
For full headers and Part 1, go here.
To the Shore
Part 2/2
In four days, Steve spends three mornings at the Pipe despite conditions that are the opposite of ideal. Strong offshore winds render the waves unpredictable, a constant threat of closeouts along with sudden drops and twists that challenge his skills in a way they haven’t been in too long. Few other surfers are willing to brave the Pipe when it shows its Frankenstein face, but even so, Steve sees two boards surfacing only in pieces, witnesses a broken leg and one girl barely making it out of the water. Days and conditions like these drive home just why there is no wave with a death toll as high as the Pipe.
It’s just what he needs.
He wipes out more than once, the wave just collapsing around him, breaking everywhere at once and dragging him under and all he can do is curl in on himself, protect his head from the sharp edges of the reef. After three visits, there’s a deep gash on his shin and his elbow is torn open, the saltwater keeping the wound from closing up.
Mary catches him at the medical cabinet with spray-on dressing in an attempt to keep infections out of the elbow wound, but the angle is awkward, so he doesn’t object when she takes the can from him and tells him to hop onto the counter. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asks, bending over the wound to examine it closely. Shaking her head, she checks the expiration date on the can and adds, “Remember when you were seventeen and I had to do this every day because you were an idiot? Didn’t grow up so much since then.”
He decides that the mild sting of the spray when it hits the wound is distracting enough to pretend that he didn’t hear her. While her exasperated sigh tells him she doesn’t buy it, she doesn’t probe either. At least not yet. She’s never been the type to let things go just because Steve doesn’t feel like sharing.
--
When he arrives at the shop around noon after his fifth morning at the Pipe in six days, sporting a new cut on his temple and a carton with hot pizza on the backseat of his car, he finds Mary on the stairs, arms slung around her legs and wearing the kind of expression that tells him it will be exactly the conversation he doesn’t want to have.
“Steve,” she begins.
“You want a slice of pizza?” Steve doesn’t mention that it will constitute his first meal for the day. “Ham and pineapple.”
Mary shakes her head. “No, thanks.”
“Suit yourself. You’re missing out, though. Got it from that place near the Academy of Arts, it’s the best there is.”
“If you say so.”
She’s silent as he sits down beside her and arranges the carton on his lap, but it’s a silence that marks her gathering steam for whatever grown-up, responsible thing she’s about to say. Sometimes, Steve wishes they had a normal sibling relationship with clear roles; the older protective brother and the younger sister who follows him around. Nothing about them raising each other was normal, however, and their flexible distribution of roles, shifting depending on the situation, is just one symptom of it.
The pizza drips warm cheese over his fingers. He licks it off his thumb and makes the mistake of catching Mary’s eyes. She’s watching him steadily, a light frown on her face, and as soon as she’s certain of his attention, she leans forward, voice low. “You’re in full escapism mode, Steve. Last time I’ve seen you like this, that was ages ago, and I thought-”
“Can we pretend it’s half an hour later and we already had this conversation?” Steve interrupts. “Then you wouldn’t have to construct wild theories on what’s wrong, and I wouldn’t have to repeat that everything’s fine.”
“Nice try.” Mary’s mouth pulls into a lopsided grin. Smoothing a palm over the wrinkles in her skirt, she tilts her head. “Well, here’s one theory: It’s Danny. Now that his daughter’s on vacation, he’s not likely to show up here because he doesn’t have a reason. Not really.”
Steve calmly takes another bite of his pizza before he graces her with a reply. “Danny? You’ve seen the guy, what, twice? Three times?”
“Kono and I talk, you know.” There is an unmistakable note of smugness in her voice. She reaches out to drag her index finger through some tomato sauce, snatching a piece of ham that she puts in her mouth, talking around the food. “So, anyway. It’s Danny.”
“Did you and Kono decide on this together? Because if the answer is yes…” Steve takes another bite of his pizza. It’s almost too sweet, cheese and ham clashing with the pineapple in a way that could be either creative or disgusting; he isn’t sure which, but Danny might have been on to something. Steve chews leisurely before concluding with, “I want whatever you had at the time.”
“Right.” The skeptical pronouncement is followed by another stretch of strategic silence. It takes three bites before Steve caves and glances over. Mary’s grin bares a lot of teeth. “When’s the last time you got laid?”
“Wow,” he says. “I don’t know if anyone told you, but this is not on the list of questions you ask your brother.”
“Please.” Her shrug is casually dismissive, but her tone is fond. “You’re the one who gave me the talk about the bees and the flowers when I was thirteen.”
Steve puts the pizza down and sighs. His appetite is mostly gone. “Someone had to. And we both know that whoever it was, it wasn’t going to be Dad.”
“I know.” Mary shifts until she’s resting lightly against his side, her head sinking to his shoulder. He drapes an arm around her, and for a minute, they’re both quiet, listening to the yells and laughter of people milling about the beach. Even though it’s a gray-colored day with clouds hanging low in the sky, the ice cream truck on the road is doing good business.
“Surfing’s always been your escape,” Mary says eventually. Her voice is low.
“That makes two of us.”
“Not anymore. It used to be, back then. You know, like it was us against the world, and it was all we knew, growing up, but now…” She shakes her head very slightly, hair tickling his neck. “Now it’s just something I love.”
“You think I don’t?”
“Of course you do. Who says there can’t be more than one reason?” Mary reaches over to steal a slice of pizza out of the carton. Its greasy smell wafts past Steve’s nose, and he considers the remaining two slices which might or might not intensify the uneasy feeling in his stomach. He’s just taken the second-but-last slice out of the carton, leaving behind a smear of cheese, tomato and crumbs, when the roar of a motorbike and a dusty screech announce Chin’s arrival. Kono is sitting behind him, jumping off before the bike’s pulled to a clean stop.
“Hey guys! Sorry I’m late.”
“No worries.” Mary straightens and quickly swallows down the last of her pizza, cleaning her hands with a bit of sand. “Steve and I were just talking.”
“What about?” Kono’s tone is light, cheerful. Her smile is almost too innocent.
“Danny,” Mary says just as Chin kicks the bike into a stand. He looks up, interest bright in his eyes, and Steve is willing to put money on Kono and Mary orchestrating the entire situation because this is just too much of a coincidence for his liking. Around Mary and Kono, situations like this don’t happen by chance.
“Danny?” Chin repeats. He turns towards Steve. “Right. That reminds me: My partner stopped spending all his free time on work, and I’m pretty certain you’re the one who corrupted him.”
“I didn’t corrupt him.” Steve quickly swallows around a mouthful, wiping some grease off his lips. “I just... encouraged his reluctance to waste precious free time on thick folders. I’m not about to apologize for that.” Just like he never apologized for hiring Kono. Chin might be fierce, but Steve isn’t about to back down from his glare.
Chin isn’t glaring, though. His blank expression melts into one of those large smiles he so rarely bestows on anyone but Kono. “I agree.”
Steve blinks. “What? Did you just say-I thought you said you agree, but I probably misheard.”
“Not this time.” Chin gives him an appreciative nod. “Seriously, brah, I don’t know how you got him to kick back once in a while, but it’s doing him a world of good, so keep right on doing it.”
“I’ll try,” is the only reply that comes to Steve’s mind. He feels the weight of Mary’s gaze and is careful to avoid her eyes.
--
The knock at the door sounds just after Steve turned on the TV. At first, he mistakes it for rain patterns on the roof or something that’s part of the upcoming football game - cheers from the audience, feet trampling, applause. Only when it is repeated, more insistent, does he notice that it’s definitely not coming from the speakers, but no one he knows bothers to knock on the front door; they all just come in via the terrace.
Muting the TV and rolling off the couch, he kicks a dining room chair into place on his way to the door. He opens it to find Danny on the other side, clothes sticking to his body from one of those heavy downpours that sometimes hit the island, with water coming down like Noah should be getting his ark ready and ending as abruptly as they started. Danny’s glaring at the sky as if holding it personally responsible for everything that is wrong with the world and just looking at him makes Steve feel bright and cheerful.
“Well,” he drawls. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
“Nice, really. We can stand here all day trading witty lines, or you could let me inside so I can dry off. And drip all over your carpet, while I’m at it.” Danny sounds irritated, but there’s a question underneath the words.
Steve opens the door wider. “I don’t actually have a carpet, so that option is out.”
“Then I’ll drip on your couch. That’s fine, too. I’m not picky.” Marching into the house, Danny hesitates for a moment at the entrance to the kitchen before he moves on into the living room. Steve follows behind at a slower pace, his head a little light. The rain has turned Danny’s white shirt obscenely transparent.
“You want a towel?” Steve asks.
“And a beer.” Danny stops in front of the couch, glancing back over his shoulder. The blue light of the TV dances on his face. “Your sister gave me your address, by the way. I just dropped by the shop.”
“Mary’s still there?” Steve walks past the couch to head into the bathroom for a towel. He thinks about offering Danny a dry t-shirt and some pants in addition, stopping short of considering underwear because that’s a dangerous place to go, right now. He returns to find Danny seated on the couch, getting the cushions damp. It must be a family trait.
“She was just closing up, I think. Thanks.” Danny accepts the towel with a grateful nod, vigorously rubbing it over his head. It results in his hair sticking up in all directions, cheerfully tousled in contrast to his usual slick look, making him look ten years younger. Through the damp shirt, Steve can make out the darkened circles of his nipples.
Steve forces his mind away. Something about the rain and the soft glow of the TV makes it strangely difficult. “Okay. So, a beer. You also want a dry shirt?”
“Only if it doesn’t have flowers and neon colors.”
“Have you ever seen me wear flowers and neon colors?”
“No.” Danny tosses the towel aside, and it lands draped over the back of the chair Steve kicked earlier. “But then, I don’t really know what you wear in your time off when you’re not at the shop. Better safe than sorry.”
“True. Which leads me to the question of what brings you here. Not,” Steve adds hurriedly, “that I mind. Just curious.”
“Nothing special.” Danny pauses. “Saw you at the Pipeline this morning, though.”
Steve stops dead in his tracks, turning around halfway between couch and kitchen. He’s treated to the sight of Danny unbuttoning his damp shirt, seeming highly focused on the task. It takes a second for Steve’s tongue to work again. “You were at the Pipe? Seriously? Are you sure it was you? Not your identical twin who actually enjoys things like surfing and sunshine and beaches?”
“I go to the beach,” Danny protests.
“You go to the beach when Grace makes you go.”
“Which proves my point that I do go to the beach. I just don’t like it, as a general rule.”
“Did Grace get back early from India?”
The corners of Danny’s mouth pull down, providing an answer. Quickly, so he won’t dwell on the fact that he has nearly two more weeks to go without Grace, Steve continues. “Because if she didn’t, I’m at a loss for things that could possibly prompt you to be at the Pipe.”
“Chin.” Danny apparently considers it enough of an explanation; he shows no inclination to elaborate.
“Chin what?” Steve asks. “Chin up? My chin? Chin Ho Kelly?”
“Option three, as you know perfectly well.”
Traitor, Steve thinks. He motions for Danny to continue.
Danny leaves the shirt hanging open, leaning back on the couch. His shoes left wet imprints on the floor. “He mentioned you’ve been going to the Pipeline most mornings, to which I said, oh, that’s nice, judging by the pictures I’ve seen, it’s a great wave for drowning so it should be just the right playground for Steve.”
“You’d never been to the Pipe?” Steve props his hip against the doorframe. “Danno, I’m ashamed on your behalf. That’s like saying you haven’t hiked up Lē’ahi.”
“Up what? Also,” Danny’s brows furrow. “Did you just call me Danno?”
“Yes. And I’m talking about the Diamond Head.” Waving a hand in the general direction of the volcano, Steve leans forward. “Tell me you know what the Diamond Head is.”
“I know what the Diamond Head is.” Danny bends down to pull off the first shoe, and it’s just so much like him to come waltzing in here, to take over Steve’s house and couch and not even bring beer, that Steve has to suppress a smile. “Anyway, Chin’s reaction was about the same as yours. He threatened me with physical harm if I didn’t go, and trust me, you do not want Chin threatening you with physical harm. Have you seen the guy in a shooting range? Ninjas quiver in fear.”
