![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gyzymLeft computer downstairs in attempt to sleep; wrote post-ep on phone instead. Insanity offical, send help.
"Housebreaker," Steve says, and shuts the door. Danny looks up at him from the couch, down to his boxers and nursing a beer, and sighs.
"Funny thing, McGarrett," he says, "but when you date a lunatic, it is prudent, okay, it is wise, to learn the signs of an impending breakdown. I am an officer of the law and you, my friend, are a danger to yourself and others, and that message you left me? Yeah, it was not so much with the sanity. And actually, we need to talk about that anyway, because my voicemail is not the place for your freakish note-to-self debriefing bullshit, capiche? Would it have killed you to use a full sentence, that's all I'm asking, we're gonna have to get you a tape recorder or something--"
"You come here to yell at me or fuck me?"
"You're a real sweetheart, you know that?" Danny says, but when Steve takes his arm and drags him toward the stairs, he goes.
They fuck raw, sick-close and dangerous, leaving bruises like war wounds across each others' skin. Steve's a high wire act, scrabbling for a soft land in Danny's hardest places, and Danny lets him have it; he tucks into Steve's bared throat, his half-whines threaded gossamer thin between Steve's grunts. It's a stupid, fucked-up thing to do, to touch where he should talk, to distract instead of focus. Then again, Steve's a stupid, fucked up guy, guiding strangers into chaos, sleeping in the house his parents built.
"Goddamn," Danny breathes, when Steve comes without meaning to, too soon and too hard, "have a little courtesy, c'mon, you gonna blueball me after I dragged myself all this way?" Steve sucks him dry in recompense, making him writhe against the sheets, cataloguing every filthy word he chokes around to keep from thinking anything else.
"Your next tattoo," Danny says, when they're sticky between the sheets, sweat-stained and through with each other. "It's gonna say 'My life is not an action movie,' we're gonna put it on your fucking forehead."
"That's cute, Danno," Steve says. Danny bites him on the shoulder too hard to be pleasant, and Steve breathes in the comfort of that, of Danny's sawed-rough human touch, long after he closes his eyes.
Posted via LiveJournal.app.
"Housebreaker," Steve says, and shuts the door. Danny looks up at him from the couch, down to his boxers and nursing a beer, and sighs.
"Funny thing, McGarrett," he says, "but when you date a lunatic, it is prudent, okay, it is wise, to learn the signs of an impending breakdown. I am an officer of the law and you, my friend, are a danger to yourself and others, and that message you left me? Yeah, it was not so much with the sanity. And actually, we need to talk about that anyway, because my voicemail is not the place for your freakish note-to-self debriefing bullshit, capiche? Would it have killed you to use a full sentence, that's all I'm asking, we're gonna have to get you a tape recorder or something--"
"You come here to yell at me or fuck me?"
"You're a real sweetheart, you know that?" Danny says, but when Steve takes his arm and drags him toward the stairs, he goes.
They fuck raw, sick-close and dangerous, leaving bruises like war wounds across each others' skin. Steve's a high wire act, scrabbling for a soft land in Danny's hardest places, and Danny lets him have it; he tucks into Steve's bared throat, his half-whines threaded gossamer thin between Steve's grunts. It's a stupid, fucked-up thing to do, to touch where he should talk, to distract instead of focus. Then again, Steve's a stupid, fucked up guy, guiding strangers into chaos, sleeping in the house his parents built.
"Goddamn," Danny breathes, when Steve comes without meaning to, too soon and too hard, "have a little courtesy, c'mon, you gonna blueball me after I dragged myself all this way?" Steve sucks him dry in recompense, making him writhe against the sheets, cataloguing every filthy word he chokes around to keep from thinking anything else.
"Your next tattoo," Danny says, when they're sticky between the sheets, sweat-stained and through with each other. "It's gonna say 'My life is not an action movie,' we're gonna put it on your fucking forehead."
"That's cute, Danno," Steve says. Danny bites him on the shoulder too hard to be pleasant, and Steve breathes in the comfort of that, of Danny's sawed-rough human touch, long after he closes his eyes.
Posted via LiveJournal.app.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-03-23 03:03 am (UTC)Write! I MEANT WRITE!
*lets the typo stand*