The first time that Steve swats Danny's ass, it's a light tap in passing, no more. Danny scowls after him, but there's no time for reprisals or rebuke when Kono and Chin are already running for the door and Steve's attention has moved elsewhere. He assumes, without giving it much thought, that Steve was impatient with his pause to pick up a file knocked to the floor, and the brief contact is forgotten in the car chase and shoot out that follows.

He survives. They all do. It's a good day for the good guys.

The second time is different. It's a lopsided slap that carries a sting and it's delivered in public, on the way back to Danny's car after a difficult interview with a grieving mother. The memory of her sorrow clouds the bright day, draining the warmth from the air, and Danny feels bad enough about the wasted life his words have just drawn a line under that he doesn't let the slap pass, even if the words accompanying it were more annoying. He'll smile when he fucking feels like it, thank you, and that time is not now.

It's not like it's a tease or Steve's version of foreplay. Since they started fucking semi-regularly, Steve touches him less in public, not more, and they've never, not once, done the deed on duty. They save the touching for quick early morning blow jobs, Steve trading a ride into work with a drop to his knees, or the lazy hours of a weekend afternoon, working each other up until all that's left to fight about is who wants to top. Even then, there's always the compromise of curling into question marks on the bed and sixty-nining until one of them blows and the other has the choice of finishing where he is, balls deep in a warm, wet mouth, or pulling out and suiting up.

If it's Danny who holds out the longest, he's usually so close to coming from hearing Steve groan out his name, a muffled, elongated pair of syllables, that he stays put, painting Steve's face with the Morse Code for 'God, yes' in come and cleaning it off later with a handful of tissues, to a soundtrack of Steve bitching at him for missing his mouth.

Danny doesn't miss, not with his gun, not with his dick. He just likes seeing his mark on Steve, even if it's something as easy to wipe away as spunk.

So, given the rules they play with -- and they're not unspoken, bet your ass they're not, because Steve needs some things spelling out -- the slap on his ass is annoying, puzzling, and just plain weird.

He bitches Steve out about it for a few miles and then subsides when he realizes that Steve's hunkered against the passenger door -- Steve doesn't get to drive Danny's car if he's an asshole -- and oddly quiet.

The third time, reaching up for a mug in Steve's kitchen one morning, he turns, warned by instinct, and catches both Steve's wrist and the look in his eye.

"What is with you?" he asks, slamming the mug down with a little too much force. "You want me to move? Ask me. You want me to move faster, ask louder. Whacking my ass is just giving me flashbacks to a really disturbing case involving a frat house and a stuffed bear and if you're really nice to me, I won't tell you that story, ever."

"I didn't -- I --"

That lost look is back and Danny hates it. Steve gets it sometimes when he really doesn't understand why Danny's pissed (mostly, he knows, sometimes…not so much) and if Grace ever learns how to do it, Danny will sell his car and buy her the pony she wants without hesitation. Steve's goofy grins after sex or the intent, wondering way he stares down at Danny when he thinks Danny's eyes are closed in sleep are bad enough, but the bewildered look is like a bullet to his heart, swear to God.

Danny's wearing skin and a T-shirt that's too short, the hem only low enough to skim the cloud of hair on his belly, no more than that. He's walking around with his cock ready to go to hard, and yeah, he's doing it to entice Steve into pouncing, but also because he couldn't find his pants. They're around somewhere, but the lure of coffee had overridden any modesty he has left and Steve's seen everything he's got, up close and personal, so it's no big deal. Now, facing a Steve who's covered up by a T-shirt and wearing the bottom of a pair of PJs, the pants loose and faded a shade lighter through washing, he feels naked.

Guilt at putting that look in Steve's eyes only fuels his irritation. It's early. He needs coffee. Steve had hogged the bed. He's got a dozen reasons for being grouchy if he needs them but he only uses one.

"You want to slap my ass? Go ahead. Do it." Danny turns, plants his hands on the counter and shoves his ass out, throwing in a wiggle. "There it is."

"Danny, I don't --"

He hears Steve swallow, the guy's that close, feels the air move when Steve gets even closer. He spreads his fingers wide and drops his head down, staring at his cock from a weird angle and watching it thicken from habit. He's stood like this for Steve before, but for different reasons.

"Do it," he repeats and makes his voice inflexible.

Steve's breath hisses out in a sigh and his hand meets the curve of Danny's ass in a clumsy, tentative smack.

Danny snorts. "Oh, come on," he says, taunting Steve and hating himself for doing it. "That all you got?"

The next slap is solid, jarring, and stings. It's loud, too, in the quiet kitchen, and Danny jumps, flinching away from the noise not the fleeting pain. He twists his head. "Jesus, that…"

He doesn't finish his sentence. Steve's staring at the mark his hand's left and there's no satisfaction in his eyes, just need.

