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It's hot as hell, and they haven't made love, fuck, they haven't even fooled around since the heatwave started several weeks ago, and Danny's sick and tired of the ever present heat, or maybe he's just sick; and he just wants to sleep, but he can't because it's too damn hot and right now even Steve's a furnace, which wouldn't be so bad during Hawaii's 'winter' months, but it's downright torture now.
"I'm going into the office." Danny rolls out of bed and stumbles into the bathroom. Steve doesn't even twitch in his sleep, and Danny shakes his head at his partner.
Some Navy SEAL you are, he thinks. Didn't even notice that I left the bed. I could be a North Korean spy and tiptoe right past your lightly snoring ass, steal all of the hand grenades that you've stashed in every nook and cranny of this place, and you'd be none the wiser.
Wanting nothing more than to cool down, thoughts of going into the office where there is air conditioning, trickle away, because he's exhausted, and he wants a quick fix, Danny steps into the shower, and turns on the water to its coldest setting. The icy spray feels good, and Danny closes his eyes, wonders if he can stay there until the heatwave moves on, even if it does, as predicted, last through early October.
Talking to Steve about getting an air conditioner had been like talking to a wall, except Danny thinks that, had he been talking to a wall, he might've gotten somewhere - peeling paint, reverberations of his own voice echoing back to him...
Instead, he got the whole line of reasoning about living near the ocean, and the natural currents of air, and how it was only temporary, that weather forecasts weren't set in stone, and blah, fucking blah.
These last couple of days, it's been hot before the sun even comes up, and, yeah, Danny gets that it's atypical of Hawaii, and that it probably (hopefully) won't last forever (several weeks and counting, though). There'd been six days of record-breaking temperatures in the past week alone, though Steve had seemed impervious to it. No doubt the former SEAL had been stationed in hotter places over his years of service, making this seem like nothing.
But atypical or not, Danny shouldn't be sweating from just sitting on the couch in nothing more than his boxers, or, hell, sitting out on the lanai. It made no difference whether he was inside or outside, and, no, a fan did not make that much of a difference, because all it did was push around the hot, humid air and make the place feel like a windy sauna.
"God, I hate Hawaii."
Danny sits down in the bottom of the shower, and closes his eyes. He's tired, and hot, and he just wants to sleep in an air conditioned room, but he can't get that without driving into work, or checking into a hotel, so he'll settle for sleeping underneath the cool spray of the shower for now, because the thought of moving, let alone driving anywhere, and getting dressed to do so, is unappealing, in spite of his announcement to his sleeping partner.
Danny's startled out of a light doze and gulps in several mouthfuls of water that's gotten lukewarm since he started the shower, before it even registers that Steve's talking to him, lips moving soundlessly, forehead pinched with concern, blue-green, gold-flecked eyes filled with worry.
Steve's crouching beside the tub, hand on Danny's shoulder, face inches from Danny's, and it's ridiculous. All of it. The heat, the shower, Danny's fantasies of getting a good night's sleep on the couch in his office, or of him and Steve fucking on an iceberg where the only heat is the heat that's generated between them, not the heavy, oppressive crap that's been clinging to him like a second skin.
"C'mon, Danny," Steve's saying, and Danny shakes his head, pulls away from Steve with an uncoordinated jerk that causes Steve to lose his footing and his hold on Danny, and fall into the tub with him.
Steve lands face-down in Danny's crotch with his ass up in the air, wind knocked out of him. Danny's got visions of some raunchy comedy routine in his head, and he laughs - a weak, pathetic sounding thing.
Steve's lips - his mouth, no doubt opening to protest, or to complain - brush against the tip of Danny's cock, and Danny feels like he's been struck by lightning, or electrocuted (had someone slipped a toaster in the tub with him, maybe that North Korean spy that Steve had slept through the arrival of?).
Whatever it was that Steve had been trying to say comes out garbled, and Danny's cock takes interest in the heat that's coming from his partner's mouth. The first heat that hasn't sapped him of energy and made him long for a month-long, vacation in Siberia or Antarctica or on the far side of the moon. And fuck if it doesn't wake him up, and make him shiver in the way that the cold water of the shower hadn't.
"Steve," Danny moans, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, hands going to Steve's hair, hips arching, cock twitching, and he thinks that this wouldn't be happening right now, they'd be having normal sex in bed like a normal couple if Steve had simply purchased a fucking air conditioner like Danny had asked (pleaded). Danny wouldn't be practically mauling a nearly upside down Steve in the bottom of a shower with water pelting down on them, getting onto the floor, soaking the rug.