“I have, actually. His focus can be either impressive or scary, depending on what side of the law you’re on.” Steve shakes his head. “So, you were at the Pipe this morning? Why didn’t you wave, make sure I noticed you?”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I wasn’t about to wave and jump up and down so that tall, dark and handsome on a surfboard would notice me. I do have dignity, you know?” Danny takes a quick breath and drops the shoe. It lands on the wooden floor with a soft thud. “It was bad enough the gaggle of girls next to me was drooling over your every move. What’s a ripper, anyway?”
“Jack the Ripper? An unidentified British serial killer,” Steve says absently. “Otherwise, a surfer who knows his board. Did you just call me handsome?”
“Did you forget about my beer?” Danny shoots back. He doesn’t look up from where he’s unlacing his second shoe. “Or, hey, that dry shirt? Because if we wait much longer, I won’t actually need it anymore because this one’s dry again. I mean, it only takes, what, three hours or so for a shirt to dry if it’s as wet as mine was. Was. As in, half an hour ago.”
“Right.” Pushing away from the doorframe, Steve takes one more look at the man on his couch: shirt hanging open, damp hair straining in several directions at once, clean-cut profile outlined by the blue light of the TV. Steve hears the thud of the second shoe just as he enters the kitchen. Over his shoulder, he says, “By the way, I only have Heineken.”
“Fuck you,” Danny replies sweetly.
Maybe later. It’s on the tip of Steve’s tongue before he catches himself because this? He doesn’t do this. He doesn’t do sex with people he cares about because really, it’s only bound to fuck things up in the end, and Steve doesn’t want that, doesn’t want to lose the easy camaraderie he has with Danny, the casual ribbing and stretches of comfortable silence.
He pulls the fridge door open with enough force to make the bottles in the door clink together.
--
The rain stops halfway through the game and by the time the match is over, the air outside is humid and heavy. They move out to Steve’s terrace with a bottle of single malt whiskey and ice cubes that are slowly melting in their plastic box.
Below the terrace, sand slopes gently into the dark-blue ocean, only a thin sliver of the moon brightening the scene. For all that Danny claims to prefer the gray labyrinth of New Jersey, he is quiet for a long while, sipping his whiskey and gazing out at the waves. Steve is more than once tempted to break the silence, but in the end, he takes his cue from Danny and listens to the steady rhythm of the water rolling onto the shore while the whiskey burns a trail down his throat.
The ice cubes in Danny’s glass clink together when he moves, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his thighs. He isn’t looking at Steve when he says, “You’ve got a lot of pictures of Mary around. Only one of you and your parents, though. Seemed old.”
Steve didn’t even notice Danny looking around. He turns his head to study Danny’s profile. “Is that a question?”
”Not if you don’t want it to be.” Danny glances over with the beginning trace of a smile, the darkness reducing his eyes to pools of black. Faint brightness from the living room barely illuminates the terrace, leaving Danny’s face in shadows, and while there is an unlit candle on the table between them, Steve doesn’t want to look for a lighter.
”You’re a pretty good Detective, aren’t you?”
”Yeah, I am.” Danny’s mouth quirks. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
”I’m not.” Concentrating on the whiskey’s burn, Steve leans back on the lawn chair, tipping his face up to the sky. By now, it’s mostly cleared with only a few clouds still hanging onto the horizon, but the reflecting light of the city veils the stars. A melting ice cube breaks with a crack that resounds in the quiet night, and Steve waits another long moment before he replies to Danny’s non-question. “Our mom died when we were kids. Car crash. Dad never recovered.”
”I’m sorry.” Danny says it quietly, barely loud enough to cover the distance between them.
“Thank you.” Steve takes another sip. The whiskey sets fire to his throat, running a hot path down into his chest, and he reaches for the bottle to fill up his glass even while his lungs still hurt. He holds the bottle out to Danny. “Another one?”
Danny’s answer consists of sliding his glass across the table.
Steve fills the glass and adds two ice cubes that drip water onto the tabletop, pushing the drink within Danny’s reach before he sits back. Despite the ice, Steve’s whiskey is too warm. It doesn’t stop him from taking another mouthful, smooth velvet on his tongue until he swallows it down. He clears his throat. “My Dad died on the job a couple years ago, but it wasn’t like Mary or I’d seen much of him. After Mom’s death, he didn’t find comfort in us kids, but in his work. Buried himself in it. He was also at the HPD, by the way.” Steve glances over with a twisted smile to find Danny watching him intently.
“I think Chin mentioned him.” Danny’s tone is careful, a little sad, but he doesn’t sound uncomfortable the way some people do when faced with someone else’s loss. It’s possible his job allowed him to practice.
“Dad was Chin’s training officer, initially. He used to be a good cop, at least until he became paranoid and started to look into her accident, thought it was a crime.” Steve swirls his whiskey and listens to the soft clinking of the ice cubes. He meets Danny’s gaze. “I’ve seen the files, I went through them after he was shot, and… There was nothing to suggest he was right, Danny. Nothing at all.”
“I could-” Danny begins, but Steve cuts him off.
“No. Don’t look into it, seriously. You’d just be wasting your time.”
“If you say so.” Danny is frowning into his glass and doesn’t sound entirely convinced.
“I looked, Danny. There was absolutely nothing there to suggest that it wasn’t a normal, everyday car accident with one drunken driver and some bad luck. Nothing except for my father’s paranoid mind. And,” Steve adds before Danny can interfere, “don’t tell me that just because you’re paranoid, it doesn’t mean they’re not after you. I know. But in this case, they weren’t after him, or Mom. He saw what he wanted to see.”
Danny sips at his drink and exhales audibly before he nods. “Okay.”
“Okay,” Steve echoes. He lifts the glass to his mouth and smiles around another sip, notices that he already feels the world slowing down a little, decelerated by whiskey and the night’s warmth. “You know, I wanted to become a cop for a while. Become like him. But then…” Shaking his head, he swallows and leans forward to catch Danny’s eyes. “Don’t let that happen to you, Danny. Don’t let your job become the only thing besides Grace that keeps you going.”
“I’m working on it.” Danny doesn’t look away. After a long moment, Steve does.
--
“Don’t think you should-” Steve trails off because that, that sentence, it made sense in his head, he thinks, but it’s kinda... it doesn’t anymore. Maybe it would have made sense before the bottle was empty, but that was before because it’s totally empty now, the bottle, and what was it-Something car? Drive, right. Did they call a cab? What was it he... Oh. “Just stay, yeah?”
“Stay?” Hand on the door, Danny turns. His face is a bit hazy, or that might be Steve’s vision, it’s hard to tell and anyway, it probably doesn’t matter. What matters is that Steve missed a second in there or more, because he blinks and then Danny is kissing him, maybe Steve started it, it’s not important as long as they keep kissing and Steve’s back is to the wall and his fingers are clenched in Danny’s shirt. Steve makes a sound that he hopes is a question and pulls Danny away from the door, away from the hallway because Steve has a bedroom and it has a bed, and that’s good, bed is good.
He thinks he says as much, but he isn’t sure whether Danny understands because they’re still kissing and Danny tastes like whiskey, they probably both do, and the rough stroke of Danny’s tongue over his own makes Steve want to laugh and cling tighter, drag Danny down onto the mattress and right, yes, they made it to the bed. That’s... good. Yeah.
Steve falls first, Danny on top of him and it hurts a little because Danny’s knee hits his shin, right where the reef cut it open, but the sting isn’t too bad and anyway, Steve needs Danny’s shirt gone, but it’s actually Steve’s shirt and that’s a thought that gets his brain in twists and anyway, the shirt is in the way, and it’s... it’s offending Steve, is the word. And he wants it gone.
Danny exhales into Steve’s mouth, so Steve repeats the motion, rakes a nail over Danny’s chest and watches Danny’s eyes go dark and half-lidded, head lowering. He’s beautiful like this, and Steve would flip them over, thinks about flipping them over, but before he can make up his mind, Danny pushes a hand into Steve’s boxers and oh, when did they lose their pants?
It’s a question that can’t hold Steve’s interest, not when Danny is looking down at him, grinning wide and happy while his fingers wrap around Steve’s dick.
Steve pushes into the touch, arches his back off the mattress. He almost throws Danny off, mutters an apology and wraps an arm around his middle to keep him in place, and Danny’s laughing and smelling like alcohol and sand and some kind of cologne. Steve thinks he’s laughing, too, but then Danny does something with his thumb, some swipe-twist combination thing, and Steve’s breath stutters and he closes his eyes. Lets himself fall.
--
Steve wakes to the sound of someone else’s breathing and the taste of bile at the back of his throat.
Leaving the bed as quietly as he manages, he doesn’t turn around so he won’t see Danny still asleep, escapes into the bathroom without even a glance back. His mouth feels as if something died in there, but brushing his teeth merely draws attention the sick knot in his stomach. In order to keep it under control, he swallows an ibuprofen and two glasses of water. On his way out, he catches sight of the near-empty bottle of whiskey and two glasses, still sitting innocently on the terrace table.
Steve’s surfboard’s still strapped to the roof of his car, and while he wonders whether Danny heard the start of the engine, he shuts that line of thought down before it can go any further. It doesn’t matter, it’s not important, he doesn’t even care.
The sky shows the merest hint of orange and only two other cars are parked near the Pipe.
--
Mary takes one look at him and drops a stack of sheets. “What the hell happened to you?”
“The Pipe.” Steve lifts a shoulder and tries to push past her. The medical cabinet at the shop is better stacked than the one he has at home and anyway, home is not an option.
“The Pipe?” Mary blocks his path and takes a firm hold of his chin, turning his face into the light and standing on tiptoes to examine what is no more than a shallow cut above his left eye. He accepts it for a total of three seconds before pulling away.
“It’s nothing.”
In the absence of other sounds, her breathing is loud. She takes a step back and despite her frown, her voice is gentle. “You’re such an idiot, Steve. And you’re bleeding, which is at least one thing I can change.”
“You could appeal for a new brother,” he suggests.
“I’m afraid the warranty has expired.” She follows it up with a quick smile and gestures for him to lean against the counter. “Come on, since I’m stuck with you, I’ll see what I can do. Disinfectant spray and a band-aid should cut it, at least the part about your face.”
He’s silent while she retrieves the necessary items from the cabinet, looking up at the dusty windows that were cut into the roof back when they had this hut built; the plastic foil they used to cover the rectangular holes is shriveled up and should be changed at some point. Maybe Steve will do it tomorrow, or later this afternoon.
Mary returns with a cotton ball soaked in disinfectant solution. Again, she reaches for his chin and tilts his head into the light. He doesn’t fight it this time, closing his eyes and waiting for the sting before he says, “He has a daughter, you know.”
“A daughter you actually like.” Mary removes the cotton ball and leans in, breath warm on his cheek. “What’s more, Grace likes you.”
Steve keeps his eyes closed. “That’s exactly the problem.”
“You know that relationships aren’t automatically doomed to fail? I mean, has anyone ever told you that?”
“Yeah, I just never believed you.”
“Because you’re an idiot.” Her voice is affectionate even as she rips open the band-aid package.
“No.” Steve shakes his head and opens one eye, smiling a little. “Because you’re such a good example to the contrary.”
“It’s been a while since I was serious about someone,” Mary says. She looks up, fingers stilling, and purses her lips. “Is that what’s going on? You’re scared because this could be serious?”
“No.” The denial might come a little quickly, too forcefully.
“Okay.” Mary nods, but her eyes are narrowed and she continues to watch him for another few seconds before she remembers the band-aid in her hands. When she leans back in to put it on, her fingers are gentle on his face.
--
The front door is locked twice when Steve gets back and he finds his spare key in the mailbox. Inside, voluminous silence fills the rooms, and no movement disturbs the lonely speck of dust dancing in a beam of sunshine. The bottle and the glasses on the terrace haven’t been touched.
In the bedroom, only rumpled sheets remind of Danny’s presence. Everything else, including the shirt Steve loaned him, is gone.
Steve didn’t expect anything else, really.