It's Danny's turn to swallow. Okay, this is new, this is surprising, but this is Steve; what isn't? He picks his words carefully, the counter still cool under his hands. "This isn't something I've done. Ever. This isn't my thing, you know? If you want to do this, we need to talk about it, but I'm not gonna lie, it didn't do much for me. You can give me a few more if you like, but --"

"I don't want to," Steve says, his voice tight, controlled to the point of not sounding like him. "I just wanted to know what it was like."

Danny straightens and turns, feeling a little more secure with his ass out of reach. "Yeah? And?"

Steve frowns. "What?"

"What did it feel like?" Danny asks. "Did you get a rush from it? Did it turn you on?" He glances down and raises his eyebrows, grinning. "Forget that last question."

Steve slides his hand over the front of his pants, palming the erection pushing out the thin fabric and adjusting himself. "You don't get it," he says, scraping the smile off Danny's face with the raw edge to his voice. "I want to know what it felt like for you."

"I told you," Danny says with a shrug. "I didn't get off on it. And while we're on the subject, handcuffs are for work, not for play, and I don't even like calling you 'Boss' so don't even try to make me call you --"

"No." Steve's flushed now, his hands by his sides, his fingers tensing, curling, almost making fists. "Please. Tell me. I want to know what it felt like."

Sometimes when they lie in bed, Danny will get an itch in the middle of his back. The easiest way to get it scratched when he's feeling too dopey with sleep to talk is to start scratching Steve's back just where his own needs it. Steve will mirror him perfectly, the way most people do, a throwback to something primal, until Danny's groaning out his approval as Steve's fingernails scratch at him just right, making his toes curl with pleasure.

He talks with his hands a lot, but now, when he lifts one to point speechlessly at Steve, his mouth hanging open, empty, all that he can think is that it's the hand Steve wants him to use and he can't --

"You want me to -- You're asking --" The words, when he finally gets them out, sound incredulous, but a small part of him isn't surprised that Steve wants this, which should tell him something. "Jesus, Steve, before breakfast?" he adds peevishly and halleluiah, Steve's mouth loses the pinched, hurt tightness and curves in a smile.

"You're saying if I feed you, you'll do it?"

Danny exhales, and swipes his hands through his hair. He's terrified; limp-dicked, dry-mouthed, but there's something gratifying about Steve's trust in him and if the whole slap my ass thing isn't doing much for him, seeing Steve like this, so fucking vulnerable, so needy, most definitely is. He wants to hug the guy, pet him calm, fuck him until Steve's throat is hoarse from screaming out his name and his ass is tender on the inside, in all the secret places only Danny gets to go.

He wants Steve so much in general that this is something they'll work out because the alternative isn't there to be chosen. He's not walking away. Not over this.

"I'm saying, give me some coffee and then we'll talk. For three minutes or until I start blushing. If I blush, we stop."

He sits at the table and watches Steve move around the kitchen, filling their mugs with coffee and making toast. He can't stop staring at Steve's ass and picturing it waiting, not for his fingers, his mouth, his cock, but the blunt, hard smack of his palm. He thinks of how it'll look stained red, bruised darkly, and shudders, half aroused -- it's Steve's ass and he likes Steve's ass -- half repelled. Hurting Steve, even if Steve wants it, is just so out there that Danny's not sure it's in him to give.
After three sips of his coffee, he jumps right in. "You've never done this before?"

"I've never trusted anyone enough to ask them." Steve hasn't touched his coffee or bitten into the golden brown slice of toast in front of him, butter melting into it, softening the crispness. "It's not a big deal."

"I said we'd stop if I blushed," Danny says indistinctly, through a mouthful of toast. "We also stop if you lie to me. It's a big deal. You want it. You've been asking me for it all week and I just didn't get it. Which is completely your fault before you start thinking that I'm apologizing here, because I'm not."

"I'm not asking --"

"All you needed to do -- and you're capable of speech, don't underrate yourself -- was say, 'Danny, if you're not doing anything this weekend, come over to my place and spank me because I've always wondered what it was like and you look like the man for the job.'. Which I am," Danny adds, dropping the crust onto his plate because Grace isn't around needing him to set a good example. "I can do it. I will. Right now, if you like."

Steve shakes his head and the words tumble out of his mouth as if the shake's jarred them loose. "I'm not asking you to do something you don't want to do. I'm not lying when I say it's not as important as you. I'm sitting here terrified that I've screwed things up, that you're going to walk away and --"

Danny spreads his arms wide. "Still here. Not leaving. Don't flatter yourself that you're special, some kind of kinky freak. You're not. Seventy-three percent of men over forty have been spanked at least once."

