Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the TV series, Hawaii Five-0.

Touchdown

By
N. J. Borba

"Oh, yes! Yes, yes, yes!" Catherine exclaimed.

Steve watched as she leapt off the sofa and performed a rather complicated victory dance, much the same as the players on the TV screen. He made a show of trying to look around her to keep his eyes on the screen. "Is that really necessary?" he finally asked. "I think they call that excessive celebration, you can get a penalty for that now, at least in college ball," Steve eyed her as she plopped back on to the sofa beside him.

"Don't be such a spoil sport," Catherine pouted as she curled her feet up beneath her and settled against his left side again. "My Cowboys just caught an amazing interception pass in the end zone. Tell me that was not a beautiful play," she dared him to say a word against it.

He tightened his jaw a little but finally nodded. "Yeah, okay. Your team made a… a not so bad play, even if it was at my team's expense," Steve gave in a little, though still managing to lament a lot. "But I am not a sore loser."

"Spoil sport," she corrected him. "I didn't call you a sore loser. Your Redskins haven't lost yet."

"That's… yeah, very nice. We haven't lost yet," Steve noticed how she'd used the word. "So you're implying that the Redskins are going to lose?"

Catherine sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder. "You're the one who implied you were going to lose by calling yourself a sore loser," she pointed out. "There's still five and a half minutes to play and the Cowboys are only up thirty-one to sixteen. So that's what…" she shrugged. "Two touchdowns and maybe they go for the two point conversation on the second one. Blamo! They win the game," she concluded with an encouraging smile.

With a steeply arched brow, Steve glanced at her. "Did you just say blamo?" he actually chuckled as he kissed her cheek. "Odds of us getting two touchdowns at this point are very slim," he reluctantly began to accept his team's defeat.

"But doable," Catherine maintained. "You did it once, remember? It was that senior year game, state championship against the Mililani Trojans. You were in the same position, threw two touchdown passes in under six minutes and came up with the two point conversion with about twelve seconds remaining."

Now his brows were even more arched. "How do you know that?"

"You told me once," Catherine shrugged. "Also told me that the Redskins were your team during that conversation, which is why I kept my Cowboy love under wraps for so long."

His head shook, but he wore an admiring smile. "There's no one quite like you, Lieutenant Rollins."

"I'm not sure if that was a compliment or not?" she eyed him skeptically.

"It was," he let her know, sealing the words with a soft kiss pressed languishingly against her lips. The football game was nothing more than background chatter as he gazed into her brown eyes. "I don't know many women who would spend their Sunday evening watching football."

She grinned. "Lots of women love football," Catherine was quick to defend her sisterhood. "Of course a lot of us fell into it for, maybe the wrong reasons," she shrugged. "Say, a cute boy in high school who was interested in football and invited her over to watch a game."

"What boy would that be?" Steve asked, having never heard this tale before.

"Dylan Peters," her eyes didn't spark at the recollection. "He thought he was all that, turns out he was most definitely not."

He smiled again, facing her eye-to-eye, the game pretty much completely forgotten by now as the Redskins couldn't even make third down and five. "Catherine Rollins, did you by any chance lose your virginity to a boy on a sofa while watching football?" Steve inquired. It was not hard to miss the instant flush of her cheeks, which he found quite endearing. "Wow, were his parents at home?"

"First of all," she held one finger aloft to make her point. "It was not Dylan Peters. He was a lame-o from freshman year who couldn't even figure out how to find…" her head shook. "Well, that's beside the point. I happened to be a senior before I lost my virginity to a nice young man, Keller Howard. He was a freshman in college and ball boy for the football team. It was on the sofa in his dorm room, and… oh my god, why did I just tell you all of that?"

Steve couldn't help chuckle. "Keller? Ball boy?" he eyed her with uncertainty. "Did he have acne?"

She punched him lightly against the arm. "Shut up. Believe it or not I was kind of nerdy in high school. And I liked intellectual types."

"A ball boy who was an intellectual?" Steve questioned if that was even possible.

"He was an engineering student who wanted to try to fit in by going out for the football team," she explained. "And he wound up a ball boy." Catherine could see the laughter waiting to escape his lips. "Fine, laugh. Whatever, he was sweet. Unlike you, you big oaf," she pushed him off and made a move to get up.

With both hands, Steve reached out to pull her back down beside him. She ended up halfway on his lap and he pushed her tank top strap aside so he could kiss her shoulder. "I'm glad your first time was with someone sweet," he whispered. "Leave it to you to find the only engineering major who liked football," Steve chuckled as he laid her out on the sofa. He straddled her body, hovering above her with bended arms. "Want to give it another go?"

"What, with Keller the engineer?" she teased, turning her head when he tried to kiss her. "I hear he makes millions these days designing car engines for a company in Japan." Catherine felt the feather light kisses he placed along the inside curve of her collar bone and was pretty sure she moaned appreciatively even though she was trying to keep him at bay. She kind of hated how much his touch rendered her a complete puddle.

"This is really what you want to talk about?" Steve momentarily halted his action, "Keller the car engineer?"

"Only because I believe you're trying to use sex to get over your depression of the Redskins losing to my Cowboys," she waved a hand at the TV which was flashing the final game score, still thirty-one to sixteen. Catherine groaned softly when his hands slid down her waist, tugged at the hem of her tank top and brushed lightly across her belly.

"If that's what you want to believe," he continued to allow his hands to wander across the smoothness of her body, one north and one south, eyes never turning toward the TV.

Catherine gave in further as his torso pressed against hers, both of them sinking deeper into the softness of the leather sofa. Her breath hitched sharply and she let out a softly squeaked, "Oh!" as his southernmost hand made contact with a rather sensitive spot.

"Is that what Dylan Peters couldn't find?" he grinned, more than a little pleased with his self.

She nodded, nearly breathless. Although one whispered expression managed to clear her throat, "Touchdown."

The End