--
Steve isn’t keeping track, not as such, but the days between Danny’s visit and Grace’s next lesson pass in a rush, filled with surfing and redecorating the shop, Steve spending more hours a night on the roof than he spends in his bed. Replacing the canvas cover with a more robust uPVC pane takes more measurements and effort than he thought, and since he’s already at the DIY store, he also buys a few buckets of paint to redo their sign and the outer walls.
In between, he ignores knowing looks from Mary and barely veiled threats from Chin that Kono relays with an air of confused reluctance. Steve assumes that Danny must have elicited some kind of promise to keep Chin physically away, though, and while it means Steve won’t have to defend his life, it also means he can’t ask Chin for an address.
He probably wouldn’t, anyway.
--
The problem with pretending that he has no idea about the date of Grace’s next lesson, with pretending he doesn’t watch the door with slightly more trepidation than potential customers justify, is that it only works until he hears Grace’s laughter outside, and his stomach drops. Like riding a good wave that suddenly collapses under his board.
She comes bounding into the shop a moment later, jumping into his arms with no hesitation. Steve didn’t even realize he was worried until he catches her. Grace’s smile is white against her tanned face. “Hello, Steve!”
“Hey yourself. Welcome back.” He shifts her weight on his hip and pointedly doesn’t turn when the brightness diminishes because someone is standing in the doorframe. “How was India?”
“I want an elephant,” she declares.
“An elephant.” Steve exhales and manages to locate a grin. “I thought all girls your age wanted ponies?”
“Unfortunately, both ponies and elephants tend to destroy perfectly good grass,” a female voice cuts in. The British accent is obvious, if slightly softened. “And that would put a damper on the gardener’s mood.”
Balancing Grace on his hip, Steve turns to find a beautiful woman leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed. While Steve isn’t an expert, he is fairly certain that her clothes cost more than the shop makes in a week. “You’re Rachel?” he asks, even though clarification isn’t really needed.
“Yes. And I assume that you would be Steve.” The way she twists the name tells him he’d be better off if he were anyone else. He nods anyway.
“Yeah. So it’s not-Danny isn’t here?”
“Danno has a date.” The amount of disgust Grace manages to squeeze into the word ‘date’ nearly makes Steve laugh until he gets the full implication of her sentence. His arms must tighten briefly because Grace follows up with, “Hey, you’re squashing me.” She pretends to gasp for air.
“Sorry.” Steve loosens his hold and gently lets her slide to the floor. While he avoids looking at Rachel, he can tell she’s watching his every move through sharp eyes.
“I think Kono’s waiting outside, sweetie,” Rachel says sweetly. “You just came in here to grab that shirt, remember?”
“Rashguard,” Grace corrects her, pulling it from the counter where Steve laid it out for her earlier. Maybe that would have been the right time to stop pretending he didn’t take a look at the calendar this morning.
“Rashguard. Yes.” Rachel steps aside to let Grace through, and then it’s just the two of them in the shop, Steve alone with Danny’s ex-wife, and he wonders whether that’s ironic in some way, or possibly just sad.
Danny is sending his ex because he’s on a date. Okay.
Jesus fuck, no. It’s not okay. It is not fucking okay, Steve isn’t okay with it and it’s an effort even to stand still, to brace himself for an encounter with someone he has no desire to know when he really just wants to be somewhere else, anywhere else, anywhere that isn’t here with Grace’s laughter outside and Danny’s exquisitely clad ex assessing him.
It’s Rachel who breaks the terse silence. “So,” she says, coming closer. Her skirt swings with each calculated step. “You’re Steve, then. That’s funny.”
Steve clears his throat and straightens, crossing his arms to mirror her posture. He doesn’t take a step back even though he has a feeling it might be wise. “What’s so funny about it?”
“Well, it is just...” Rachel gives him a derogatory once-over. “Danny said you’re gorgeous, but frankly, I don’t see it. You look more like a bum who spent the last few nights with a bottle of cheap red wine under some bridge.”
Once his brain gets past the part where Danny apparently described him as gorgeous to his ex-wife, Steve snorts softly. “Thanks ever so much.”
“I am not here to be nice to you.” Rachel’s voice is cutting, every word precise. “In fact, I’m here to explain something.”
“Really.” Steve doesn’t make it a question, but Rachel leans forward, a smile on her face that is devoid of any humor.
“Really,” she says slowly. “Because, see, if there is anyone on this planet who is allowed to make Danny Williams miserable, it’s me. It’s my privilege, and while I haven’t felt like using it in a while, it’s mine, and I grew up as a single child and thus never learned how to share. So please, tell me you had a very, very good reason for tucking your tail between your legs and running off like a scared dog. And,” the smile becomes even more twisted, pure contempt, “by the way, I don’t mean a Doberman. I’m talking about a small, miserable breed, the kind of dog old ladies put in their handbags.”
Steve fights the urge to scratch at the healing cut on his temple. He keeps his voice easy and controlled. “Again, thanks. You really have a way with words. Also, I think I’m beginning to see why it didn’t work out between Danny and you.”
“You did not answer my question.” The fact that she’s blocking the light makes it hard to read Rachel’s expression. Her silken blouse whispers softly when she shifts her stance.
“What was the question?” Steve asks.
“I want a reason. Because your reaction to Danny being on a date, with someone else,” her tone suggest she takes great pleasure in spelling it out, “someone who is not you-”
“I get it,” Steve interrupts.
“Do you?” Rachel leans close enough for him to catch a whiff of delicate perfume. “Because, see, that could have been you. Unfortunately, you missed your chance when you decided to be the kind of coward who runs the morning after.”
“We were both pretty drunk.” Even now, Steve only manages to piece together parts of the night after they hit their third glass, respectively. He doesn’t even know who started it, but he thinks it was Danny. Probably. Not that it makes a difference. Not that it makes a difference what he tells Rachel.
Only, he thinks it might.
“Alcohol? That’s your excuse?” Her eyes narrow to small slits. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I was under the impression that you weren’t fifteen anymore, so you should have enough control over your actions to do only things you want to do. Or am I to understand that sex wouldn’t have been on the plate if you’d been sober?”
“I didn’t even know it was on the plate in the first place.” Steve meets her eyes squarely, uncrossing his arms. “If I had, I might not have risked it.”
“Risked it?” Rachel’s voice loses some of its sharp edges. She seems about to fire off another question, but stops, studying him as if seeing him for the first time. Then she turns halfway around, lifting a manicured hand to point at the picture above the counter. “I take it that’s you?”
“Yeah.”
“So you can do that, but Danny is enough to have you running? I mean, Danny? You know he’s all bark and only a little bite, don’t you? Unless you’re one of the bad guys, of course.” Rachel chuckles softly, and when she drops her arms, she seems much younger all of a sudden, almost too young to have a daughter of Grace’s age. “Alright, Steve. You get points for being serious about him, so I reserve judgment. But,” her voice drops to a low level, “just for your information? If you do anything else, anything at all that could hurt Danny, I will kill you. Slowly. With a dull instrument.”
She’s protective of Danny; Steve can appreciate that as a positive quality in another person. He doesn’t see himself and Rachel having tea together anytime soon, but he can see where she’s coming from, at least. “Let me guess: You’re bark, but even more bite?”
“You better believe it.” Her smile reveals a row of remarkably white, even teeth. It takes Steve a moment to smile back, and even when he does, he’s sure it turns out crooked. Rachel appears to notice because her expression softens. She hesitates, glancing at the doorway before she says, “Also, for your information, Gracie thinks that the guy Danny’s meeting right now is boring and that you are, I quote, ‘so much cooler.’”
“Thank you,” Steve says. This time, he means it.
--
Steve expects the slow contraction of his lungs the second time Grace arrives for her lesson, relishes the lack of space in his chest when he picks her up, but he doesn’t expect the disappointment when it’s Rachel’s driver dropping her off. He doesn’t ask where Danny is.
--
Thursday afternoons are traditionally slow, so once Grace and Kono have left for the water, chatting happily about flower patterns, Steve grabs a beer for himself and focuses on getting a surfboard he bought cheap and used into prime condition so it’s fit for reselling. It’s a fancy board, solid quality from a manufacturer on the island, but the fact that it’s custom-made according to specific wishes will beat down the price.
He has the door between sales room and garage open, but he’s bent over the board and doesn’t hear anyone come into the shop. Therefore, Danny’s voice takes him by surprise. “Just so there are no misconceptions,” there is no inflection to the words, “I’m only here because Rachel called me in the middle of a date and told me that something came up and the driver won’t be able to pick up Gracie. It has nothing to do with you and me, okay? I’m here for my daughter.”
Slowly, Steve straightens. His balance feels off, as if someone had jerked his center of gravity out of his body and half a foot to the left. “You want a beer?” he asks. His voice is a little rough.
“Did you not hear me?” Danny sounds closer, as if he took a step over the threshold into the garage. “Because, please, tell me which part of ‘I’m only here for my daughter’ was so hard to understand? I thought it was pretty clear.”
“Grace’s lesson doesn’t finish for another thirty minutes.” Steve turns and scrubs a hand over his face before he remembers that he has blue paint on his fingers. Danny’s gaze follows the motion before it snaps away.
“Thirty minutes?” he repeats.
“Well.” Steve swallows. “Yeah.”
“Fuck Rachel and her completely unnecessary meddling, then,” Danny says with feeling. The skin under his eyes is thin and gray.
Steve manages to get enough air into his lungs to ask, again, “You want a beer?”
The following silence is sharp, like a living being that uncurls between them, stretching as it examines its claws. Steve takes a step forward, watches Danny watching him.
“You look like shit,” Danny says suddenly. “Like, okay, I know you think you’re not quite human because you know how to walk on water, but people need sleep, and that’s a fact. Sleep, Steve. That’s when you close your eyes and lie still for a few hours, and fuck, you know what? I don’t care, actually. Spend your days sleepwalking, if that’s what you want. I’m going to wait outside in the car, I need to call Pete since I told him it would only take an hour-”
Steve kisses him.
Danny’s stubble scratches against Steve’s chin and when Danny sucks in a harsh breath, Steve can feel it all along his front. He presses closer, and Danny’s mouth opens under his, Danny’s head tilting back for a better angle even as his nails dig into Steve’s back and leave behind pinpricks of pain.
Danny tears his mouth away, mutters, “You fucking asshole, you think you can just roll all over me and sweep me off my feet and it’s enough of an apology? Well, no. And fuck you for thinking it’s okay.” His voice is shot to hell, and Steve gives him just enough time to draw another breath before he kicks the door shut and pushes Danny back against the wood, dropping to his knees.
“You have got to be kidding me. Seriously, is this your-” Danny falls abruptly silent when Steve unbuttons his pants and slides the zipper down. When Steve looks up, Danny’s eyes are dark and faintly crazy, and there is a sizeable bulge denting his boxers. “I,” Danny mumbles, sounding barely aware of his own words, “was trained for situations where there’s a threat and I have my back to the wall, like right now. Get the hell away from me, or I swear I will break your hand.” He reaches out and grips Steve’s shoulder hard enough to bruise. Even if Steve wanted, he couldn’t go anywhere.
“Okay,” Steve says quietly, softly. He tugs Danny’s pants down his thighs and slides both hands up Danny’s legs, exhaling when Danny’s hips tilt forward, away from the door. Steve pushes him back and nudges his nose against the bulge in Danny’s boxers, closes his eyes and sucks in the sharp, warm scent of Danny’s arousal.
Danny shudders against him and manages no more than a rough whisper. “You’re such an asshole. Fucking drive me crazy.”
Steve dips his head. The cloth of Danny’s boxers is coarse under his tongue, tastes faintly of detergent, but Danny’s half-choked moan is beautiful, and Steve wants more, wants everything. He leans back only to shove the boxers down, puts his mouth on Danny’s cock before Danny can even think to protest. It’s smoothly curved, the skin silky under Steve’s tongue, and surely Steve would remember Danny’s cock if he’d seen, touched it before, but he doesn’t, and he’s more than a little in love with it, with the soft, breathless noises Danny makes, more than a little in love with Danny.
