oh how i miss my baby, s4 steve. that was my man. and how i miss eddie. everything in life was great when i had shirtless s4 steve and eddie. if only they had kissed. sigh
Just a little something inspired by this pic and the prompt of the month :
"What are you doing with that?"
Tactical claiming
It’s not like Danny cares. He’s used to it by now—Steve and his complete inability to keep a shirt on for longer than necessary. Scratch that. Longer than five damn minutes.
At first, Danny thought maybe it was a Hawaii thing, something about the heat, the ocean, the whole island vibe that made Steve allergic to fabric. But no, it’s a Steve thing. A habit. Like running into danger without backup, staring at Danny like he’s the crazy one for worrying, and, apparently, treating his T-shirt like it’s optional at any given moment.
So, yeah, Danny is used to it. He doesn’t flinch when Steve peels it off post-surf, mid-workout, hell—even when he’s just standing around in HQ. It’s not a thing.
Until it is.
Because Danny can deal with Steve being Steve. He can deal with Steve parading around like he’s starring in some kind of action-movie montage. But what Danny cannot deal with is other people reacting to it.
And right now?
Right now, some guy at their current crime scene is definitely reacting.
Danny sees him from the corner of his eye, the way the guy’s mouth is slightly open, eyes glued to Steve’s torso like he just stumbled onto the lost city of gold. And Steve—oblivious as ever—stands there, casually holding his discarded T-shirt like he forgot he even took it off.
Danny narrows his eyes. Then, before he even fully processes it, he’s saying,
“What are you doing with that?”
Steve looks up, confused. “What?”
Danny gestures at the shirt in Steve’s hand. “Your shirt. Put it back.”
Steve blinks. “Why? I was just gon—”
“I said put it back.”
Steve frowns but does as he’s told, dragging the fabric over his head with a wary look. “Okay, okay. Relax, would ya? What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing is the matter with me,” Danny shoots back, even as his heart pounds in his chest. “It’s you here, always showing up, always—can’t you stay clothed for one damn minute?”
Steve lifts his hands in surrender, but his face is all puzzled amusement. “Okay, okay. Jeez. What is this about, Danno?”
Danny doesn’t answer immediately. His eyes flick to the guy—who is still gawking, by the way—then back to Steve.
And suddenly, the words just happen.
Danny steps forward, barely brushing his fingers against Steve’s freshly re-donned T-shirt, giving it a small, decisive tug just on his torso, to make sure it’s really on.
“Because, Steven,” he says, his voice steady, “I decided you’re my boyfriend.”
Steve freezes. “Oh…you decided?”
Danny nods, completely unbothered. “Yep.”
Steve’s eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t step back. If anything, he leans in slightly, the hint of a smirk forming. “And when exactly did you make this decision?”
Danny shrugs. “Right about the time I saw that guy over there looking at you like he was about to devour you.”
Steve follows Danny’s gaze, taking in the still-staring dude, and something clicks in his expression. His smirk widens into something smug, something pleased.
“Ohhh,” he drawls. “I see.”
Danny glares. “Yeah, well, wipe that look off your face.”
“Why?” Steve asks, tilting his head. “You jealous, Danno?”
Danny scoffs. “I just said you’re my boyfriend, didn’t I?”
Steve considers that, then grins. “Yeah. You did.”
Danny sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, okay, maybe I regret it already.”
But he doesn’t move away. And neither does Steve. And if Steve’s hand brushes against Danny’s when he adjusts his shirt, well—Danny pretends not to notice.
For now.
Steve’s grin lingers, that smug, satisfied look that makes Danny’s blood pressure rise on a good day—and today? Today is not a good day, because now, Danny has gone and done something absolutely insane.
He just claimed Steve.
Out loud.
In front of witnesses.
Like a damn lunatic.
“Alright,” Danny mutters, stepping back, forcing some distance between them before he does something even dumber, like actually grabbing Steve by the shirt and—nope. Nope. Not thinking about that. “Back to work, Commander. Less flexing, more detecting.”
But Steve doesn’t move. He’s still looking at Danny, head tilted slightly, eyes crinkled at the edges in that infuriating way that usually precedes some kind of smart-ass remark.
“Danno,” Steve says, voice suspiciously gentle. “You sure you don’t wanna talk about—”
“Nope.” Danny spins on his heel, already heading toward the evidence markers. “Case. Crime. Dead body. Focus.”
Steve huffs a laugh but, mercifully, follows. The gawking guy is still hovering, watching them, but now there’s something different in the way he looks at Steve. He’s hesitant, almost nervous.
Danny smirks. Yeah, that’s right, buddy. Move along. Steve’s taken.
Wait.
Wait.
Danny blinks, nearly stopping in his tracks. What the hell did he just think?
“Danno?” Steve is suddenly at his side, leaning in a little too close, voice all faux concern. “You okay? You look—what’s the word? Flustered?”
