He pulled into the parking space and checked the Camaro's dashboard clock. It was ten minutes to ten. Looking around he didn't see his partner's monstrous Silverado anywhere and was slightly surprised that he had beaten Aquaman himself to the beach. Steve was a morning person, as misguided and unnatural as Danny thought that was.
A year ago if you had told him that he would have been up before eleven on a non-Grace, non-work Saturday he'd have told you that you were out of your freakin' mind. Since his divorce and move to this pineapple infested hellhole, which was growing on him, not that he'd actually admit that, he had no grass to mow, leaves to rake or snow to shovel. There was no Honey-Do list. Days off were made for sleeping in. Yet, he'd been out of bed by 8:30, showered and at Steve's favorite surf beach before ten.
Before he moved here, it had probably been at least ten years since Danny had been on a surf board. What passed for big waves at the Jersey shore had most Hawaiian surfers complaining that the ocean was as flat as glass. Checking out some of the truly big swells where a six foot man could actually stand fully upright inside the cresting wave made Danny immediately realize this was not amateur hour. Hawaii earned its reputation as the big leagues of surfing. When he met Kono shortly after being drafted into 5-0 and learned that she previously made her living as a professional surfer – a fact confirmed by a quick Google search later that day - Danny decided it was easier to simply claim not to know how to surf. With the differences in height and intensity between the waves back home and the ones rolling into shore around here on the calmest days, it wasn't exactly a stretch. He had no idea how surf those large breaks
Unfortunately for him Danny's sister posted some old surfing photos of him on her Facebook page and e-mailed them to him using his official e-mail address at H5-0 where of course, they lodged on the server and were discovered by Chin who took the liberty of e-mailing them to the team. Once he was busted, Danny had to own up to the fact that he could at least manage to stand on a board but to put it in terms they could understand, he reminded his water obsessed teammates that unlike them, he was from the mainland and was not born with an extra set of gills. It took him calling himself a haolie for them to realize that the rudimentary skills which allowed him to glide on the water in Jersey were not going to be enough to keep him safe in Hawaii so they took it upon themselves to teach him.
Steve was especially insistent, typical SEAL. He just wouldn't let go. Any excuse to get Danny on a board was all he needed. At this point it was their default bet: if Steve won Danny had to surf; if Danny won, Steve was relegated to the passenger seat for some period of time, usually a week. So no where Danny was, in the parking lot waiting for Steve. As he climbed out of his car and looked around, he finally spotted the big truck lumbering into the parking lot.
Taking a deep breath, Danny centered himself and schooled his body to look perturbed. He couldn't let Steve know that he enjoyed their time together, especially the surfing. If Danny had to admit it to himself, something he was loathe to do, watching Steve McGarrett with his long limbs and lithe muscles glide through the water was a thing of beauty. A dripping wet Steve emerging from the sea like a god garnered the attention of every post-pubescent female in proximity and more than a few males. The man was simply beautiful.
Despite the surprising but well suppressed attraction – after all Danny was a red-blooded American male with an ex-wife and an a daughter – Danny knew Steve, the great navy-Seal with the gorgeous lieutenant with benefits, didn't swing that way. Truth be told, Danny didn't know if he swung that way but looking at Steve, sometimes he wanted to.
There was nothing wrong with looking however. That didn't make him gay. It made him open minded. Steve had a great body; one he worked hard to maintain. Danny was simply appreciating all his hard work. He groaned slightly at his own unintentional double entendre; hard work indeed.
Danny knew how punishing his own gym workouts and weight training regime was. His bulging biceps and broad chest wasn't the product of Malasadas, that was for sure. So if he purposely wore his Born in the USA t-shirt because after years of washings and a few added inches, it was just a bit too tight and showed off his pecs, no one would be the wiser.
Even before Steve was out of the truck Danny was griping at him about being late. This was familiar. This is what they did. They bantered. It was normal. It was allowed. It was certainly not in any way shape or form outside of the regular boundaries to two guys, typical heterosexual friends who had no unresolved sexual gay tension between them. Nope. No tension. None whatsoever.
It was also perfectly fine for Steve to rub sunscreen all over his back. He would have been happy to return the favor but no, Steve had already done that when he'd gotten out of the shower. No, he thought to himself, do not think about naked Steve, getting out of the shower, glistening wet, drying off his whole body then using those monstrous paws to slather lotion over his entire body. Don't think about that or how you would have loved to have been there to help him do that and more.
Too late the image was already there and he was beginning to react outwardly. In an effort to cover his body's betrayal, Danny doubled over and concentrated on protecting his legs from the sun's rays. From that position he had absolutely no idea what the sight of his muscular ass was doing to his not-so-straight partner. Without recognizing it for what it was, Danny did appreciate an odd sensation, like a sixth sense, but it was not quite formulated into the thought that somebody – Steve – was watching him.
Standing up, Danny called over his shoulder, "Then do my back, will ya?" He loved it when Steve's sure, muscular hands roamed his body. Out here in the open, applying sunscreen at the beach, was one of the few places grown men could touch and be touched without arousing suspicion. It was like sports, where ass patting was perfectly acceptable between males. As much as he preferred the feel of Steve's hands on his skin, Danny was careful to always ask Grace or Kono or even Catherine to put the lotion on his back if they were around. It wouldn't do to let anybody know how much he longed for Steve's touch. When Steve stroked along the tops of Danny's broad shoulders, before sliding his hands down to grasp both of Danny's arms for just a moment too long, Danny's subconscious began to hope; there hadn't been enough time for his conscious mind to realize that Steve was enjoying this as much as he was and wanted more too.
After securing everything inside the car and locking it up, Danny glanced over at Steve before grabbing his board from the side of the truck. "Let's do it, babe."
When Steve replied, "Sure thing, Danno," it warmed Danny's heart. What had started out as his daughter's nickname for him somehow sounded deliciously sexy from Steve's mouth.
Stepping forward, Danny headed toward the water, making sure Steve maintained an unobstructed view of his posterior as they traversed the stand. Danny knew he had an awesome backside. He'd gotten enough compliments and leers over the years, as well as a few pinches. If Steve had a constant reminder maybe, just maybe, someday he might wanna tap that ass. But for now, Danny would keep up their banter and he would lecture Steve about the importance of police procedure, due process and most importantly, call up for back up. Someone had to do what was necessary to protect them both.