When he adjusts his grip on Danny’s hip, he leaves a smeared blue thumbprint in the dip below Danny’s hipbone. He stretches to kiss the spot, sucking on the skin and leaving it red and bruised, obvious.
He slants his gaze up to find Danny staring at him. Their eyes hold, continue to hold when Danny loosens his grip on Steve’s shoulder and trails his hand to the back of Steve’s neck, heel coming to rest on the first knot of Steve’s spine, thumb just brushing the short hair. Steve doesn’t break their gaze even as he leans back in, opens his mouth for the tip of Danny’s cock. Danny’s head falls back against the door when Steve slides down, down and swallows until his throat feels raw and his nose is buried in Danny’s pubic hair.
“You’re too fucking good at this.” Danny sounds as if he has trouble shaping the words. “It’s unfair, and fuck, I don’t even want to know where you learned how to-” Again, he falls abruptly silent. Keeping his tongue curled against the underside of Danny’s cock, Steve pulls off with a slurp that sounds obscene in the quiet space that surrounds them, their harsh breathing louder than the muted yells of people outside.
Danny’s gasp when Steve slides back down has Steve drag a hand over his own erection. Danny is babbling something, more noise than actual words, and his hips stutter in Steve’s grip, twitching closer. Pulling back for a long, deep breath, Steve waits until Danny’s lids flutter open. Then he grins and lets go of Danny’s hip. “Go ahead.”
He leans back in, wrapping his mouth around Danny’s cock without giving him time for a reply. For several beats, it looks as if Danny is at a loss, completely frozen before he dares to nudge his hips forward, more a suggestion than actual movement. Steve flicks his tongue against the vein on the underside of Danny’s cock and it’s like flicking a switch because Danny twitches closer, his cock sliding further down, and Steve has to consciously relax his throat so he won’t gag. Fuck, he loves this, loves the burn and the helpless sounds Danny makes, loves that Danny’s hand is still gentle on the nape of his neck.
Steve reaches back to twine their fingers.
His jaw aches distantly, he hasn’t done this in a while, but Danny groans and pushes in, hips jerking, head thumping back against the door. Steve squints at him through half-lidded eyes, squeezes his own cock through his pants because shit, this definitely wasn’t part of their drunken night; even drunk out of his mind, he wouldn’t have been able to forget just how stunning Danny is like this, when he just lets go.
Reaching up to press a finger against that spot behind Danny’s cock, Steve hums noiselessly, forces his eyes to remain open when Danny’s entire body shivers and he bucks forward once, twice and utters a cut-off warning, giving Steve a faint nudge. Steve stays right where he is.
Danny goes completely still as he comes. His eyes are squeezed shut, lashes bright against his skin, his body a delicious arch towards Steve who pulls back a little, just enough to catch most of the creamy-bitter taste on his tongue. He doesn’t swallow as a general rule, but it’s Danny.
It’s Danny.
Slipping a hand into his own pants, Steve rests his cheek against Danny’s thigh and brings himself off with a couple of rough strokes, vision blacking out for a moment. When he comes down, his own pulse reverberating loudly in his ears, he listens to Danny’s breathing slows gradually before Danny slides down to the floor, pants still around his knees, cock hanging out of his boxers. Steve sits back on his haunches and tries to imprint the picture in his mind.
“Is this your version of compensation?” Danny sounds positively wrecked, two splotches of red color high on his cheeks. “Because, you know, you could have started with an apology. I mean, picture yourself in my position, waking up in an empty bed, in an empty house, and hey, guess what?” He snorts and shakes his head, looking away. “I was stupid enough to wait almost an hour in case you only went out to buy breakfast. Delusional, hmm?”
“No,” Steve manages. “And I’m sorry.”
It takes several seconds before Danny says, staring at a spot left of Steve’s shoulder, “Okay. Noted. Are you also sorry you fell asleep on me? Because I honestly love nothing more than finishing off while the other person is snoring next to me. Just makes you feel so appreciated, if you know what I mean. Which you probably don’t.”
“I…” Steve drops his gaze to the blue fingerprint on Danny’s hip. He wants his hands back there, wants his hands all over Danny’s body and leave marks that will make sure he’ll be able to retrace his path the next morning. “Yeah. I’m sorry. Guess I had even more whiskey than you did.”
“That’s about the worst excuse in the universe,” Danny says sharply.
“An explanation, though?” Steve dares to let his lips curl into a half-quirked smile. Danny’s gaze drops and his entire expression changes, all irritation melting away to be replaced by a glimpse of pure hunger.
“You didn’t…” Danny leans forward, voice low, and drags his thumb over the corner of Steve’s mouth. “Catch all of it,” he finishes, glancing up as he lifts his hand. Steve wraps his fingers around Danny’s wrist and pulls him closer, bends his head to lick Danny’s thumb clean. They’re close enough for Steve to feel Danny exhale in a rush.
“Come home with me.” Steve looks up and holds Danny’s gaze.
Danny swallows audibly. “I need to drop Gracie off first.”
“Kono can do it.”
“I’m not ditching my daughter, Steve.” A hint of sharpness has returned, but mostly, Danny sounds helpless.
“Okay,” Steve says, “fair enough, you’re right. Drop Grace off, then follow me home.”
Danny sways forward, one hand coming to rest on Steve’s waist, the other still in Steve’s grasp. “Pete’s waiting for me.”
“Grace says he’s boring.”
A soft sigh, half a chuckle. “Compared to you, most guys are boring.”
“Are you quoting Gracie here, or is that your own assessment?” Without warning, Steve pulls roughly and lets the momentum bring their mouths together, teeth clashing before Danny gives in and up, twists closer and pushes his tongue into Steve’s mouth. When Steve sinks into it, it’s Danny’s hands and the weight of Danny’s body that keep him from falling.
They separate when Grace’s cheerful voice calls for Steve to come outside, look at a new ding on her surfboard, and also, is that Danny’s car on the road?
Danny is smiling, his eyes bright. He pulls back to tug up his boxers and pants, tucking himself in, but even so, his messy hair and flushed cheeks speak a clear language. They make Steve’s fingers itch to reach for him again; instead, he straightens up as well. His boxers stick to his skin, and his knees are likely to show evidence of the time he spent on rough concrete floor.
“For future reference…” Danny braces one hand against the door as he climbs to his feet, but pauses long enough to give Steve an appreciative look. “If you factor out flowers, the color pink and a surfboard, my daughter and I actually have pretty similar tastes.”
“So you’ll come over.” It’s not quite a question, not quite a statement. The space between Steve’s words and Danny’s reaction expands into miles until Steve catches the upwards tilt to Danny’s lips.
“Give me an hour.”
--
It’s pure habit that wakes Steve just as the sun is brightening the eastern edge of the sky. He doesn’t move for a few seconds, listening to the regular pattern of Danny’s breath before he turns to look at him. Danny’s sprawled over the better half of the bed, blanket covering his body up to the waist, his naked back gleaming in the dusky light of morning.
Steve thinks about kissing the stretch of skin between Danny’s neck and shoulder.
Instead, he gets up quietly and finds a pen and paper in his nightstand. He leaves the note on his own pillow and hopes Danny will find it before he begins drafting a list of insults to hurl at Steve. In the bathroom, Steve lays out the spare toothbrush he bought a few days ago. It’s pink.
He thinks Danny will understand.
--
Against the golden glow of the rising sun, Steve doesn’t notice Danny coming outside, and when he spots him on the beach, barefoot, wearing only boxers and an unbuttoned shirt, it isn’t clear how long he’s been standing there.
Steve draws air into his lungs and submerges, saltwater stinging in his eyes as he cuts towards the shore. He doesn’t resurface until his lungs begin to burn. By then, the water is shallow enough that he feels the ground beneath his feet. Shaking water out of his hair and eyes, he stands up and finds Danny watching him. Briefly, Steve is distracted by a faint mark that stands out against Danny’s skin, just below his ribs, and when he remembers that he should start with a ‘good morning,’ Danny has already tilted his head, a light frown on his face.
“Is this going to become a habit, then?” He pauses when Steve draws closer, gaze dropping down to Steve’s stomach, and oh, it’s good to know Steve isn’t alone in this; Steve wasn’t aware he was worried until something in his chest relaxes. “I mean,” Danny continues, “I don’t expect champagne breakfast in bed, exactly, but it would be nice to wake up with you still around. Would be something new, you see? A change of pace. Some people might argue that there are advantages to not having to spend the first half hour tracking down the other person.”
“It’s just a morning swim, Danny. Did you find my note?” Wetness weighs down Steve’s trunks, makes them slippery so they sit dangerously low on his hips. He tugs them back up and looks over just in time to find Danny watching his fingers, expression completely open. “The note?” Steve repeats. He’s pretty sure he’s grinning.
“Yes,” Danny replies absently. Steve smiles and waits until Danny is meeting his eyes.
“You’re not really annoyed, are you?”
“You’re mostly naked and wet.” Danny’s tone is dry, but it’s laced with an underlying note of fondness, a quirk of humor. “Make me a cup of coffee and I’ll let you know.”
It’s enough of an invitation, as far as Steve is concerned. He crosses the few feet that still separate them, slides wet arms around Danny’s waist to tug him forward despite Danny’s half-hearted protest that Steve is fresh from the ocean and dripping, just in case he didn’t notice, so could he please find a towel before launching himself at anyone wearing dry clothes?
Steve is still laughing when his mouth covers Danny’s and effectively cuts off any protest. Danny tastes like Steve’s toothpaste, salty licorice, and he pulls Steve closer without hesitation, without resistance. His hands are warm on Steve’s skin. When Danny inhales, Steve feels it in the expansion of Danny’s stomach against his own.
He pulls back just far enough to say, “Coffee, fine. I’ll make you all the coffee you want, if you promise not to get dressed any more than you are right now. This is the maximum amount of clothing you’re allowed to wear.”
Danny raises a brow, but his breathing is slightly accelerated, spoiling any attempt at nonchalance. “What, for today? Or are we talking about the rest of my life? Because I think that might create problems at work, what with the requirement of bulletproof vests and all.”
“When you’re here, then.” Steve clears his throat, listens to the rush of the waves and his own pulse loud in his ears. “By the way and for what it’s worth, I was rather hoping this might become a habit.”
Three heartbeats pass before Danny says, “Yeah. Yeah, I could handle that.” He’s smiling, brilliant and true. Behind him, the sun splits clear from the silhouette of the mountains.
.finis.
(Comments are lovely.)
Soundtrack, for those who are interested in that kind of thing:
(Download here, password: H50)
<< Headers & Part 1
To the Shore
Part 2/2
In four days, Steve spends three mornings at the Pipe despite conditions that are the opposite of ideal. Strong offshore winds render the waves unpredictable, a constant threat of closeouts along with sudden drops and twists that challenge his skills in a way they haven’t been in too long. Few other surfers are willing to brave the Pipe when it shows its Frankenstein face, but even so, Steve sees two boards surfacing only in pieces, witnesses a broken leg and one girl barely making it out of the water. Days and conditions like these drive home just why there is no wave with a death toll as high as the Pipe.
It’s just what he needs.
He wipes out more than once, the wave just collapsing around him, breaking everywhere at once and dragging him under and all he can do is curl in on himself, protect his head from the sharp edges of the reef. After three visits, there’s a deep gash on his shin and his elbow is torn open, the saltwater keeping the wound from closing up.
Mary catches him at the medical cabinet with spray-on dressing in an attempt to keep infections out of the elbow wound, but the angle is awkward, so he doesn’t object when she takes the can from him and tells him to hop onto the counter. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asks, bending over the wound to examine it closely. Shaking her head, she checks the expiration date on the can and adds, “Remember when you were seventeen and I had to do this every day because you were an idiot? Didn’t grow up so much since then.”
He decides that the mild sting of the spray when it hits the wound is distracting enough to pretend that he didn’t hear her. While her exasperated sigh tells him she doesn’t buy it, she doesn’t probe either. At least not yet. She’s never been the type to let things go just because Steve doesn’t feel like sharing.
