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A Taste of the Islands

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Danny sits in the kitchen chair, hands resting in his lap, obediently closing his eyes as Steve winds the tie around his head. “Steven. Explain to me again why the blindfold is necessary.”

“I’m isolating your sense of taste. And preventing you from being distracted by other sensory input,” Steve explains in an even tone.

“Oh, right,” Danny nods.

“Hold your head still--”

“It’s not just because you’re a kinky son-of-a-bitch?” Danny asks with a grin.

“It’s called Exposure Therapy, Danny.”

“Right.” Danny’s unconvinced. He’s pretty sure that Steve’s a kinky son-of-a-bitch. “I like my theory better.”

“It’s also known as systematic desensitization,” Steve continues, unsettlingly pedantic.

“Of course it is.” Danny resists the urge to nod again. The tie is pulled tight over his eyes, then he feels the tug of a knot at the back of his head. “Hey, hey, watch the hair.”

“Sorry.” Steve smooths the hair on the back of Danny’s head, then pulls the knot tight. “How’s that? Can you see anything?”

Danny tilts his head and opens his eyes. He sees only blackness, with a hint of light trickling in from the side. “Nope. I’m good to go.”

“Okay then.”

Something tickles the side of Danny’s face--Steve’s fingers. Steve is cupping his cheek and then there’s the sensation of soft lips brushing against his as Steve kisses him and Danny leans into it eagerly. He’s not too proud to admit that he’s a little turned on by all this. “So is that part of the therapy?” he asks, breathless now.

“Well, for each exposure to something you claim to dislike, you get a reward. A positive stimulus,” Steve says.

“Positive stimulus? I like the sound of that--oh hey, ‘claims to dislike’?” Danny asks. “What? You think I’m just being hyperbolic?”

“Who, you, Danny?” Steve says. “No.”

“I may be blindfolded, but I can see that look on your face,” Danny says, raising a hand and gesturing to his own face. “It’s imprinted on the inside of my eyelids, that’s how often I see it.”

“Are you ready to do this or not?” Steve asks with a huff.

“Do I look like I’m ready?”

“Danny--”

“Yes, Steven. I’m ready.” Danny spreads his arms magnanimously. “Bring it on. Make me love the foods of Hawaii.”

“All right.” Steve sounds pleased. Danny imagines the smile on Steve’s face. It would be one of his sillier smiles, he’s certain of that. “We’ll start with something easy.”

Danny nods. “I’m all about the easy.”

He hears the sound of paper rattling on the counter, maybe a bag being opened. A chair slides across the floor and something bumps Danny’s knee. He reaches out and feels for the object--Steve’s knee. Steve’s sitting in a chair directly across from him.

Then he smells it. Cocoa--rich and strong and just a little sweet. Something smooth brushes against his lower lip and Danny opens his mouth, allowing Steve to slip the round piece of chocolate inside. He can’t help moaning a little, it’s fantastic, the way it melts on his tongue, filling his senses. It’s a little bit bitter, a little bit sweet and while he’s no connoisseur , this is indeed something special.

“Wow,” Danny says. “I think I just came.”

Soft laughter, and Steve’s lips are on his now in a sweet, chocolately kiss. “It’s called Hawaiian Vintage Chocolate. The cocoa beans are grown right here on the islands.”

“I like it. Desensitize me some more, baby.”

The chair rattles and Steve brushes against Danny’s leg as he gets up. Danny listens carefully to the sound of the freezer opening, the hum of the fridge as it clicks on, then a clattering of cups on the counter.

“Okay,” Steve says.

Danny waits patiently. A cold touch to his lips and he opens mouth to receive a spoonful of something icy and wet. He knows the texture--shave ice, not quite so fluffy after a spell in the freezer--but the taste is weird. Sweet at first, but then tart as the ice melts, almost sour and even...salty? Danny swallows quickly.

“Weird, Steve. That was weird. What the hell flavor was it?” Danny wrinkles his nose, wishing he had more chocolate to clear the taste from his mouth.

“You didn’t like it?” Steve’s tone is surprisingly sympathetic. “Come here.”

Danny expects the kiss, he’s waiting for it now. It’s a sweet, nuzzling sort of kiss and Steve’s hand is on his lap, thumb stroking the inside of his leg. Danny grunts as he curls a hand around Steve’s wrist and leans into Steve’s kisses, which Steve is now trailing down the side of his neck, making him shiver. In a good way. Not in a ‘bad shave ice’ kind of way.

“I suppose it wasn’t so bad,” Danny murmurs. He can’t even remember what it tasted like.

“It was pineapple shave ice,” Steve informs him, lips brushing the edge of Danny’s ear. “With dried Li Hing Mui powder on top.”

“Oh.” Danny doesn’t know what the heck that is, but he likes Steve’s lips on his ear and the way Steve’s breath tickles his skin.

“Let’s try something different.”

And Steve’s gone. He’s no longer touching Danny, no kisses, no stroking and Danny’s peeved. “Hey, get back here--”

“Just a second, Danny,” Steve calls out from across the room.

