Danny approached Steve’s front door, trying to juggle the two bags of groceries to find the right key on his key chain. He smiled victoriously as the first one he tried slid snugly in to the lock. Turning the key, he rearranged the groceries and grasped the handle, shouldering the door open and slipping inside. He stopped just beyond the threshold, frowning as he set his keys on to the small table by the door with a soft jingle. There was music echoing down from the kitchen, some catchy top-forty tune he’d heard on the radio a couple of hundred times. He headed towards the sound, stepping softly even though the music was pounding; rule numero uno: never underestimate Steve McGarrett’s spidey-senses.
Danny stepped into the dining room, looking towards the kitchen and a joyful grin spread across his face. He gently set the groceries down on the dining table and gleefully took in the sight before him. Steve was standing at the kitchen sink, dunking dishes into soapy water. His radio was sitting on the windowsill and blasting at full volume. Steve was barefoot, wearing a pair of jeans that were faded and soft from wear. When he reached over for a dishcloth Danny saw he was wearing a white wifebeater underneath the old, red plaid shirt that was open down the front. He looked, in Danny’s opinion, damn fine. But that was nothing new. What was new was the dancing.
Ok, so, he wasn’t exactly pirouetting around the kitchen, but it was still a sight to behold. Steve’s jean-clad hips were rolling to the beat of the music and his torso was swaying, his head nodding rhythmically. Danny could see his lips moving as well, and knew that if he were to cut the sound out now he’d be able to hear Steve singing along in his terribly off-key voice. Danny was almost relieved when he found out Steve couldn’t sing worth a damn; it was only fair there was something he was crap at. Danny chuckled softly as Steve moved over to start drying the dishes; he stepped out with his left foot and slid his right up to meet it, his body following with a slight lean. This was too good to be true, Danny thought to himself. Weeks, no, months worth of mocking out of one single incident. Heaven. He was descending into not-at-all-childish giggles when Steve happened to turn his head and caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye. Danny saw Steve’s hand twitch, reaching for a sidearm in a holster that wasn’t there, before he realised it was his partner. His shoulders slumped and rolled his eyes, his cheeks flushing pink in the face of Danny’s mirth. Steve reached for the radio but Danny called out to stop him. ‘No, keep going babe!’ He yelled over the music. ‘Show me some more of those moves!’ Danny wiggled his torso in a shimmy, laughing openly now. Steve gave him a dry glare, but he didn’t turn off the music. Suddenly there was a glint in his eye and, oh, that could only mean bad things for Danny.
An inscrutable smile spread across Steve’s face as he began to move once again, only this time it was different. Gone was the lazy roll of his hips, now they were smoothly gyrating in a hypnotic rhythm. Steve raised his arms, pulling the shirt tight against his biceps as his well-defined torso rippled underneath the wifebeater. Suddenly, Danny didn’t find Steve’s dancing so funny. Possibly because there was no air left in his lungs with which to breathe. Steve crossed one leg behind the other and in one smooth motion spun three hundred and sixty degrees and yanked his shirt back from his shoulders, and oh my god, Danny thought, Steve is stripping. Danny’s heart was pounding along with the music as he watched the shirt drop to the floor, his pulse beating a mantra of more more more. Steve continued to dance towards him, controlled and provocative, his eyes never leaving Danny’s face.
Steve let one hand graze across his navel, lifting the hem of his shirt and flashing a maddening hint of taut, tanned skin. Danny’s appreciative moan was lost in the music as he leaned forward without thinking, eager to see more, to touch. Steve simply danced back out of his reach, a smug smile on his face and dammit if that bastard hadn’t turned the tables. Danny glared, but he imagined that the wanton lust in his eyes diffused its effect. So it could only have been pity that moved Steve to smoothly pull the singlet off over his head, stretching the fabric taut between his large, capable hands and sliding it back down his long, lean torso. He lifted it behind his head, tilting his jaw up and flexing his triceps, finally allowing it to fall to the floor. All of this was underpinned by the ever-present roll of those sinful hips and Danny couldn’t take much more. Steve seemed to sense as much and put himself within Danny’s reach, but as mesmerized as he was Danny knew that the show wasn’t over as long as the music played. Steve was so close that Danny could feel the heat radiating from his skin, smell sun and surf as he moved slowly, tantalisingly, reaching with one hand to caress the skin above his denim waistband once, twice, and then popped the button to reveal a hint of pale skin and delicious promise. Danny stared, his breath mingling with Steve’s, both of them panting loud and heavy. Suddenly Danny realised the music had stopped, some crappy radio DJ was talking about some crappy crap that could not interest him less and within moments he was on Steve, his hands roaming across every available strip of skin, wanting to be everywhere at once. One of Steve’s hands was working at Danny’s shirt while the other had found its way underneath to caress the warm skin. Danny moaned, and then Steve was kissing him, slow and deep and Danny thought he could still hear the music in the push of Steve’s tongue and the slow, sultry roll of his hips.