drabbles. None won; I forfeited in round 4 since I couldn't get my submission in on time. :(
Summary: Danny should have known this wouldn’t go according to plan.
Warnings: A sexual reference and some innuendo
“What row are we in?” Steve asks as they squeeze by an enormous guy wearing a yellow track suit and step over another with stubble more scruffy than his own.
Danny absently scratches at his chin, looks at the ticket stubs and responds, “Well, I’m in row fifteen, you’re in sixteen. Middle seat for both”
“That’s what we get for flying coach,” Steve gripes. “I told you we should have tried for a military transport.”
Danny struggles to put his carry-on in the overhead bin and warily watches the blond across the way argue with her boyfriend, hoping nothing more dramatic than that happens on their return flight. He’s tired and sticky; he itches like crazy and can’t wait to get back to that pineapple-infested hellhole of a jungle he calls home.
“No. With my luck they’d get some sort of emergency mission en route that you, Mr. Super Seal, would volunteer us to help with. And while the bruises and contusions have finally healed, mentally? I’m still not over the last time that happened. Also, how the hell do you pick up accents so fast? Four days in Sydney for a prisoner exchange and you sound like a native.
Steve answers with a smirk, “Talented tongue.”
Danny wasn’t even gonna touch that comment
After the first patch of turbulence, Danny manages to talk the old guy next to Steve into switching seats. After the second, Danny has to convince Steve that twenty-three hours in a simulator does not qualify him to pilot a jumbo jet and promises a blow job for every minute that Steve restrains himself. They’re up to eight when the back of the plane shears off.
Forty-two minutes later Danny is shaking sand out of his hair wondering why this place looks so much like Hawaii.
Summary: “If I wasn’t a sailor, I wouldn’t be here.”
Warnings: Angst; death of a non-canon character.
Steve thought it ironic that he bravely stood in the line of fire on a frighteningly regular basis, but the sound of those rifles could always make him flinch, even when he knew it was coming. The echo of each round reverberating in his chest, he clinched his fists tightly to fight against the urge to rub his hand over his heart; to ease the weary ache of loss.
Between the volleys, Steve silently mimed the long abandoned but deeply ingrained pacer, “If I wasn’t a sailor, I wouldn’t be here.” Such a small concession on an otherwise painful day, but it pleased him that the next round only began as he ended the refrain.
He dutifully watched as the honor guard folded the pristine flag and handed it with great pomp and circumstance to the woman who had never really known her husband, had never even really tried. The social leverage and the prestige of being an officer’s wife were the only things that she had ever wanted; the man’s need for comfort, affection, security always taking a back seat to her ambition. Steve noticed a lone crocodile tear slide down her cheek and wondered how long it would take before she turned this loss to her advantage, before she pressed to “temporarily” fill his now-vacant seat in the House. He despised her even more as she played the part of heart-broken widow to perfection, basking in the sympathy and condolences of her sycophantic followers.
As the casket was slowly lowered into the ground and the trumpets wailed mournfully, his partner moved closer; the unspoken gesture of support nearly breaking through Steve’s steely façade, nearly breaking Steve
He turned to Danny, this man who had dropped everything to follow Steve to Arlington and patiently stood by as Steve mourned the death of his mentor; as he recounted the numerous ways the Admiral had shaped Steve’s career and molded him into the man, the SEAL, the officer he was today.
Within full view of the military contingent, Steve grabbed Danny’s tie, forcefully pulled the man forward and kissed him.
The silence that settled around them was deafening, but Steve paid them no mind. Today he would heed some long-ignored advice given by a man more a father to him than his own, and followed his heart.
Steve wrapped his arms tightly around his partner and whispered, “Let’s go home, Danno.”
Summary: It was supposed to be a line he never crossed..
If someone had told him a year ago that he’d eventually be naked in Steve’s bed, his hand wrapped tightly around Steve’s cock, teasing delicious little whimpers from the man as he jacked Steve toward orgasm, he’d have knocked their ass out. Not that it was insulting or anything; Steve was a co-worker, his partner, a line he vowed never to cross.
Only, things didn’t quite work out the way he expected.
Banter so heated and his frustration level at eleven, Danny’d finally had enough. A kiss used like a fist to shut Steve up and the next thing Danny knew they were dry humping in the back seat of his car like high-schoolers--something Danny thought he left behind once he turned sixteen and Maria finally put out, but has since rediscovered the joy of. Watching Steve come in his pants was the second hottest thing he’s ever seen.
The first? Well, he’s getting to that.
Where Danny likes it slow and steady, a gradual buildup to a long, drawn out climax, Steve likes it fast and rough, an intense climb before being shoved off a cliff, screaming. Only, today Danny is in charge and he likes for Steve to come apart in his hands, likes to hear the filthy words that stream from Steve as he fights to maintain control. So, the slow delicious torture continues until Danny’s wrist is sore and Steve is wrecked and finally, finally lets go.
And that? Is the hottest thing Danny has ever seen.