Danny’s entire body bristles. “Oh, go to hell, Steven.”
Steve just grins. “Aww. Don’t be mad, babe.”
Danny glares. “I will shoot you.”
Steve hums. “Mm. But you won’t.”
Danny levels him with a look. “Try me.”
Steve, being the insufferable pain that he is, just throws an arm around Danny’s shoulders, all casual-like, as if they do this all the time. Like it’s normal.
Danny huffs, but he doesn’t shake him off.
Danny tells himself he’s letting Steve get away with this—the arm, the smugness, the whole damn thing—because they’re at a crime scene. Because it would be unprofessional to shove him off in front of HPD. Because they have actual work to do.
It’s definitely not because Steve’s arm is warm against his shoulders, or because, for some reason, it feels right.
Nope. Not thinking about that.
“Alright,” Danny grumbles, shrugging Steve off just enough to get them back on track. “Let’s focus, shall we? You remember? The reason we’re here? Murder investigation? Dead guy?”
Steve sighs, putting on his best I’m a serious professional face. “Fine. Let’s check the perimeter.”
Danny steps ahead, grateful for the brief reprieve from Steve’s presence, but of course, it doesn’t last. Because two minutes later, Steve is right there again, trailing behind him like a damn shadow.
“So,” Steve says casually, hands on his hips, “since I’m apparently your boyfriend now—”
Danny groans. “Oh my God, shut up.”
“—I just think it’s important we establish some ground rules.”
Danny whirls on him, jabbing a finger into his chest. “First of all, I did not say boyfriend in a general, romantic sense, okay? It was a tactical decision. A crime scene necessity.”
Steve nods, all faux seriousness. “Right. A tactical claiming.”
Danny scowls. “Do not use that word.”
Steve’s lips twitch like he’s barely holding back laughter. “Whatever you say, babe.”
Danny exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know what? I take it back. You’re not my boyfriend.”
Steve shrugs. “Fine. But that guy over there still thinks I am.”
Danny glares at the guy—who, sure enough, is still throwing lingering looks in Steve’s direction.
He huffs. Crosses his arms. Shifts his weight.
Then he sighs, defeated.
“Fine,” he mutters.
Steve grins, victorious. “That’s what I thought.”
Danny points a warning finger at him. “One more ‘babe’ and I swear—”
“Got it,” Steve says, but his smile says otherwise.
Danny rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath as he turns back to the crime scene.
Steve, the menace, follows, still grinning.
Danny tells himself he’s letting this go. He is. He’s moving on, because there’s an actual homicide to solve, and he’s not about to let Steve “Tactical Shirt Removal” McGarrett get in his head any more than he already has.
But then Steve—because of course Steve—leans in again, voice all low and smug.
“So, just to be clear,” he murmurs, “are we talking, like, exclusive boyfriend status, or—”
Danny whirls on him, again, because apparently, his entire day is just going to be him reacting to Steve being Steve.
“Oh my God, Steven. This is not a relationship discussion.”
Steve tilts his head, all faux innocence. “It’s not?”
Danny clenches his jaw. “It’s not.”
Steve hums like he’s considering it, then glances—again—at the guy who is still sneaking looks in their direction.
“So, if I took my shirt off again—”
Danny jabs a finger into his chest. “I will murder you. Right here. On top of the other dead body.”
Steve grins. “So, exclusive, then?”
Danny exhales sharply through his nose, glares at him, and then—because there is no other way to make this stop—grabs Steve’s stupid, smug face and kisses him.
It’s meant to be a statement. A final word. But Steve—because he is the worst—makes a soft, pleased noise, and suddenly, his hands are curling around Danny’s waist, pulling him in, and oh, shit…
For one, maybe two seconds, Danny’s brain freezes, and he melts into it because… Hell!
But then—
Danny yanks back, eyes wide, looking everywhere around them.
HPD. The crime scene. The dead body.
Steve just smirks at him, looking entirely too satisfied.
Danny tightens his grip on Steve’s shirt, practically shaking him.
“Okay,” Danny breathes, voice low but deadly. “We are in a fucking crime scene, with all of HPD around us. You never do that again!”
Steve’s smirk does not waver. “Uh-huh. And which part, exactly, am I not supposed to do again? The kissing? Or the part where I kissed you back?”
Danny growls—actually growls—and shoves him back.
“I swear to God, Steven,” he mutters, rubbing his face like that’s somehow going to erase the last 30 seconds from existence.
Steve grins, stepping way too close again. “Relax, babe. It’s not like anyone saw.”
Danny glares, jabbing a finger in his direction. “I hate you.”
Steve chuckles. “Yeah? You kiss all the people you hate?”
Danny throws his hands in the air and stomps away, ignoring the way Steve is definitely watching him go.
Behind him, Steve murmurs, smug and smugger,
“Don’t worry, babe. I’ll keep my shirt on. For now.”
