The Elements So Mixed

by Tazlet

Danny did the only thing he could think to make it better - he kissed him.

The Elements So Mixed

by Taz

Danny found the showers in the men's locker-room about as inviting as any truck stop facility on the Jersey turnpike, and not nearly as educational. Stuffed into a narrow hall behind the gym and finished in nubby, oatmeal-gray tile, it always felt like an afterthought and he tended to avoid it. Tonight he didn't have much choice, and to add to his frustration any other night but Friday the place would have emptied out by five. Here it was gone seven and still a swamp, smelling like a fight had gone down between Old Spice and Axe; Eue de Ho and Cat-piss; duking it out for the title in the armpits of cops coming off duty and getting ready to hit Wang Chung's.

That's were Danny should have been right now except that somebody had gone and dropped a dime on Kioke Frasier.

It hadn't seemed like such a big deal: go grab the punk, drop him off at Central, pick-up Chin Ho and meet up with Kono for drinks and a little karaoke. Easy-peasey if you didn't have a partner with all the grace of a hippopotamus in a tutu.

Clouds of steam billowed from the three stalls where showerheads were still running but there were soap bubbles riding the stream from only one of them. Chin-ho must have given up waiting for them, but…he bent over and checked the shanks showing under the curtain, anyway. Golden-tan and familiar. Maybe he was going to have a little luck, after all. There was a pair of tanned-white ones in the next stall and a pair of pinky-white ones a little further on. He ignored them.

Pitching his voice so that it would carry over the shower noise, he called to the golden-tan ones, "Honey? I'm home!"

The water stopped abruptly. The curtain rattled back to reveal Chin Ho wrapping a towel round his waist. "What took you guys so long? Kono's left already—" About to stride out of the stall, it was comical watching him skip backward when he saw what Danny was so liberally splattered with. "What the- what happened to you?"

"We found Frasier."

"In a land fill?"

"On an organic goat farm."

"Right. A goat farm. Organic." He indicated Danny's begrimed state of being. "So, how does that explain…?"

"He thought he could outrun us."

"So you chased him."

"Yes, but not nearly far enough." Danny put his grubby hands together in a gesture of supplication. "Say you have some soap. The body wash crap they put in the dispensers ain't gonna cut it."

"God!" Chin's nose wrinkled. The smell must have finally penetrated the steam. "What did you chase him into? That smells…really organic."

"It doesn't bear thinking about. I really need some soap. Please."

The shower in tanned-white-shanks' stall went off. The curtain slid back and Renko said, "Ooh, that's ripe."

"Thank you," Danny said.

"What'd you do—go head first into a composter?"

"If around here that's what you call a big stinking black pit of yuk."

"Don't they compost in New Jersey?"

"No."

"And I thought New Jersey was 'the Garden State."

"That must be some other New Jersey. The one I'm from they have oil refineries and the Hudson River."

"Would you mind…?." Renko pulled his towel off the hook and made shooing motions for Danny to get out of his way. Danny got and Renko went off warbling: i"The cheese stands alone, the cheese stands alone…"/i

"You're not helping!" Danny called after him.

i"…hi-ho the derry-o, the cheese stands alone!" /i

"Jerk." Danny flipped him off. "I wiped most of it off before I got in the car."

"McGarrett actually let you get in smelling like that?"

"He didn't have any choice. He tripped and if I hadn't tackled Frasier, he'd be upstairs doing more than paperwork and explaining the grass stains on his pants…"

"He's okay...?"

"He's fine. Skinned his knees a little but no harm done except, as I said, it was a goat farm and I am happy to report, while not achieving anything like my own odiferous splendor, he did not get up smelling like violets either. Now, are you gonna loan me that soap or not? Because, he will probably be down here shortly and if I don't get clean before I see him again, I might just commit grievous bodily harm." iOn whose person went without saying. /i

"Oh. Here..." Chin Ho handed him a bottle of liquid soap. "Feel free. Use as much as you like."

"Thank you. Thank you a thousand, thousand times."

"You do have clean clothes?"

"Sweats in my locker. Look, tell Kono I'm going to skip tonight."