Steve gives him a look of pure, unadulterated suspicion. "Oh, yeah? Says who?"

"True fact," Danny confirms, lying shamelessly. "I read it in Cosmo, when I was waiting in line at the supermarket a few years back. I wanted to find out how to make my man howl at the moon. I think it was their October issue."

"So are you part of the seventy-three or the twenty-seven percent?" Steve asks, ignoring Danny's attempt to distract him.

Danny snorts after checking Steve's math in his head automatically. "After what we just did, I'm going to have to tick the 'have been spanked box.'." He wriggles his ass against the chair. "Ow."

Steve's eyes go sharp, concerned. "I hurt you?"

Danny waves his hand dismissively. "What? No! I'm just teasing you. It didn't hurt. Well, it stung, just for a second, but after that it -- " He falters. Steve's listening with this painful intensity and it's just too fucking much. "You know what? Why don't I just show you?"

"We're still talking about it," Steve objects but he's clamping his hands around his mug to stop them from shaking.

Danny takes a last gulp of coffee and stands up. "No, we're done talking. Get your ass in the bedroom and lose the pants. As soon as I've found mine, we're doing this."

Steve stands too, takes one step toward the stairs, and hesitates. "We should just forget it. It's something I fantasize about, but that doesn't mean I'll like the real thing."

"Sad but true. I always thought I wanted to skydive until a friend took me up in a plane and told me to jump out of it. Those parachutes, they're kinda flimsy, you know?"

"Did you jump?" Steve asks, and this is why Danny's most of the way in love with him, because even in the middle of this crisis of kink, Steve's interested in him and what makes him tick.

Danny sighs at the memory of what an idiot he'd been. "I was trying to impress him. Yeah, I jumped. Threw up when I landed, and pissed myself on the way down, though I don't think anyone noticed that what with the puke everywhere, but I jumped." He pulls Steve to him for a hug, pressing his lips against Steve's neck and breathing in the scent of sleep-warm skin. "If you do like it --"

"I won't ask you to do it again," Steve says, pulling back so that he can meet Danny's eyes. "Just -- make it count. Don't hold back. And don't…"

"Don't what, babe?" Danny says projecting calm when his heart's thudding wildly. He might not be sure that he wants to do this, he might be tilted off-balance by the discovery that Steve does, but it's going to mean Steve naked, hard, under his hand, and it's not like he can be totally anti that, no matter what else is involved.

Steve closes his eyes for a moment, color rising in his cheeks. He doesn't open them until the final word. "Don't laugh. Don't joke about it before, during, or after. Don't make me feel like a freak. Don't…don't tell anyone. Please."

Danny slides his hand down and swats Steve's ass as hard as he can given the angle. It takes away some of the sympathy constricting his throat but not all of it. "That's for implying I'm an insensitive asshole instead of a caring, sympathetic boyfriend with some dark secrets of his own that I'll share with you the next time you get me drunk. Welcome to the seventy-three percent. If you still want more--"

Steve nods, arousal darkening his eyes, red to the tips of his ears. He's going to fall apart under the first slap, Danny can tell, and something inside him is already anticipating it, how good it's going to feel to fuck Steve after this, how Steve's going to give him everything, no reservations, no holding back, that strong, hard body pliant and quivering.

"Upstairs," he says and watches Steve's ass every step of the way

They're standing by the bed when something else occurs to him and he licks his lips, biting down on the lower one hard.

"What?" Steve asks, naked in front of him, waiting for Danny to finish zipping his pants. They'll come off again soon and it's not easy to ease the zipper up when he's hard just from looking at Steve, but there's no way he's spanking Steve naked, his junk bouncing around. It's a question of authority.

"If we do this again…if we both…don't mind it…"

"Yeah?"

"Don't come," Danny says. "I want you to fuck me after I've spanked you. I want you to show me how fucking good it's made you feel. Not this time. This time, you can come." With a touch that nearly brings Steve to his knees, he runs a fingertip from the root of Steve's cock to the tip. It's a crueler touch than any he'll give Steve during the spanking, but he can't resist. "Like I could even stop you. But next time --"

Steve nods as if he gets it, and maybe he does, and lies down on the bed, taking a little while to settle into a comfortable position.

Danny admires the view for long enough that Steve stirs restlessly, his ass rising a few inches, an involuntary plea that has Danny breathing just a little faster.

He's not sure what he's doing. Even as he nudges Steve over a foot or so to make room for him on the bed, even as he positions a pillow under Steve to keep that ass up and give Steve's cock some space, he's aware of a voice yammering in his head, panicked, worried.