--
When he arrives at the shop around noon after his fifth morning at the Pipe in six days, sporting a new cut on his temple and a carton with hot pizza on the backseat of his car, he finds Mary on the stairs, arms slung around her legs and wearing the kind of expression that tells him it will be exactly the conversation he doesn’t want to have.
“Steve,” she begins.
“You want a slice of pizza?” Steve doesn’t mention that it will constitute his first meal for the day. “Ham and pineapple.”
Mary shakes her head. “No, thanks.”
“Suit yourself. You’re missing out, though. Got it from that place near the Academy of Arts, it’s the best there is.”
“If you say so.”
She’s silent as he sits down beside her and arranges the carton on his lap, but it’s a silence that marks her gathering steam for whatever grown-up, responsible thing she’s about to say. Sometimes, Steve wishes they had a normal sibling relationship with clear roles; the older protective brother and the younger sister who follows him around. Nothing about them raising each other was normal, however, and their flexible distribution of roles, shifting depending on the situation, is just one symptom of it.
The pizza drips warm cheese over his fingers. He licks it off his thumb and makes the mistake of catching Mary’s eyes. She’s watching him steadily, a light frown on her face, and as soon as she’s certain of his attention, she leans forward, voice low. “You’re in full escapism mode, Steve. Last time I’ve seen you like this, that was ages ago, and I thought-”
“Can we pretend it’s half an hour later and we already had this conversation?” Steve interrupts. “Then you wouldn’t have to construct wild theories on what’s wrong, and I wouldn’t have to repeat that everything’s fine.”
“Nice try.” Mary’s mouth pulls into a lopsided grin. Smoothing a palm over the wrinkles in her skirt, she tilts her head. “Well, here’s one theory: It’s Danny. Now that his daughter’s on vacation, he’s not likely to show up here because he doesn’t have a reason. Not really.”
Steve calmly takes another bite of his pizza before he graces her with a reply. “Danny? You’ve seen the guy, what, twice? Three times?”
“Kono and I talk, you know.” There is an unmistakable note of smugness in her voice. She reaches out to drag her index finger through some tomato sauce, snatching a piece of ham that she puts in her mouth, talking around the food. “So, anyway. It’s Danny.”
“Did you and Kono decide on this together? Because if the answer is yes…” Steve takes another bite of his pizza. It’s almost too sweet, cheese and ham clashing with the pineapple in a way that could be either creative or disgusting; he isn’t sure which, but Danny might have been on to something. Steve chews leisurely before concluding with, “I want whatever you had at the time.”
“Right.” The skeptical pronouncement is followed by another stretch of strategic silence. It takes three bites before Steve caves and glances over. Mary’s grin bares a lot of teeth. “When’s the last time you got laid?”
“Wow,” he says. “I don’t know if anyone told you, but this is not on the list of questions you ask your brother.”
“Please.” Her shrug is casually dismissive, but her tone is fond. “You’re the one who gave me the talk about the bees and the flowers when I was thirteen.”
Steve puts the pizza down and sighs. His appetite is mostly gone. “Someone had to. And we both know that whoever it was, it wasn’t going to be Dad.”
“I know.” Mary shifts until she’s resting lightly against his side, her head sinking to his shoulder. He drapes an arm around her, and for a minute, they’re both quiet, listening to the yells and laughter of people milling about the beach. Even though it’s a gray-colored day with clouds hanging low in the sky, the ice cream truck on the road is doing good business.
“Surfing’s always been your escape,” Mary says eventually. Her voice is low.
“That makes two of us.”
“Not anymore. It used to be, back then. You know, like it was us against the world, and it was all we knew, growing up, but now…” She shakes her head very slightly, hair tickling his neck. “Now it’s just something I love.”
“You think I don’t?”
“Of course you do. Who says there can’t be more than one reason?” Mary reaches over to steal a slice of pizza out of the carton. Its greasy smell wafts past Steve’s nose, and he considers the remaining two slices which might or might not intensify the uneasy feeling in his stomach. He’s just taken the second-but-last slice out of the carton, leaving behind a smear of cheese, tomato and crumbs, when the roar of a motorbike and a dusty screech announce Chin’s arrival. Kono is sitting behind him, jumping off before the bike’s pulled to a clean stop.
“Hey guys! Sorry I’m late.”
“No worries.” Mary straightens and quickly swallows down the last of her pizza, cleaning her hands with a bit of sand. “Steve and I were just talking.”
“What about?” Kono’s tone is light, cheerful. Her smile is almost too innocent.
“Danny,” Mary says just as Chin kicks the bike into a stand. He looks up, interest bright in his eyes, and Steve is willing to put money on Kono and Mary orchestrating the entire situation because this is just too much of a coincidence for his liking. Around Mary and Kono, situations like this don’t happen by chance.
“Danny?” Chin repeats. He turns towards Steve. “Right. That reminds me: My partner stopped spending all his free time on work, and I’m pretty certain you’re the one who corrupted him.”
“I didn’t corrupt him.” Steve quickly swallows around a mouthful, wiping some grease off his lips. “I just... encouraged his reluctance to waste precious free time on thick folders. I’m not about to apologize for that.” Just like he never apologized for hiring Kono. Chin might be fierce, but Steve isn’t about to back down from his glare.
Chin isn’t glaring, though. His blank expression melts into one of those large smiles he so rarely bestows on anyone but Kono. “I agree.”
Steve blinks. “What? Did you just say-I thought you said you agree, but I probably misheard.”
“Not this time.” Chin gives him an appreciative nod. “Seriously, brah, I don’t know how you got him to kick back once in a while, but it’s doing him a world of good, so keep right on doing it.”
“I’ll try,” is the only reply that comes to Steve’s mind. He feels the weight of Mary’s gaze and is careful to avoid her eyes.
--
The knock at the door sounds just after Steve turned on the TV. At first, he mistakes it for rain patterns on the roof or something that’s part of the upcoming football game - cheers from the audience, feet trampling, applause. Only when it is repeated, more insistent, does he notice that it’s definitely not coming from the speakers, but no one he knows bothers to knock on the front door; they all just come in via the terrace.
Muting the TV and rolling off the couch, he kicks a dining room chair into place on his way to the door. He opens it to find Danny on the other side, clothes sticking to his body from one of those heavy downpours that sometimes hit the island, with water coming down like Noah should be getting his ark ready and ending as abruptly as they started. Danny’s glaring at the sky as if holding it personally responsible for everything that is wrong with the world and just looking at him makes Steve feel bright and cheerful.
“Well,” he drawls. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
“Nice, really. We can stand here all day trading witty lines, or you could let me inside so I can dry off. And drip all over your carpet, while I’m at it.” Danny sounds irritated, but there’s a question underneath the words.
Steve opens the door wider. “I don’t actually have a carpet, so that option is out.”
“Then I’ll drip on your couch. That’s fine, too. I’m not picky.” Marching into the house, Danny hesitates for a moment at the entrance to the kitchen before he moves on into the living room. Steve follows behind at a slower pace, his head a little light. The rain has turned Danny’s white shirt obscenely transparent.
“You want a towel?” Steve asks.
“And a beer.” Danny stops in front of the couch, glancing back over his shoulder. The blue light of the TV dances on his face. “Your sister gave me your address, by the way. I just dropped by the shop.”
“Mary’s still there?” Steve walks past the couch to head into the bathroom for a towel. He thinks about offering Danny a dry t-shirt and some pants in addition, stopping short of considering underwear because that’s a dangerous place to go, right now. He returns to find Danny seated on the couch, getting the cushions damp. It must be a family trait.
“She was just closing up, I think. Thanks.” Danny accepts the towel with a grateful nod, vigorously rubbing it over his head. It results in his hair sticking up in all directions, cheerfully tousled in contrast to his usual slick look, making him look ten years younger. Through the damp shirt, Steve can make out the darkened circles of his nipples.
Steve forces his mind away. Something about the rain and the soft glow of the TV makes it strangely difficult. “Okay. So, a beer. You also want a dry shirt?”
“Only if it doesn’t have flowers and neon colors.”
“Have you ever seen me wear flowers and neon colors?”
“No.” Danny tosses the towel aside, and it lands draped over the back of the chair Steve kicked earlier. “But then, I don’t really know what you wear in your time off when you’re not at the shop. Better safe than sorry.”
“True. Which leads me to the question of what brings you here. Not,” Steve adds hurriedly, “that I mind. Just curious.”
“Nothing special.” Danny pauses. “Saw you at the Pipeline this morning, though.”
Steve stops dead in his tracks, turning around halfway between couch and kitchen. He’s treated to the sight of Danny unbuttoning his damp shirt, seeming highly focused on the task. It takes a second for Steve’s tongue to work again. “You were at the Pipe? Seriously? Are you sure it was you? Not your identical twin who actually enjoys things like surfing and sunshine and beaches?”
“I go to the beach,” Danny protests.
“You go to the beach when Grace makes you go.”
“Which proves my point that I do go to the beach. I just don’t like it, as a general rule.”
“Did Grace get back early from India?”
The corners of Danny’s mouth pull down, providing an answer. Quickly, so he won’t dwell on the fact that he has nearly two more weeks to go without Grace, Steve continues. “Because if she didn’t, I’m at a loss for things that could possibly prompt you to be at the Pipe.”
“Chin.” Danny apparently considers it enough of an explanation; he shows no inclination to elaborate.
“Chin what?” Steve asks. “Chin up? My chin? Chin Ho Kelly?”
“Option three, as you know perfectly well.”
Traitor, Steve thinks. He motions for Danny to continue.
Danny leaves the shirt hanging open, leaning back on the couch. His shoes left wet imprints on the floor. “He mentioned you’ve been going to the Pipeline most mornings, to which I said, oh, that’s nice, judging by the pictures I’ve seen, it’s a great wave for drowning so it should be just the right playground for Steve.”
“You’d never been to the Pipe?” Steve props his hip against the doorframe. “Danno, I’m ashamed on your behalf. That’s like saying you haven’t hiked up Lē’ahi.”
“Up what? Also,” Danny’s brows furrow. “Did you just call me Danno?”
“Yes. And I’m talking about the Diamond Head.” Waving a hand in the general direction of the volcano, Steve leans forward. “Tell me you know what the Diamond Head is.”
“I know what the Diamond Head is.” Danny bends down to pull off the first shoe, and it’s just so much like him to come waltzing in here, to take over Steve’s house and couch and not even bring beer, that Steve has to suppress a smile. “Anyway, Chin’s reaction was about the same as yours. He threatened me with physical harm if I didn’t go, and trust me, you do not want Chin threatening you with physical harm. Have you seen the guy in a shooting range? Ninjas quiver in fear.”
“I have, actually. His focus can be either impressive or scary, depending on what side of the law you’re on.” Steve shakes his head. “So, you were at the Pipe this morning? Why didn’t you wave, make sure I noticed you?”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I wasn’t about to wave and jump up and down so that tall, dark and handsome on a surfboard would notice me. I do have dignity, you know?” Danny takes a quick breath and drops the shoe. It lands on the wooden floor with a soft thud. “It was bad enough the gaggle of girls next to me was drooling over your every move. What’s a ripper, anyway?”
“Jack the Ripper? An unidentified British serial killer,” Steve says absently. “Otherwise, a surfer who knows his board. Did you just call me handsome?”
“Did you forget about my beer?” Danny shoots back. He doesn’t look up from where he’s unlacing his second shoe. “Or, hey, that dry shirt? Because if we wait much longer, I won’t actually need it anymore because this one’s dry again. I mean, it only takes, what, three hours or so for a shirt to dry if it’s as wet as mine was. Was. As in, half an hour ago.”
“Right.” Pushing away from the doorframe, Steve takes one more look at the man on his couch: shirt hanging open, damp hair straining in several directions at once, clean-cut profile outlined by the blue light of the TV. Steve hears the thud of the second shoe just as he enters the kitchen. Over his shoulder, he says, “By the way, I only have Heineken.”
“Fuck you,” Danny replies sweetly.
Maybe later. It’s on the tip of Steve’s tongue before he catches himself because this? He doesn’t do this. He doesn’t do sex with people he cares about because really, it’s only bound to fuck things up in the end, and Steve doesn’t want that, doesn’t want to lose the easy camaraderie he has with Danny, the casual ribbing and stretches of comfortable silence.