"Oh, I think she'll understand." Chin Ho skinned by him. "Catch you later."

"Monday."

And Chin Ho was gone.

Danny could have taken his stall but with the soap in one hand and carrying his towel with two fingers, he slapped feet down to the end. It was always a little dimmer down there, more so tonight because a light had burned out. But that last stall was just a little bit wider than the others and claustrophobia's a funny thing.

The first blast of water was ice-cold but Danny didn't waiting for it to get warm. He thumbed the cap on the bottle and slathered himself generously, top to bottom, and stepped under. He lathered himself up two more times after the water ran clean; just to be on the safe side; make sure the stink was gone. He wasn't taking any chances; whatever that yuk had been, it had gotten into places he shouldn't have to mention. And his clothes, currently double-bagged on the locker room floor, were probably a lost cause. The shirt, definitely. The tie, as well. The shoes…idamn/i. Those shoes had been new last month. At least the soap had a sharp fresh scent. Chin Ho always smelled good. Something gingery. The label was written in Chinese. He'd have to ask him where he got it. Get him a new bottle. This one was nearly empty. He set it on the ledge in the corner and turned the spray up hot and hard, letting it sluice over him. Why was it that everything in Hawaii had to be wetter and greener and smellier and more- more ifecund/i than anywhere else? It had been ihot/i in that pit! He hadn't realized Gleason was armed until the moment the man had turned and fired. McGarrett had screamed and gone down and Danny had kept running because, if that bastard had gotten away… Truth was he'd kept running because some things really don't bear thinking about. And now, God, he was tired and he was going to hurt tomorrow and he had a mad-on like nobody's business…

"Hey, Danno!"

iSpeak of the devil! /i

"You in here?"

"Yeah." Danny stuck his head out.

Barefoot, but still wearing the t-shirt and cargoes that he'd had on when he'd fallen McGarrett came padding on down the line. Both knees of his pants had been torn out and raw skin flashed with every step he took.

iBet that smarts, /iDanny thought.iServe you right./i He checked the stalls; that third pair of shanks, the pinky-white ones, had finished up and left at some point. "Who's out front?" he said.

"Nobody. We're the last. You got any real soap in there?"

"Yeah, I've got some soap," he said, making like he was reaching back for the bottle.

Then, as McGarrett came within arm's reach, he swung his arm up, grabbed him by the shirt front, pulled him into the stall, spun him around and slammed him against the wall so the shower spray caught him full in the face. "I've got yer soap right here!" he said, and squirted the last of it over McGarrett's head.

"Hey!" McGarrett sputtered and spit. "What's the matter with you?"

"What'ta ya think is the matter?" Danny twisted the handful of wet shirt around his fist and thumped him against the tile a few times. Sometimes the trick of cracking a hard nut is to charge ahead, pretending you never ever noticed the guy is half a foot taller than you, and can kill you a hundred different ways with two fingers, a paperclip and a piece of string, if he wants. "I'm pissed is what's the matter!

"At what?"

"At you! You big lummox!"

"What'd I do?"

"Scared me half to death! Going down like that!"

"I tripped."

"Over what? A goat turd? There was nothing there!"

"I don't know! I tripped! Anybody can trip—'

"Clowns trip! How'd you ever get through Seal School, anyway? I think you went to Clown College! And what'd you go howling like that for? I thought you'd been shot!"

"All I said was 'get him!' I didn't say knock him into a compost pile and jump in after him."

There was water and soap dripping from McGarrett's eyebrows and the tips of the little black screws of his hair.

"Well, maybe, I- I-!"i…felt like it…/i

McGarrett must have thought he was running out of steam. "What are you yelling for? Stop yelling!"

iBig mistake. /i

"I'll yell if I want to!" Danny twisted the shirt tighter, backing McGarrett into the corner; man wasn't going to slither out of this one. "What are you going to do about it, anyway?"