If he screws this up when it matters to Steve, he'll never forgive himself. And Steve's on edge to begin with, guilty for making Danny do something that he'd never considered, but needing it too much to be unselfish -- which tells Danny everything he needs to know about how important this is to Steve.

"Tell me when it's enough," he says and rests his palm on the warm, pale skin he's about to turn hot and bright. "And relax," he adds. The muscles in Steve's ass are bunched and tight. "It's going to be good. You'll love it."

His first slap is too hard as he over-compensates for his nerves, determined not to spoil this. Something tells him that gentle, kind play pats will drive Steve insane and not in a good way. He knows it's too hard because he's watching Steve's hands and they clench hard, fingers clawing at the sheet. A shudder races through Steve's body, a shocked ripple.

Yeah, too hard, but Danny doesn't stop to apologize. He makes the second one less of an all-out assault and more of a confident, yes, I know what I'm doing brisk spank.

Steve's hands are still gripping the sheet, but his knuckles aren't white and he exhales as if he's been holding his breath, which makes Danny realize that oxygen's an issue for him, too.

Danny winces when he sees the red he's put onto Steve's skin, but he lands another few anyway, the heat in his palm making him part of this in a way he hadn't expected. He's half-hard, too absorbed in the task at hand to really pay attention to his own response, but his body's less detached. This isn't about him, though. Not this time. This is just him giving Steve something Steve wants.

Steve's skin is soon dappled with sweat, though the room's cool enough. The ink swirling on his arms looks different when it's wet from a shower or the ocean, but the sweat just makes the tattoos look fresh and new. Getting them must've hurt, too. Danny flashes on Steve in a chair, a man with a needle working him over, getting small moans from Steve, pushing the pain deep into his skin, and the possessiveness that flares up makes it easy to continue the spanking.

He tells himself that he'll stop at six, at ten, a round dozen, but his hand rises and falls long after those numbers are reached, peppering Steve's ass and the top of his thighs with crisp, hard slaps. Steve's too quiet and Danny breaks the silence.

"You're holding back. Make some noise for me. Show me you want this."

Steve's head moves in a 'no'. Fucking stoic SEAL.

"This isn't about being brave," Danny tells him. One spank over there, where the skin's pink not red. It needs some attention…yeah, that's better. "It's about enjoying yourself. I'm spanking your fucking ass, Steve. Show me some goddamned appreciation."

He finds a spot that's blazing red and goes to town on it. Bare hand, kneeling beside Steve; he's not going to hurt him. The position was deliberate. Over his knee just wasn't an option. Even if Steve had wanted it, Danny would've felt ridiculous. Steve bending over a chair wasn't going to be comfortable for long. This isn't punishment, isn't even pretending to be, and Danny's not interested in making this mimic a frat-house hazing with Steve begging him for more please, sir.

This is him giving Steve a spanking because Steve wants to find out what it's like. It's simple enough, really. Steve hasn't asked to be tied up, or paddled, there's no ritual, no real goal beyond making sure that Steve gets an experience that qualifies as a spanking.

Danny stares at Steve's ass. Oh, yeah. This qualifies.

"Noise," he reminds Steve and Steve makes this sound, this desperate choking whoop of a breath and yeah, look, white knuckles again, the bone pushing up against the skin and stretching it pale.

"That's good," Danny says and makes it sound serious, not approving. Approving will just piss Steve off. "I like that. Do it again, please."

Steve shakes his head, but it's more like a man looking for a way out than a rejection. He's going from stretched taut to loose, boneless, his ass muscles flexing along with his clutching hands.

Danny sighs, leans down, and licks across all that blazing hot skin. Steve yelps, startled, and whimpers when Danny blows over the glistening wet stripe to cool it. It won't be helping to take the burn away, Danny knows; it's just making Steve realize how hot the rest of his ass is. The next spank, Danny gets a moan and after that he gets one with every slap, every fleeting press of his hand, until Steve's crying out, each breath a sound, lost in his own world of waiting for Danny's hand to flash down, never knowing where it will land.

Danny doesn't want to lie where Steve is and offer his own ass up for this, but he's curious about how it feels. Steve's enjoying it, but as with any first time, he guesses there's too much going on for the experience to be fully absorbed.

He finds himself thinking that next time will be easier on both of them and realizes that he's not even considering the possibility that this is a one-off. Maybe not something they'll do often, but Steve's going to want this again.

As he ends it, ignoring Steve's dazed murmur of protest, and rolls Steve to his back, getting his mouth over Steve's cock just in time to catch the first spurt of come, he accepts that it doesn't matter if it's still not really his kink, he'll want it too.

He'd want anything that made Steve his the way this has.


Return to Home

Click here if you'd like to send feedback