He pulls the fridge door open with enough force to make the bottles in the door clink together.
--
The rain stops halfway through the game and by the time the match is over, the air outside is humid and heavy. They move out to Steve’s terrace with a bottle of single malt whiskey and ice cubes that are slowly melting in their plastic box.
Below the terrace, sand slopes gently into the dark-blue ocean, only a thin sliver of the moon brightening the scene. For all that Danny claims to prefer the gray labyrinth of New Jersey, he is quiet for a long while, sipping his whiskey and gazing out at the waves. Steve is more than once tempted to break the silence, but in the end, he takes his cue from Danny and listens to the steady rhythm of the water rolling onto the shore while the whiskey burns a trail down his throat.
The ice cubes in Danny’s glass clink together when he moves, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his thighs. He isn’t looking at Steve when he says, “You’ve got a lot of pictures of Mary around. Only one of you and your parents, though. Seemed old.”
Steve didn’t even notice Danny looking around. He turns his head to study Danny’s profile. “Is that a question?”
”Not if you don’t want it to be.” Danny glances over with the beginning trace of a smile, the darkness reducing his eyes to pools of black. Faint brightness from the living room barely illuminates the terrace, leaving Danny’s face in shadows, and while there is an unlit candle on the table between them, Steve doesn’t want to look for a lighter.
”You’re a pretty good Detective, aren’t you?”
”Yeah, I am.” Danny’s mouth quirks. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
”I’m not.” Concentrating on the whiskey’s burn, Steve leans back on the lawn chair, tipping his face up to the sky. By now, it’s mostly cleared with only a few clouds still hanging onto the horizon, but the reflecting light of the city veils the stars. A melting ice cube breaks with a crack that resounds in the quiet night, and Steve waits another long moment before he replies to Danny’s non-question. “Our mom died when we were kids. Car crash. Dad never recovered.”
”I’m sorry.” Danny says it quietly, barely loud enough to cover the distance between them.
“Thank you.” Steve takes another sip. The whiskey sets fire to his throat, running a hot path down into his chest, and he reaches for the bottle to fill up his glass even while his lungs still hurt. He holds the bottle out to Danny. “Another one?”
Danny’s answer consists of sliding his glass across the table.
Steve fills the glass and adds two ice cubes that drip water onto the tabletop, pushing the drink within Danny’s reach before he sits back. Despite the ice, Steve’s whiskey is too warm. It doesn’t stop him from taking another mouthful, smooth velvet on his tongue until he swallows it down. He clears his throat. “My Dad died on the job a couple years ago, but it wasn’t like Mary or I’d seen much of him. After Mom’s death, he didn’t find comfort in us kids, but in his work. Buried himself in it. He was also at the HPD, by the way.” Steve glances over with a twisted smile to find Danny watching him intently.
“I think Chin mentioned him.” Danny’s tone is careful, a little sad, but he doesn’t sound uncomfortable the way some people do when faced with someone else’s loss. It’s possible his job allowed him to practice.
“Dad was Chin’s training officer, initially. He used to be a good cop, at least until he became paranoid and started to look into her accident, thought it was a crime.” Steve swirls his whiskey and listens to the soft clinking of the ice cubes. He meets Danny’s gaze. “I’ve seen the files, I went through them after he was shot, and… There was nothing to suggest he was right, Danny. Nothing at all.”
“I could-” Danny begins, but Steve cuts him off.
“No. Don’t look into it, seriously. You’d just be wasting your time.”
“If you say so.” Danny is frowning into his glass and doesn’t sound entirely convinced.
“I looked, Danny. There was absolutely nothing there to suggest that it wasn’t a normal, everyday car accident with one drunken driver and some bad luck. Nothing except for my father’s paranoid mind. And,” Steve adds before Danny can interfere, “don’t tell me that just because you’re paranoid, it doesn’t mean they’re not after you. I know. But in this case, they weren’t after him, or Mom. He saw what he wanted to see.”
Danny sips at his drink and exhales audibly before he nods. “Okay.”
“Okay,” Steve echoes. He lifts the glass to his mouth and smiles around another sip, notices that he already feels the world slowing down a little, decelerated by whiskey and the night’s warmth. “You know, I wanted to become a cop for a while. Become like him. But then…” Shaking his head, he swallows and leans forward to catch Danny’s eyes. “Don’t let that happen to you, Danny. Don’t let your job become the only thing besides Grace that keeps you going.”
“I’m working on it.” Danny doesn’t look away. After a long moment, Steve does.
--
“Don’t think you should-” Steve trails off because that, that sentence, it made sense in his head, he thinks, but it’s kinda... it doesn’t anymore. Maybe it would have made sense before the bottle was empty, but that was before because it’s totally empty now, the bottle, and what was it-Something car? Drive, right. Did they call a cab? What was it he... Oh. “Just stay, yeah?”
“Stay?” Hand on the door, Danny turns. His face is a bit hazy, or that might be Steve’s vision, it’s hard to tell and anyway, it probably doesn’t matter. What matters is that Steve missed a second in there or more, because he blinks and then Danny is kissing him, maybe Steve started it, it’s not important as long as they keep kissing and Steve’s back is to the wall and his fingers are clenched in Danny’s shirt. Steve makes a sound that he hopes is a question and pulls Danny away from the door, away from the hallway because Steve has a bedroom and it has a bed, and that’s good, bed is good.
He thinks he says as much, but he isn’t sure whether Danny understands because they’re still kissing and Danny tastes like whiskey, they probably both do, and the rough stroke of Danny’s tongue over his own makes Steve want to laugh and cling tighter, drag Danny down onto the mattress and right, yes, they made it to the bed. That’s... good. Yeah.
Steve falls first, Danny on top of him and it hurts a little because Danny’s knee hits his shin, right where the reef cut it open, but the sting isn’t too bad and anyway, Steve needs Danny’s shirt gone, but it’s actually Steve’s shirt and that’s a thought that gets his brain in twists and anyway, the shirt is in the way, and it’s... it’s offending Steve, is the word. And he wants it gone.
Danny exhales into Steve’s mouth, so Steve repeats the motion, rakes a nail over Danny’s chest and watches Danny’s eyes go dark and half-lidded, head lowering. He’s beautiful like this, and Steve would flip them over, thinks about flipping them over, but before he can make up his mind, Danny pushes a hand into Steve’s boxers and oh, when did they lose their pants?
It’s a question that can’t hold Steve’s interest, not when Danny is looking down at him, grinning wide and happy while his fingers wrap around Steve’s dick.
Steve pushes into the touch, arches his back off the mattress. He almost throws Danny off, mutters an apology and wraps an arm around his middle to keep him in place, and Danny’s laughing and smelling like alcohol and sand and some kind of cologne. Steve thinks he’s laughing, too, but then Danny does something with his thumb, some swipe-twist combination thing, and Steve’s breath stutters and he closes his eyes. Lets himself fall.
--
Steve wakes to the sound of someone else’s breathing and the taste of bile at the back of his throat.
Leaving the bed as quietly as he manages, he doesn’t turn around so he won’t see Danny still asleep, escapes into the bathroom without even a glance back. His mouth feels as if something died in there, but brushing his teeth merely draws attention the sick knot in his stomach. In order to keep it under control, he swallows an ibuprofen and two glasses of water. On his way out, he catches sight of the near-empty bottle of whiskey and two glasses, still sitting innocently on the terrace table.
Steve’s surfboard’s still strapped to the roof of his car, and while he wonders whether Danny heard the start of the engine, he shuts that line of thought down before it can go any further. It doesn’t matter, it’s not important, he doesn’t even care.
The sky shows the merest hint of orange and only two other cars are parked near the Pipe.
--
Mary takes one look at him and drops a stack of sheets. “What the hell happened to you?”
“The Pipe.” Steve lifts a shoulder and tries to push past her. The medical cabinet at the shop is better stacked than the one he has at home and anyway, home is not an option.
“The Pipe?” Mary blocks his path and takes a firm hold of his chin, turning his face into the light and standing on tiptoes to examine what is no more than a shallow cut above his left eye. He accepts it for a total of three seconds before pulling away.
“It’s nothing.”
In the absence of other sounds, her breathing is loud. She takes a step back and despite her frown, her voice is gentle. “You’re such an idiot, Steve. And you’re bleeding, which is at least one thing I can change.”
“You could appeal for a new brother,” he suggests.
“I’m afraid the warranty has expired.” She follows it up with a quick smile and gestures for him to lean against the counter. “Come on, since I’m stuck with you, I’ll see what I can do. Disinfectant spray and a band-aid should cut it, at least the part about your face.”
He’s silent while she retrieves the necessary items from the cabinet, looking up at the dusty windows that were cut into the roof back when they had this hut built; the plastic foil they used to cover the rectangular holes is shriveled up and should be changed at some point. Maybe Steve will do it tomorrow, or later this afternoon.
Mary returns with a cotton ball soaked in disinfectant solution. Again, she reaches for his chin and tilts his head into the light. He doesn’t fight it this time, closing his eyes and waiting for the sting before he says, “He has a daughter, you know.”
“A daughter you actually like.” Mary removes the cotton ball and leans in, breath warm on his cheek. “What’s more, Grace likes you.”
Steve keeps his eyes closed. “That’s exactly the problem.”
“You know that relationships aren’t automatically doomed to fail? I mean, has anyone ever told you that?”
“Yeah, I just never believed you.”
“Because you’re an idiot.” Her voice is affectionate even as she rips open the band-aid package.
“No.” Steve shakes his head and opens one eye, smiling a little. “Because you’re such a good example to the contrary.”
“It’s been a while since I was serious about someone,” Mary says. She looks up, fingers stilling, and purses her lips. “Is that what’s going on? You’re scared because this could be serious?”
“No.” The denial might come a little quickly, too forcefully.
“Okay.” Mary nods, but her eyes are narrowed and she continues to watch him for another few seconds before she remembers the band-aid in her hands. When she leans back in to put it on, her fingers are gentle on his face.
--
The front door is locked twice when Steve gets back and he finds his spare key in the mailbox. Inside, voluminous silence fills the rooms, and no movement disturbs the lonely speck of dust dancing in a beam of sunshine. The bottle and the glasses on the terrace haven’t been touched.
In the bedroom, only rumpled sheets remind of Danny’s presence. Everything else, including the shirt Steve loaned him, is gone.
Steve didn’t expect anything else, really.
--
Steve isn’t keeping track, not as such, but the days between Danny’s visit and Grace’s next lesson pass in a rush, filled with surfing and redecorating the shop, Steve spending more hours a night on the roof than he spends in his bed. Replacing the canvas cover with a more robust uPVC pane takes more measurements and effort than he thought, and since he’s already at the DIY store, he also buys a few buckets of paint to redo their sign and the outer walls.
In between, he ignores knowing looks from Mary and barely veiled threats from Chin that Kono relays with an air of confused reluctance. Steve assumes that Danny must have elicited some kind of promise to keep Chin physically away, though, and while it means Steve won’t have to defend his life, it also means he can’t ask Chin for an address.
He probably wouldn’t, anyway.
--
The problem with pretending that he has no idea about the date of Grace’s next lesson, with pretending he doesn’t watch the door with slightly more trepidation than potential customers justify, is that it only works until he hears Grace’s laughter outside, and his stomach drops. Like riding a good wave that suddenly collapses under his board.
She comes bounding into the shop a moment later, jumping into his arms with no hesitation. Steve didn’t even realize he was worried until he catches her. Grace’s smile is white against her tanned face. “Hello, Steve!”
“Hey yourself. Welcome back.” He shifts her weight on his hip and pointedly doesn’t turn when the brightness diminishes because someone is standing in the doorframe. “How was India?”
“I want an elephant,” she declares.
“An elephant.” Steve exhales and manages to locate a grin. “I thought all girls your age wanted ponies?”
“Unfortunately, both ponies and elephants tend to destroy perfectly good grass,” a female voice cuts in. The British accent is obvious, if slightly softened. “And that would put a damper on the gardener’s mood.”