Steve would probably complain about that, later, but for now, Steve's mouth - and for some reason he's being extremely accommodating - is working something loose that's been building up inside of Danny for several weeks now, and there are no words. There's only lukewarm water, the desperate, needy sounds that Steve's mouth is coaxing from Danny's echoing off the tile of the bathroom walls, and a blissful, yet incendiary heat building up inside of Danny that pushes aside the energy-sapping heat that seems to have overtaken the whole of Hawaii.
"Gah...Ste...gonna..."
Danny's mind short-circuits when Steve ignores the way that Danny's fingers dig a warning into his scalp, and there are fireworks going off somewhere behind Danny's closed eyelids. He doesn't remember shutting them, or Steve's mouth-tongue-teeth-lips-fuckingstubbledchin being quite this...calculated...before.
Danny's seen this side of Steve - at work - knows that when he gets this way - intense and purposeful - there's no derailing him from his mission. Though, usually Steve's missions involve a liberal amount of bullets flying through the air, and a handful of grenades being lobbed overhead, and much ducking out of the line of fire, Danny's not complaining. Right now, he's the only grenade in danger of going off, and Steve will be the only casualty, his mouth the sole recipient of any incidental shrapnel.
He's never had Steve's militaristic attentions focused on him like this, and fuck, he can't breathe, can't think, can't fucking move, because Steve's sucking the very life out of him, like some kind of vampire who feeds, not on blood - though Danny's pretty sure that, if it is blood that Steve wants, all of Danny's is pooled in the very member that Steve's mouth is so intently focused on, and he can have it all so long as he leaves Danny happy and sated - but on sex.
A sex vampire.
And maybe he says that aloud, because Steve's laughing, and that causes all sorts of vibrations that knock different things inside of Danny loose, and he's a goner, Steve's mouth-tongue-teeth-throat-lips slip-slide-squeeze, and Danny's hips jerk upward, his limbs stiffen and then go loose like jellyfish tentacles.
Deaf, blind, dumb, all that Danny can feel is the heat radiating from Steve's mouth, and, unlike the heatwave that Hawaii's been experiencing, it's a welcome one.
When he can see and hear again, Danny blinks to find that Steve's clambered into the tub with him. There's a goofy grin on the man's face, and Danny shakes his head, jabs a finger in his direction, but, before he can open his mouth, Steve surges forward, trapping him against the back wall of the tub, and requisitions his mouth. After a half-hearted struggle, Danny relinquishes his mouth, letting Steve's tongue map its contours, tasting an intoxicating mixture of himself and Steve in the aftermath of his mind-blowing orgasm.
Kissed speechless - and that's a first - Danny watches Steve through eyelids that have grown heavy. The man is quick and efficient as he cleans up, turns the water off, and somehow manages to haul a very sedate and no doubt slippery Danny up and out of the tub without losing his grip on him.
"C'mon, Danny, let's get you back to bed." Steve's voice is husky, and Danny mumbles something incoherent. His thoughts are fireflies caught in a jar, lights winking in and out, fading as night wanes and day approaches, though it's still several hours off in the distance, and Danny could get used to this...quietude.
Steve's smug smile as he looks down on Danny, splayed out on top of sheets that are (thankfully) cool, is nothing short of possessive and commandeering. He sinks down beside Danny, pulls the unresisting man to his side, and commands, "Sleep, Danno."
There's a press of cool-warm lips against his temple, and Danny sighs, turns so that he can nestle against Steve's chest, mumbles something about vampires and air conditioners, because his mind cannot seem to follow a single train of thought to its logical conclusion, and everything is all mixed up in his head. He blames the heat.
Steve chuckles, and says, "We'll see." and "I'm not a vampire." even as he playfully bites Danny's collarbone, eliciting a half-whimpered moan, and then kisses the top of Danny's head, tucking him in underneath his chin.
"Sleep," the order is a whispered plea, and maybe Steve wasn't as asleep as Danny had thought he was earlier. Maybe that North Korean spy wouldn't have been able to slip past him so easily, after all.
Danny's muscles are slack, and, in spite of Steve's heat beside him, and the ceiling fan working at pulling and moving the hot, stifling air around them, Danny finds Steve's order easy to obey, and, for the first time in weeks, Danny falls into a deep, uninterrupted sleep, his dreams a direct juxtaposition to the heat that surrounds him.