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Danny comes into Steve's house with a bright red shave ice.

"You like those, huh?" says Steve, raising an eyebrow at the cup.

"Hands-down the best thing about Hawaii," says Danny through a mouthful. He wanders over to the couch and sits down in front of the football game; Steve takes his seat on the other end of the couch and grabs his beer.

They barely make it five minutes before Danny says, "Oh, fuck a duck."

Steve looks at him in alarm; Danny's got his hands in the air, staring down at his t-shirt. Bright red stain. Steve snorts. "Forgot your bib today?"

"Fuck you very much." Danny puts down his shave ice cup on the coffee table and sits back again, holding his shirt out away from his chest. "Stupid fucking red flavour."

Steve licks his lips and sets down his beer quietly. "We've gotta get you out of that shirt," he says casually.

"Shit, yeah. Do you have stain stuff? I like this shirt."

"Yeah, we'll wash it," says Steve, scooting closer to grab the hem. He helps Danny haul the shirt off; the skin underneath is pale but has the start of a good old Hawaiian perma-tan going, just a faint brown tint to the skin that's stretched tight over Danny's biceps and pecs. Danny has really, really nice muscle definition going on.

Steve tunes back into the conversation as Danny's saying something about the washing machine. "Yeah," says Steve absently. "This way."

He leads Danny to the back of the house, flips on the light in the laundry room, chucks the shirt in the machine with some soap and barely remembers to use cold water before he shuts the lid and turns it on. He turns back to look at Danny and then laughs. "There's some on your shorts, too."

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" says Danny when he looks down at himself.

Steve says a silent thanks in his head as he opens the lid on the washing machine again. "Might as well."

Danny sighs, strips down to his boxers, and throws the shorts in too. "I hope you've got something I can borrow while--" That's all he can manage before Steve grabs him, turns and pins him by the hips up against the washing machine.

"What the hell are you--"

Steve leans in and licks a line along Danny's collarbone from throat to shoulder and then starts sucking a hickey into the curve below his neck. Danny's fingers dig into Steve's shoulders, but he's not pushing Steve off, he's holding him there. Steve smiles against Danny's skin and thrusts their hips together, up against the washing machine as it fills.

"Wait a fucking minute," says Danny suddenly. "Did I just fall for 'let's get these wet and/or dirty clothes off you'?"

"Hook, line and sinker," says Steve, trailing his fingers down Danny's sides.

"Has that ever worked for you before? Not for lack of trying, I'm sure."

"Normally I go for smart girls," Steve admits.

Danny pushes Steve off him. Then, as Steve stands back indecisively, Danny opens the washing machine and splashes him with soapy water.

Steve looks down at his shirt in amazement. Water is dripping off onto the floor. "Well," he says, "we can't have that." He pulls his shirt off over his head and throws it at Danny, who sidesteps and lets it hit and fall into the washing machine. Steve's shorts and boxers go sailing in after, and he pins Danny against the dryer to yank down his underwear.

When the washing machine lid slams shut again, Danny hops up on top of it and pulls Steve in by the hand, hooking his legs around the backs of Steve's thighs to bring him close; Steve's eyes are level with Danny's chin.

"So that's what the top of your head looks like."

Steve grabs the back of his head and pulls him down into a kiss. It's disconcerting to lean up to kiss someone but he kind of likes it and the new angles it presents. Danny moans into his mouth. The best thing, though, is that the top of the machine is level with Steve's hips, and Danny presses forward to take advantage. Steve lets out a little whimper as their cocks brush against each other; Danny's heels dig into the backs of his legs trying to pull him in closer.

Then the agitator in the washing machine kicks in.

"Ah! Jesus!" Steve shuts his eyes against the vibrations and Danny fucking laughs into his hair. But Steve wants this to last a little longer, so he leans forward and wraps his arms around Danny's waist to haul him off the washing machine. Danny grabs his shoulders to keep from falling, and Steve puts him back on his feet and then shoves him up against the back of the laundry room door; it slams shut when Danny's weight hits it.

"Fucking tease," Steve hisses, bracing his palms on the door on either side of Danny's head and thrusting his hips forward, hard.

"Fuck! Speak for yourself, Smooth Moves."

"I'll show you smooth." Steve nips his way down Danny's heaving chest until he's on his knees, and grabs the base of Danny's cock. Danny looks down at him, and Steve winks before going down on him. He can hear the thud of Danny's head hitting the door as he sucks, and swirls his tongue around the head on an upstroke as a reward for the compliment. Then he grabs Danny's ass with his other hand and gets to work.

Two and a half minutes: nearly a personal best, and then Danny's making choked-off noises and patting his shoulder. Steve lets Danny come in his mouth and then leans over to spit it in the garbage can before he gets to his feet again.

As soon as Steve is standing, Danny exercises probably the one commando move he knows and throws Steve back against the door before diving in to shove his tongue down Steve's throat. Danny's hand trails tantalizingly down Steve's torso, knuckles grazing his jittery stomach muscles, and then wraps around his aching cock and squeezes. Steve lets out a shout into Danny's mouth that Danny kisses away, and then Danny starts jacking him off, steadily and tortuously. Steve feels an orgasm rise up practically from his toes and shuts his eyes against the force of it building, grabbing Danny's shoulders in a death grip and panting through his clenched teeth.

"Just fucking come already," Danny whispers in his ear, and twists his wrist and squeezes, and then Steve nearly explodes with it, arching his back against the laundry room door while Danny keeps his hand moving, working every last bit out of him.

"Sorry, my blowjob technique is kind of nonexistent," says Danny when Steve can hear again. Behind them the washing machine hits the spin cycle. "Bed?" he asks, leaning close to trace lightly over Steve's sensitized skin.

Steve takes a deep breath, feeling endorphins clawing at his brain. "Yeah." When they pick themselves up off the door and stagger out of the laundry room, Steve says, "It's on you to put that shit in the dryer."

"I'm going to drop yours behind the washing machine," says Danny, leaning in to kiss him again.