He was so close; Danny could have counted every whisker and read the map of tiny red veins that were making McGarrett's eyes bloodshot. And, imy God!/i He was pale, except for the bright pink spots burning in each cheek, and the tip of his nose. The hot little puffs of McGarrett's breathing on his cheeks contrasted with the feel of the cool skin covering the fluttering muscles of McGarrett's belly. Fluttering. Tensing. The thought occurred that maybe bushwhacking a Navy Seal wasn't been the smartest impulse he'd ever given into, but…iDamn it!/i McGarrett's mouth was twisting like Grace's when she fell and got a boo-boo. Danny almost said iOh, babe, you cannot be pulling that on me! /iExcept his anger was draining through a sieve…iyou really are trying not to cry? Just because I'm pissed at you?/i …And he was suddenly feeling as scared and as helpless as when he seen McGarret fall…

There wasn't any Neosporin to hand. Danny did the only thing he could think to make it better—he kissed him.

Just a quick peck.

In case they were going to have to have to laugh about it later and pretend it hadn't happened.

But then there was the scrape of whiskers and McGarrett's mouth on top of his. He tasted salt and soap. McGarrett's hands were clamped around his biceps, pulling them together so tightly and so closely that Danny could feel the huge unasked question between them, butting him hard under the damn buttons and the coarse wet cotton. That hard a question deserved an answer and he shoved back. Yes! Oh, yes! And, as much as his body was urging, iCome on! Come to me, babe!/i there was too much confusion in the process; he was trying to get the t-shirt off over McGarrett's head, but it wasn't working, because isomeone's tongue was down his throat!/i Danny let go of the shirt and tried the pants, but that was more frustrating because the fabric was so heavy with water that he could only get the top button undone and, at the same time, McGarrett was trying to pull him up on the thigh he'd managed to thrust between Danny's legs and they were off balance—and iOops! Goin' down for the first time!/i

They finishing in a tangle of legs on the floor, and just as well, because nothing, nothing else could have made Danny break that kiss, or give up the incredible feel that reckless strength in his arms. But he hadn't wanted to lose it all over a pair of wet pants. Not the first time. McGarrett gave a growl, pulled the t-shirt over his head and flung it somewhere, and it looked like he was about to pounce, except Danny put his foot against his chest and was holding them apart. He just wanted to catch his breath, but there was a look on McGarrett's face, as if he'd suddenly had the thought that maybe Danny had changed his mind and this was going to turn into some kind of 'misunderstanding'.

What Danny was thinking was that shower was still running. He should shut the valve off and save some water, but there was McGarrett with that look on his face and this could get ugly. Danny wasn't about to let that happen. Somebody really needed to get on their knees and pay him back big-time for the scare they'd given him earlier, but that wasn't going to happen tonight. Anyway, retribution should be slow in coming—and in this case would probably require a few Band-Aids—but those green pants had been riding so precariously low, hanging by a… He bent his other leg, opening it so McGarrett could see that he wasn't fooling around. "The pants—take 'em off," Danny rasped, pushing. iThat's an order! You know how to take orders—don't you.

Let an animal like McGarrett ever get the idea that he was in charge, and there'd be no end to the 'Book 'em Dannos'. /i

He pushed, just to make the point, and then let up so that the wet fur plastered down McGarrett's front tickled the bottom of his foot. He let it slide slowly downward, pressing on those springy abs, stopping where the pelt was densest, really getting in the way of McGarrett's fingers fumbling with the soaked fabric. More clown work. Danny wasn't having it. That was only a couple of buttons. "You want this?" he said, taking himself in hand. "Let me see that…and you better hurry."

It worked. The last button gave and a ruddy mushroom-capped column popped up out of its nest of dark curls. Easily longer than Danny's fist was wide.

Danny licked his lips, stopped stroking himself and bent his leg. The pressure eased; the pants, followed by short grey boxer-briefs, were peeled off. McGarrett curled around and slid between his legs. His head, as sleek as a seal's dropped. Breath and mouth and tongue engulfed him; just in time; sucking him up as he shuddered and came and something as hot as tears spilled over his fist.

It wasn't all it was ever going to be, but it was enough for now. And God, he hopped nobody had wandered in to overhear them—no, ihim/i—had to be him, because McGarrett's mouth was full. He had to be the one crying, iBook me, babe! Book me!/i

He was never going to hear the end it.

End
27 March 2011