“I don’t even want to know what you’re up to at this point.” Danny can’t hear anything, other than maybe the sound of a plastic container being opened, he can’t be sure. He breathes in deep, trying to sniff it out, but there’s a breeze blowing in the kitchen window and all he can smell are the damn flowers outside, just past the lanai.

“All right.” The chair scrapes across the floor again. “Ready?”

“No,” Danny says with a frown.

A hand resting on his lap and Steve kisses him, swift and sweet. “Come on, Danny,” he coaxes.

Danny heaves a sigh and acquiesces, only because he wants Steve to kiss him again. “Go.”

It’s warm this time, warm and a little pasty. The texture is sort of odd, almost like a potato, and the flavor, what little there is of it, is familiar but Danny can’t place it. He chews, swallows, and contemplates. “I got nothing,” he finally says. “It’s not good, it’s not bad, it’s just--what the hell is it?”

“Baked breadfruit,” Steve says.

“Breadfruit? That was it. It was kind of--bready?” Danny frowns, confused, then reaches a hand out blindly. “You’re going to have to kiss me twice for that one.” He manages to grab hold of Steve’s shirt, and Steve laughs as Danny hauls him in.

“Wait, let me just put this down,” Steve protests, arms shifting and then he’s kissing Danny again, warm and enthusiastic. Danny gets his hands on Steve’s thighs this time, all rock-hard muscle under those damn cargo pants. He reaches further, slipping his hand under cotton fabric and onto smooth skin and oh, hello there, Steve’s belly.

“Wait, wait,” Steve says, pulling back and placing a hand over Danny’s. “One more.”

“One more? I thought I was already getting a taste of a very fine Hawaiian dish. My favorite one.” Danny tries to pull Steve back to him, but Steve rises up from his chair and slips away.

“A very elusive Hawaiian dish, I might add,” Danny says into the air, hands gesturing plaintively.

He hears the sound of the refrigerator door opening up this time, and the clang of dishes. By the time Steve sits down across from him again, Danny is sniffing the air, alert this time.

“Soy? Do I smell soy sauce?” he asks.

“Ready?” Steve asks. “Last one.”

“You’re not going to answer my question, are you?”

“Open your mouth,” Steve coaxes.

He’s already got a hand on Danny’s thigh and the preemptive petting makes Danny wary, but he opens his mouth anyway. The sooner he tastes this, the sooner he gets to kiss Steve again.

Steve slips a spoon into Danny’s mouth. Definitely soy sauce, and sesame oil too. The texture is smooth and cool and chewy. It tastes like--

“Fish?” Danny squawks, swallowing quickly. It was either that, or spit it out at Steve. “Raw fish? You just fed me raw fish?”

“It’s called poke,” Steve starts.

“I know what it’s called. Oh my god, I just had raw fish in my mouth.” Danny wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“How did it taste?” Steve counters.

“Raw, Steven. It tasted raw.” Danny scowls as fiercely as he can with a tie wrapped around his eyes. “I can feel the parasites, wriggling around in my stomach.”

Actually, it didn’t taste all that bad, but he’ll be damned if he admits to it Steve.

“There were no parasites in it, Danny. And it’s more than raw fish--”

“I like my fish cooked. Preferably deep fried. With a nice beer batter.” Danny folds his arms across his chest. “I’m going to need a lot of positive stimuli to get over this one.”

“Oh, come on, it wasn’t that bad,” Steve insists, and Danny’s sure the bastard is laughing at him, it’s in his tone and it’s a dirty trick to play on someone, to put raw fish in their mouth.

“You are an awful man,” Danny points out, and then Steve’s lips are on his, preventing him from talking any further.

“No I’m not.” Steve noses at Danny’s cheek. “I’m your favorite dish.”

“An acquired taste,” Danny grumbles. He rubs a thumb along Steve’s jaw, then kisses him again, spreading his legs and pulling Steve closer, hands tugging on Steve’s shoulders.

Steve laughs and mouths Danny’s neck, his hands roaming over Danny’s lap. Danny can still taste the raw fish in his mouth, along with the soy and the sesame and he wants to complain again--raw fish, seriously now--but Steve’s pressing a hand over his cock and fuck, it’s kind of hot, not being able to see what Steve’s doing, to just be able to feel it.

“That’s very positive,” Danny gasps. “And...stimulating.”

Steve laughs again, low and rich. Kind of like the chocolate, and really, considering how good the chocolate was, and how good Steve’s kisses feel, maybe this therapy business isn’t so bad after all.

“I think I can be even more positive,” Steve says as he unfastens Danny’s pants.

“Oh,” Danny breathes as Steve unzips him. “Yes.”

Steve’s shoulders fade from under Danny’s hands as he slides down onto the floor to kneel between Danny’s legs and now Danny can feel warm breath on his cock, Steve’s mouth is on him, over his cotton briefs, and oh yeah, that’s a whole lot positive right there. All Danny can do is bury a hand in Steve’s soft, soft hair and groan and feel and fuck, next time he sees a dish of poke he’s going to get hard and it’s going to be Steve’s damn fault.

“You planned this all along,” Danny pants. “I was right, you’re a kinky son-of-a, oh god--”

And Steve simply laughs against Danny’s skin.