thegrrrl2002 | H50 Comment Fic repost: Sunday Morning Follies

thegrrrl2002

I committed comment fic in

gyzym's journal, based on a prompt about Steve and Danny's Sundays from

sheafrotherdon. Reposting here, because OMG the TYPOS.

Sunday Morning Follies

***

Danny stretches, sliding down on the couch until he's laying on his back, hands tucked under his head. The newspaper slides off his chest and onto the floor, but he can't be bothered to retrieve it, it would take too much energy and he's quite comfortable right now, thank you very much.

His restful moment is disturbed by a soft thud of footsteps--Steve, striding through the room, laundry basket in hand. Danny rolls his eyes and stares back up at the ceiling.

Steve disappears into the hallway and Danny closes his eyes. It's a quiet morning with sunlight streaming through the windows, birds chattering softly in the bushes. Danny's belly is full of pancakes, basically, all is right with his world so Danny dozes, relaxed and content. Only to wake again at the sound of running water in the kitchen. A clank of the coffee pot, the sound of cups being put away in a cabinet, and Steve is once again moving through the living room. Danny opens his eyes to see Steve with a dishtowel in hand, determined and focused as he stops to pick up a book from the floor, returning it to the book shelf. He then heads back toward the laundry room.

When Steve crosses the room a third time with a screwdriver in hand and face set as if going into battle, Danny shakes his head in dismay. "Babe," he calls out. "Sunday. You're doing it wrong."

Steve stops and frowns. "What?"

"Did I miss a memo?" Danny asks. "Did someone declare today Saturday all over again? Or even worse, Monday? Because you, with the face, that is almost a Monday face."

"Danny, my face is not Monday," Steve insists.

"Okay, so maybe it's not Monday, but that, that--" Danny points in the general direction of Steve's face, "is not a Sunday face."

Steve nods. "All right. My face is not Sunday, either. Now can I get back to fixing the door hinge in the garage?"

"No." Danny sits up, but only halfway, because it is Sunday, after all. "You're missing the point."

Steve throws his hands up in the air in a move that looks strangely familiar. "You mean there's actually a point to this conversation?"

"Yes. Thank you. There is. Today is Sunday, which is a day of rest, which means you should be a little more vertical, like maybe on the couch with me, instead of a whirlwind of household activity."

Steve's face brightens. "You want to fool around?"

Danny slaps a hand to his forehead. "No, I don't want to--well, maybe, in a little while--but no, this is not about sex."

"So you think I need to be sitting on the couch with you, not having sex." Steve's forehead crinkles in confusion.

"Oh, for god's sake," Danny huffs. "Do you realize there's a middle ground between you washing dishes and repairing door hinges and us being naked and sweaty together, right?"

"You mean, like when we're at work?" Steve asks, but Danny sees the corner of Steve's mouth beginning to twitch and damn it, Steve's playing him.

"Shut up, put that screwdriver down, and come sit on the couch with me," Danny orders, pushing a throw pillow out of the way with his foot.

Steve looks at the screwdriver in his hand. "Can I at least put this back in the toolbox?"

"No," Danny barks. "And why are you talking?"

With a heavy sigh, Steve places the screwdriver on the bookshelf, walks over to the couch and sits at the opposite end, just past Danny's feet. His hands are clasped in his lap and there's an expectant look on his face that makes Danny swear under his breath, because this was supposed to be about relaxing, about being lazy and indolent on a Sunday morning, but now he's wide awake and tense and feeling a little like strangling someone and really, does Steve always have to wear that skimpy little tank top when he's working around the house?

"Tell me more about this naked and sweaty business," Steve says, curling a hand around Danny's ankle. "Are we sweaty before we get naked, or does that only happen after we're naked and rubbing all up against each other?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, get over here," Danny fists his hands in Steve's annoying shirt and drags him down. "I swear, you are--"

Danny gives up on words and pulls Steve into a rough, messy kiss. Steve groans into Danny's mouth and slides his hips into place on top of Danny's, pressing down just right and Danny gasps, grabbing onto Steve's shoulders and shoving up against him.

Steve pulls back, a hand tangled in Danny's hair. "Why didn't you just say you wanted to have sex in the first place?"

And when Danny growls and bites Steve's neck, Steve just laughs and kisses him some more.