Balancing Grace on his hip, Steve turns to find a beautiful woman leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed. While Steve isn’t an expert, he is fairly certain that her clothes cost more than the shop makes in a week. “You’re Rachel?” he asks, even though clarification isn’t really needed.
“Yes. And I assume that you would be Steve.” The way she twists the name tells him he’d be better off if he were anyone else. He nods anyway.
“Yeah. So it’s not-Danny isn’t here?”
“Danno has a date.” The amount of disgust Grace manages to squeeze into the word ‘date’ nearly makes Steve laugh until he gets the full implication of her sentence. His arms must tighten briefly because Grace follows up with, “Hey, you’re squashing me.” She pretends to gasp for air.
“Sorry.” Steve loosens his hold and gently lets her slide to the floor. While he avoids looking at Rachel, he can tell she’s watching his every move through sharp eyes.
“I think Kono’s waiting outside, sweetie,” Rachel says sweetly. “You just came in here to grab that shirt, remember?”
“Rashguard,” Grace corrects her, pulling it from the counter where Steve laid it out for her earlier. Maybe that would have been the right time to stop pretending he didn’t take a look at the calendar this morning.
“Rashguard. Yes.” Rachel steps aside to let Grace through, and then it’s just the two of them in the shop, Steve alone with Danny’s ex-wife, and he wonders whether that’s ironic in some way, or possibly just sad.
Danny is sending his ex because he’s on a date. Okay.
Jesus fuck, no. It’s not okay. It is not fucking okay, Steve isn’t okay with it and it’s an effort even to stand still, to brace himself for an encounter with someone he has no desire to know when he really just wants to be somewhere else, anywhere else, anywhere that isn’t here with Grace’s laughter outside and Danny’s exquisitely clad ex assessing him.
It’s Rachel who breaks the terse silence. “So,” she says, coming closer. Her skirt swings with each calculated step. “You’re Steve, then. That’s funny.”
Steve clears his throat and straightens, crossing his arms to mirror her posture. He doesn’t take a step back even though he has a feeling it might be wise. “What’s so funny about it?”
“Well, it is just...” Rachel gives him a derogatory once-over. “Danny said you’re gorgeous, but frankly, I don’t see it. You look more like a bum who spent the last few nights with a bottle of cheap red wine under some bridge.”
Once his brain gets past the part where Danny apparently described him as gorgeous to his ex-wife, Steve snorts softly. “Thanks ever so much.”
“I am not here to be nice to you.” Rachel’s voice is cutting, every word precise. “In fact, I’m here to explain something.”
“Really.” Steve doesn’t make it a question, but Rachel leans forward, a smile on her face that is devoid of any humor.
“Really,” she says slowly. “Because, see, if there is anyone on this planet who is allowed to make Danny Williams miserable, it’s me. It’s my privilege, and while I haven’t felt like using it in a while, it’s mine, and I grew up as a single child and thus never learned how to share. So please, tell me you had a very, very good reason for tucking your tail between your legs and running off like a scared dog. And,” the smile becomes even more twisted, pure contempt, “by the way, I don’t mean a Doberman. I’m talking about a small, miserable breed, the kind of dog old ladies put in their handbags.”
Steve fights the urge to scratch at the healing cut on his temple. He keeps his voice easy and controlled. “Again, thanks. You really have a way with words. Also, I think I’m beginning to see why it didn’t work out between Danny and you.”
“You did not answer my question.” The fact that she’s blocking the light makes it hard to read Rachel’s expression. Her silken blouse whispers softly when she shifts her stance.
“What was the question?” Steve asks.
“I want a reason. Because your reaction to Danny being on a date, with someone else,” her tone suggest she takes great pleasure in spelling it out, “someone who is not you-”
“I get it,” Steve interrupts.
“Do you?” Rachel leans close enough for him to catch a whiff of delicate perfume. “Because, see, that could have been you. Unfortunately, you missed your chance when you decided to be the kind of coward who runs the morning after.”
“We were both pretty drunk.” Even now, Steve only manages to piece together parts of the night after they hit their third glass, respectively. He doesn’t even know who started it, but he thinks it was Danny. Probably. Not that it makes a difference. Not that it makes a difference what he tells Rachel.
Only, he thinks it might.
“Alcohol? That’s your excuse?” Her eyes narrow to small slits. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I was under the impression that you weren’t fifteen anymore, so you should have enough control over your actions to do only things you want to do. Or am I to understand that sex wouldn’t have been on the plate if you’d been sober?”
“I didn’t even know it was on the plate in the first place.” Steve meets her eyes squarely, uncrossing his arms. “If I had, I might not have risked it.”
“Risked it?” Rachel’s voice loses some of its sharp edges. She seems about to fire off another question, but stops, studying him as if seeing him for the first time. Then she turns halfway around, lifting a manicured hand to point at the picture above the counter. “I take it that’s you?”
“Yeah.”
“So you can do that, but Danny is enough to have you running? I mean, Danny? You know he’s all bark and only a little bite, don’t you? Unless you’re one of the bad guys, of course.” Rachel chuckles softly, and when she drops her arms, she seems much younger all of a sudden, almost too young to have a daughter of Grace’s age. “Alright, Steve. You get points for being serious about him, so I reserve judgment. But,” her voice drops to a low level, “just for your information? If you do anything else, anything at all that could hurt Danny, I will kill you. Slowly. With a dull instrument.”
She’s protective of Danny; Steve can appreciate that as a positive quality in another person. He doesn’t see himself and Rachel having tea together anytime soon, but he can see where she’s coming from, at least. “Let me guess: You’re bark, but even more bite?”
“You better believe it.” Her smile reveals a row of remarkably white, even teeth. It takes Steve a moment to smile back, and even when he does, he’s sure it turns out crooked. Rachel appears to notice because her expression softens. She hesitates, glancing at the doorway before she says, “Also, for your information, Gracie thinks that the guy Danny’s meeting right now is boring and that you are, I quote, ‘so much cooler.’”
“Thank you,” Steve says. This time, he means it.
--
Steve expects the slow contraction of his lungs the second time Grace arrives for her lesson, relishes the lack of space in his chest when he picks her up, but he doesn’t expect the disappointment when it’s Rachel’s driver dropping her off. He doesn’t ask where Danny is.
--
Thursday afternoons are traditionally slow, so once Grace and Kono have left for the water, chatting happily about flower patterns, Steve grabs a beer for himself and focuses on getting a surfboard he bought cheap and used into prime condition so it’s fit for reselling. It’s a fancy board, solid quality from a manufacturer on the island, but the fact that it’s custom-made according to specific wishes will beat down the price.
He has the door between sales room and garage open, but he’s bent over the board and doesn’t hear anyone come into the shop. Therefore, Danny’s voice takes him by surprise. “Just so there are no misconceptions,” there is no inflection to the words, “I’m only here because Rachel called me in the middle of a date and told me that something came up and the driver won’t be able to pick up Gracie. It has nothing to do with you and me, okay? I’m here for my daughter.”
Slowly, Steve straightens. His balance feels off, as if someone had jerked his center of gravity out of his body and half a foot to the left. “You want a beer?” he asks. His voice is a little rough.
“Did you not hear me?” Danny sounds closer, as if he took a step over the threshold into the garage. “Because, please, tell me which part of ‘I’m only here for my daughter’ was so hard to understand? I thought it was pretty clear.”
“Grace’s lesson doesn’t finish for another thirty minutes.” Steve turns and scrubs a hand over his face before he remembers that he has blue paint on his fingers. Danny’s gaze follows the motion before it snaps away.
“Thirty minutes?” he repeats.
“Well.” Steve swallows. “Yeah.”
“Fuck Rachel and her completely unnecessary meddling, then,” Danny says with feeling. The skin under his eyes is thin and gray.
Steve manages to get enough air into his lungs to ask, again, “You want a beer?”
The following silence is sharp, like a living being that uncurls between them, stretching as it examines its claws. Steve takes a step forward, watches Danny watching him.
“You look like shit,” Danny says suddenly. “Like, okay, I know you think you’re not quite human because you know how to walk on water, but people need sleep, and that’s a fact. Sleep, Steve. That’s when you close your eyes and lie still for a few hours, and fuck, you know what? I don’t care, actually. Spend your days sleepwalking, if that’s what you want. I’m going to wait outside in the car, I need to call Pete since I told him it would only take an hour-”
Steve kisses him.
Danny’s stubble scratches against Steve’s chin and when Danny sucks in a harsh breath, Steve can feel it all along his front. He presses closer, and Danny’s mouth opens under his, Danny’s head tilting back for a better angle even as his nails dig into Steve’s back and leave behind pinpricks of pain.
Danny tears his mouth away, mutters, “You fucking asshole, you think you can just roll all over me and sweep me off my feet and it’s enough of an apology? Well, no. And fuck you for thinking it’s okay.” His voice is shot to hell, and Steve gives him just enough time to draw another breath before he kicks the door shut and pushes Danny back against the wood, dropping to his knees.
“You have got to be kidding me. Seriously, is this your-” Danny falls abruptly silent when Steve unbuttons his pants and slides the zipper down. When Steve looks up, Danny’s eyes are dark and faintly crazy, and there is a sizeable bulge denting his boxers. “I,” Danny mumbles, sounding barely aware of his own words, “was trained for situations where there’s a threat and I have my back to the wall, like right now. Get the hell away from me, or I swear I will break your hand.” He reaches out and grips Steve’s shoulder hard enough to bruise. Even if Steve wanted, he couldn’t go anywhere.
“Okay,” Steve says quietly, softly. He tugs Danny’s pants down his thighs and slides both hands up Danny’s legs, exhaling when Danny’s hips tilt forward, away from the door. Steve pushes him back and nudges his nose against the bulge in Danny’s boxers, closes his eyes and sucks in the sharp, warm scent of Danny’s arousal.
Danny shudders against him and manages no more than a rough whisper. “You’re such an asshole. Fucking drive me crazy.”
Steve dips his head. The cloth of Danny’s boxers is coarse under his tongue, tastes faintly of detergent, but Danny’s half-choked moan is beautiful, and Steve wants more, wants everything. He leans back only to shove the boxers down, puts his mouth on Danny’s cock before Danny can even think to protest. It’s smoothly curved, the skin silky under Steve’s tongue, and surely Steve would remember Danny’s cock if he’d seen, touched it before, but he doesn’t, and he’s more than a little in love with it, with the soft, breathless noises Danny makes, more than a little in love with Danny.
When he adjusts his grip on Danny’s hip, he leaves a smeared blue thumbprint in the dip below Danny’s hipbone. He stretches to kiss the spot, sucking on the skin and leaving it red and bruised, obvious.
He slants his gaze up to find Danny staring at him. Their eyes hold, continue to hold when Danny loosens his grip on Steve’s shoulder and trails his hand to the back of Steve’s neck, heel coming to rest on the first knot of Steve’s spine, thumb just brushing the short hair. Steve doesn’t break their gaze even as he leans back in, opens his mouth for the tip of Danny’s cock. Danny’s head falls back against the door when Steve slides down, down and swallows until his throat feels raw and his nose is buried in Danny’s pubic hair.
“You’re too fucking good at this.” Danny sounds as if he has trouble shaping the words. “It’s unfair, and fuck, I don’t even want to know where you learned how to-” Again, he falls abruptly silent. Keeping his tongue curled against the underside of Danny’s cock, Steve pulls off with a slurp that sounds obscene in the quiet space that surrounds them, their harsh breathing louder than the muted yells of people outside.
Danny’s gasp when Steve slides back down has Steve drag a hand over his own erection. Danny is babbling something, more noise than actual words, and his hips stutter in Steve’s grip, twitching closer. Pulling back for a long, deep breath, Steve waits until Danny’s lids flutter open. Then he grins and lets go of Danny’s hip. “Go ahead.”
