Danny didn't think he'd ever see a day too hot for Steve, not for this Navy SEAL George of the Jungle type who would sooner chew out his own liver than ever back down from a challenge. But it's an unusually muggy day, something to do with the mountains and moisture and fog, and everyone in Hawaii who thrives on dry heat is suddenly overtaken by the evil life-sucking demon that is humidity.
Danny, having grown up and lived in New Jersey, is fine with it.
"Steve," he says, flopping down on the bed between Steve's legs (not in a lewd way, or at least not yet - Steve's quite literally airing out his bits.)
"Nmmnm." There's a pillow over Steve's head, how that keeps him cool Danny has no idea but logic has never worked with this man.
"Steven. You're killing me here. Get up, you're going to grow mold."
"Sh'dup," Steve says.
"That's original. And creative, and quite eloquent, too. What is wrong with you? So it's muggy. You could do a hundred-meter freestyle in a hot spring if you wanted."
Steve's body twitches on the bed, but he doesn't say a thing.
"That's it." Danny heaves a sigh. "You want me to make matters worse? Because I can make matters worse if you don't get up."
Nothing.
"You asked for it." And now Danny does worm himself up into the notch of Steve's legs, blowing cool air over the aforementioned bits.
"Nng, that's nice, do that again," Steve says. First coherent sentence out of him in a while.
"Are you for serious? Yeah, OK." Danny blows a line of air down his thigh. Steve's knee turns outward to try and get some air in the sweaty fold beneath it.
"Do I look like your personal air conditioning? For Pete's sake." Danny licks up that line of sweat instead, and Steve shivers all over. "Oh, shivers are good. Shivers are progress." He kisses the inside of Steve's thigh.
Steve's hands come down and grip his hair, pulling him closer, trying to tug him upward.
"Steve. You do realize this is heading in a direction that's just going to make you more hot and sweaty."
The only response is a harder tug. "Geez. Yowch. OK." Danny sighs. "No complaining later, babe."
There are no complaints later, but mostly that's just because they're both unable to move.
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Danny, having grown up and lived in New Jersey, is fine with it.
"Steve," he says, flopping down on the bed between Steve's legs (not in a lewd way, or at least not yet - Steve's quite literally airing out his bits.)
"Nmmnm." There's a pillow over Steve's head, how that keeps him cool Danny has no idea but logic has never worked with this man.
"Steven. You're killing me here. Get up, you're going to grow mold."
"Sh'dup," Steve says.
"That's original. And creative, and quite eloquent, too. What is wrong with you? So it's muggy. You could do a hundred-meter freestyle in a hot spring if you wanted."
Steve's body twitches on the bed, but he doesn't say a thing.
"That's it." Danny heaves a sigh. "You want me to make matters worse? Because I can make matters worse if you don't get up."
Nothing.
"You asked for it." And now Danny does worm himself up into the notch of Steve's legs, blowing cool air over the aforementioned bits.
"Nng, that's nice, do that again," Steve says. First coherent sentence out of him in a while.
"Are you for serious? Yeah, OK." Danny blows a line of air down his thigh. Steve's knee turns outward to try and get some air in the sweaty fold beneath it.
"Do I look like your personal air conditioning? For Pete's sake." Danny licks up that line of sweat instead, and Steve shivers all over. "Oh, shivers are good. Shivers are progress." He kisses the inside of Steve's thigh.
Steve's hands come down and grip his hair, pulling him closer, trying to tug him upward.
"Steve. You do realize this is heading in a direction that's just going to make you more hot and sweaty."
The only response is a harder tug. "Geez. Yowch. OK." Danny sighs. "No complaining later, babe."
There are no complaints later, but mostly that's just because they're both unable to move.