He leans back in, wrapping his mouth around Danny’s cock without giving him time for a reply. For several beats, it looks as if Danny is at a loss, completely frozen before he dares to nudge his hips forward, more a suggestion than actual movement. Steve flicks his tongue against the vein on the underside of Danny’s cock and it’s like flicking a switch because Danny twitches closer, his cock sliding further down, and Steve has to consciously relax his throat so he won’t gag. Fuck, he loves this, loves the burn and the helpless sounds Danny makes, loves that Danny’s hand is still gentle on the nape of his neck.
Steve reaches back to twine their fingers.
His jaw aches distantly, he hasn’t done this in a while, but Danny groans and pushes in, hips jerking, head thumping back against the door. Steve squints at him through half-lidded eyes, squeezes his own cock through his pants because shit, this definitely wasn’t part of their drunken night; even drunk out of his mind, he wouldn’t have been able to forget just how stunning Danny is like this, when he just lets go.
Reaching up to press a finger against that spot behind Danny’s cock, Steve hums noiselessly, forces his eyes to remain open when Danny’s entire body shivers and he bucks forward once, twice and utters a cut-off warning, giving Steve a faint nudge. Steve stays right where he is.
Danny goes completely still as he comes. His eyes are squeezed shut, lashes bright against his skin, his body a delicious arch towards Steve who pulls back a little, just enough to catch most of the creamy-bitter taste on his tongue. He doesn’t swallow as a general rule, but it’s Danny.
It’s Danny.
Slipping a hand into his own pants, Steve rests his cheek against Danny’s thigh and brings himself off with a couple of rough strokes, vision blacking out for a moment. When he comes down, his own pulse reverberating loudly in his ears, he listens to Danny’s breathing slows gradually before Danny slides down to the floor, pants still around his knees, cock hanging out of his boxers. Steve sits back on his haunches and tries to imprint the picture in his mind.
“Is this your version of compensation?” Danny sounds positively wrecked, two splotches of red color high on his cheeks. “Because, you know, you could have started with an apology. I mean, picture yourself in my position, waking up in an empty bed, in an empty house, and hey, guess what?” He snorts and shakes his head, looking away. “I was stupid enough to wait almost an hour in case you only went out to buy breakfast. Delusional, hmm?”
“No,” Steve manages. “And I’m sorry.”
It takes several seconds before Danny says, staring at a spot left of Steve’s shoulder, “Okay. Noted. Are you also sorry you fell asleep on me? Because I honestly love nothing more than finishing off while the other person is snoring next to me. Just makes you feel so appreciated, if you know what I mean. Which you probably don’t.”
“I…” Steve drops his gaze to the blue fingerprint on Danny’s hip. He wants his hands back there, wants his hands all over Danny’s body and leave marks that will make sure he’ll be able to retrace his path the next morning. “Yeah. I’m sorry. Guess I had even more whiskey than you did.”
“That’s about the worst excuse in the universe,” Danny says sharply.
“An explanation, though?” Steve dares to let his lips curl into a half-quirked smile. Danny’s gaze drops and his entire expression changes, all irritation melting away to be replaced by a glimpse of pure hunger.
“You didn’t…” Danny leans forward, voice low, and drags his thumb over the corner of Steve’s mouth. “Catch all of it,” he finishes, glancing up as he lifts his hand. Steve wraps his fingers around Danny’s wrist and pulls him closer, bends his head to lick Danny’s thumb clean. They’re close enough for Steve to feel Danny exhale in a rush.
“Come home with me.” Steve looks up and holds Danny’s gaze.
Danny swallows audibly. “I need to drop Gracie off first.”
“Kono can do it.”
“I’m not ditching my daughter, Steve.” A hint of sharpness has returned, but mostly, Danny sounds helpless.
“Okay,” Steve says, “fair enough, you’re right. Drop Grace off, then follow me home.”
Danny sways forward, one hand coming to rest on Steve’s waist, the other still in Steve’s grasp. “Pete’s waiting for me.”
“Grace says he’s boring.”
A soft sigh, half a chuckle. “Compared to you, most guys are boring.”
“Are you quoting Gracie here, or is that your own assessment?” Without warning, Steve pulls roughly and lets the momentum bring their mouths together, teeth clashing before Danny gives in and up, twists closer and pushes his tongue into Steve’s mouth. When Steve sinks into it, it’s Danny’s hands and the weight of Danny’s body that keep him from falling.
They separate when Grace’s cheerful voice calls for Steve to come outside, look at a new ding on her surfboard, and also, is that Danny’s car on the road?
Danny is smiling, his eyes bright. He pulls back to tug up his boxers and pants, tucking himself in, but even so, his messy hair and flushed cheeks speak a clear language. They make Steve’s fingers itch to reach for him again; instead, he straightens up as well. His boxers stick to his skin, and his knees are likely to show evidence of the time he spent on rough concrete floor.
“For future reference…” Danny braces one hand against the door as he climbs to his feet, but pauses long enough to give Steve an appreciative look. “If you factor out flowers, the color pink and a surfboard, my daughter and I actually have pretty similar tastes.”
“So you’ll come over.” It’s not quite a question, not quite a statement. The space between Steve’s words and Danny’s reaction expands into miles until Steve catches the upwards tilt to Danny’s lips.
“Give me an hour.”
--
It’s pure habit that wakes Steve just as the sun is brightening the eastern edge of the sky. He doesn’t move for a few seconds, listening to the regular pattern of Danny’s breath before he turns to look at him. Danny’s sprawled over the better half of the bed, blanket covering his body up to the waist, his naked back gleaming in the dusky light of morning.
Steve thinks about kissing the stretch of skin between Danny’s neck and shoulder.
Instead, he gets up quietly and finds a pen and paper in his nightstand. He leaves the note on his own pillow and hopes Danny will find it before he begins drafting a list of insults to hurl at Steve. In the bathroom, Steve lays out the spare toothbrush he bought a few days ago. It’s pink.
He thinks Danny will understand.
--
Against the golden glow of the rising sun, Steve doesn’t notice Danny coming outside, and when he spots him on the beach, barefoot, wearing only boxers and an unbuttoned shirt, it isn’t clear how long he’s been standing there.
Steve draws air into his lungs and submerges, saltwater stinging in his eyes as he cuts towards the shore. He doesn’t resurface until his lungs begin to burn. By then, the water is shallow enough that he feels the ground beneath his feet. Shaking water out of his hair and eyes, he stands up and finds Danny watching him. Briefly, Steve is distracted by a faint mark that stands out against Danny’s skin, just below his ribs, and when he remembers that he should start with a ‘good morning,’ Danny has already tilted his head, a light frown on his face.
“Is this going to become a habit, then?” He pauses when Steve draws closer, gaze dropping down to Steve’s stomach, and oh, it’s good to know Steve isn’t alone in this; Steve wasn’t aware he was worried until something in his chest relaxes. “I mean,” Danny continues, “I don’t expect champagne breakfast in bed, exactly, but it would be nice to wake up with you still around. Would be something new, you see? A change of pace. Some people might argue that there are advantages to not having to spend the first half hour tracking down the other person.”
“It’s just a morning swim, Danny. Did you find my note?” Wetness weighs down Steve’s trunks, makes them slippery so they sit dangerously low on his hips. He tugs them back up and looks over just in time to find Danny watching his fingers, expression completely open. “The note?” Steve repeats. He’s pretty sure he’s grinning.
“Yes,” Danny replies absently. Steve smiles and waits until Danny is meeting his eyes.
“You’re not really annoyed, are you?”
“You’re mostly naked and wet.” Danny’s tone is dry, but it’s laced with an underlying note of fondness, a quirk of humor. “Make me a cup of coffee and I’ll let you know.”
It’s enough of an invitation, as far as Steve is concerned. He crosses the few feet that still separate them, slides wet arms around Danny’s waist to tug him forward despite Danny’s half-hearted protest that Steve is fresh from the ocean and dripping, just in case he didn’t notice, so could he please find a towel before launching himself at anyone wearing dry clothes?
Steve is still laughing when his mouth covers Danny’s and effectively cuts off any protest. Danny tastes like Steve’s toothpaste, salty licorice, and he pulls Steve closer without hesitation, without resistance. His hands are warm on Steve’s skin. When Danny inhales, Steve feels it in the expansion of Danny’s stomach against his own.
He pulls back just far enough to say, “Coffee, fine. I’ll make you all the coffee you want, if you promise not to get dressed any more than you are right now. This is the maximum amount of clothing you’re allowed to wear.”
Danny raises a brow, but his breathing is slightly accelerated, spoiling any attempt at nonchalance. “What, for today? Or are we talking about the rest of my life? Because I think that might create problems at work, what with the requirement of bulletproof vests and all.”
“When you’re here, then.” Steve clears his throat, listens to the rush of the waves and his own pulse loud in his ears. “By the way and for what it’s worth, I was rather hoping this might become a habit.”
Three heartbeats pass before Danny says, “Yeah. Yeah, I could handle that.” He’s smiling, brilliant and true. Behind him, the sun splits clear from the silhouette of the mountains.
.finis.
(Comments are lovely.)
Soundtrack, for those who are interested in that kind of thing:
(Download here, password: H50)
- I’m From Barcelona - This Boy (When I wake up in the morning and I’m feeling all right / When I stumble into bed another Saturday night / All the voices in my head and all the people I meet / They’re all trying so hard to make a man out of me)
Behind three smaller waves, he spots one that rises high and beautiful and has his name written all over it. - Backseat Goodbye - Hey (Hey, I think you’re cute / Would you like to be my new best friend? / We can talk for hours or just lay in bed // And I just laughed and asked if you’d like / A coke or some sort of assorted beverage // I’ll be the bright side of your bad day)
Steve shakes his head and opens the fridge, directing a grin at Danny. “C’mon, you can’t seriously choose beer over paperwork.” - Donavon Frankenreiter & Jack Johnson - Free (We could let this love be the fading sky / We could drift all night until the new sunrise / Pass me a drink or maybe two / One for me and one for you / And we’ll be / Free, Free)
“I think the expression you’re looking for is ‘freedom,’” Danny says. - KT Tunstall - Lost (But as the tide retreats / It’s showing me the shore / There’s danger going deeper // If I choose to go with the way I’m feeling / Does it really mean that’s the way it is / Is it just a trick that my eyes are playing on my mind)
“No. Not a problem.” Only it makes something in Steve’s chest squirm uncomfortably, a strange tightness he doesn’t like. “I’m not a hypocrite.” - Chairlift - Bruises (I tried to do handstands for you / But every time I fell for you / I’m permanently black and blue / Permanently blue for you)
In four days, Steve spends three mornings at the Pipe despite conditions that are the opposite of ideal. - The National - Lemonworld (So happy I was invited / Give me a reason to get out of the city / See you inside watching swarms on TV // You and your sister live in a lemonworld // I’m too tired to drive anyway, anyway right now / Do you care if I stayed? // Lay me on the table, put flowers in my mouth / And we can say that we invented a summer lovin’ torture party // Losing my breath)
Danny’s answer consists of sliding his glass across the table. - Brand New - Tautou (I’m sinking like a stone in the sea / I’m burning like a bridge for your body)
“Stay?” Hand on the door, Danny turns. - Greg Laswell - Off I Go (Loose ends, they tangle down / And then take flight / But never tie me down / Never tie me down // Off I go / Where I fall / Is where I land)
Steve wakes to the sound of someone else’s breathing and the taste of bile at the back of his throat. - The XX - Heart Skipped a Beat (Heart skipped a beat / And when I caught it you were out of reach / But I’m sure, I’m sure / You’ve heard it before)
“Danno has a date.” The amount of disgust Grace manages to squeeze into the word ‘date’ nearly makes Steve laugh until he gets the full implication of her sentence. - Matt Nathanson - Car Crah (Tell me this is paradise / And not someplace I fell / 'Cause I keep on fallin' down // I wanna feel the car crash / I wanna feel the capsize / I wanna feel the bomb drop, the earth stop / 'Til I'm satisfied)
Steve kisses him. - Laura DiStasi - Stay (Sweep me away / I wanna be lost inside you / Just for today / Or a lifetime // So I may be crazy / But I can’t let you slip away / Stay)
In the bathroom, Steve lays out the spare toothbrush he bought a few days ago. It’s pink.
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