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Entry tags:
Real Deal, H50, Steve/Danny, NC-17
Title: Real Deal (Four Times Nobody Noticed It Was a Date, and One Time There Wasn’t Any Doubt, 5/5)
Fandom: Hawaii Five-0
Pairing: Steve/Danny
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine
Notes/Warnings: Follows Dinner and a Movie; Late Lunch, Afternoon At The Beach; and Party Time.
Many, many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
withdiamonds for listening to me hyperventilate about this one for a solid week, and to everyone who's sent me such lovely fb. This has been such a fun trip; I'm so happy to have taken it along with you.
Also posted all together on AO3, here.
"Okay," Danny says, walking into Steve's office. "We need to talk."
"Shouldn't you be helping Chin?" Steve glances up from his laptop, and then looks right back down, managing to do the whole not-meet-Danny's-eyes thing, that thing that's been so popular in recent days, in record time.
"Chin?" Danny snorts. "Chin Ho Kelly--the one with fifteen years on the force? That Chin? I'm thinking he can handle cross-checking alibis without my assistance." He closes the door behind him and leans against it. He doesn't actually think Chin or Kono is going to walk in and interrupt them but he's not taking any chances. "So, that would be a no, I don't need to be helping Chin."
Steve gives him the short, curt, I'm-listening-to-you-but-not-really-because-the-fate-of-the-free-world-hangs-on-my-glaring-at-my-laptop nod.
"So," Danny says. "Talking."
"About?"
"Oh, we're going to play it like that, are we?" Danny smiles, mostly to mess with Steve's shit a little, because he's right on the borderline of fucking pissed and he knows Steve knows it. "Okay, sure. Talking about you--" Danny points to Steve--"and me--" he points to himself-- "and kissing."
That gets a flicker of Steve's eyes, which confirms what Danny's been thinking: that Steve's been counting on Danny not wanting to talk about it. To be honest, it's not on the top of Danny's list of wants, but it sure as hell is topping the list of needs.
"It should have happened a couple of days ago, but things got busy and I'll own up to letting that side-track me." It was easy enough to do that, Danny thinks, but that still doesn't mean it's what he should have done. "My fault," he admits. "Surprisingly enough, as much as I want to, I don't really think you engineered an art heist that's like something out of The Thomas Crowne Affair complete with us running all over the island and you taking calls from the goddamned White House so you could avoid the subject. I wouldn't put it past you, mind you; I just don't think even you could pull off something this fucked up on no notice. Anyway. We're mostly done with that now, so. Talking."
"Danny," Steve sighs, after a while, but not nearly as long as Danny had been prepared to wait him out. "There's not--anything to talk about."
"You know," Danny says. "That would seriously piss me off except I know that on some completely incomprehensible level, you actually believe that saying it makes it be that way."
"No, I'm saying it because it's the tr--"
"No," Danny says, and if it's a little--okay, a lot--too loud, too damn bad. "It is not the truth."
"Fine," Steve's yelling back, before the echoes of Danny's voice even settle. "Why don't you just go ahead and tell me what you want me to say."
"Let's start with something honest," Danny snaps. "Because, this," he gestures between Steve and himself, "whatever this is, it's between partners, and I shouldn't have to be standing here pointing out how that doesn't work without some trust."
There's a long silence, complete with zero eye contact, with the icing on the cake of Steve's phone ringing and him saying, "It's Jameson."
He has to take it, Danny knows that, but there's an unmistakable relief in his eyes. It's fast, there and gone, but Danny sees it and if he's been pissed, now he's just tired.
"Don't do this," Danny says, as he opens the office door. "Do not treat this partnership like it's disposable, because whatever else does or does not happen, that has never been true."
He turns and gets his ass out of Steve's office after that. It's not what he meant to say--hell, he's not even sure where it even came from--but fuck it, it's the truth. He ends up back in the war room, throwing himself in a chair and pretending like he's fascinated with the background information on the stolen-but-now-recovered Imperial Jade dragons they've been chasing after. Steve's office door stays pointedly closed.
"The random stuff you pick up on this job," Danny says, when he looks up to find Chin watching him. "Two days ago, I'd have said it was a green rock, but now, hey, I know there's jadeite and nephrite, and if I ever win the lottery I should go straight for the Burmese stuff."
Chin nods and goes back to working his way through the notes--they all know it's the ambassador's son who's engineered the whole thing, and they've got him dead-to-rights, but even getting face-time for questioning provoked an international incident--hence the calls from the White House--so there's no room for any slip-ups. Danny knows Chin's not going to stop until everything's triple-checked and verified.
"John McGarrett was very good to me," Chin says, after a few minutes. He doesn't look up from where he's making notes on the interview forms. Danny isn't surprised Chin hasn't missed any of the dancing around each other that's been going on; subtlety isn't exactly his and Steve's strong suit even at the best of times. "But I don't know that I would have wanted to be his son."
Danny thinks about a lot of things, from the way Steve and Mary have almost perfected the opposite sibling maneuver, as though neither one of them could figure out which might get more attention, flying perfect or flying wild; to that goddamned shrine of a house Steve won't leave; and how his own dad never missed a single game of his in high school, even though Danny never came close to breaking records.
"I'm guessing the genius in there doesn't think there was room for anything but textbook perfection," he says, half to Chin, half to himself. Chin shrugs and nods, and Danny sighs. From where he's sitting, he can see into Steve's office at an angle, enough to know that the idiot's still in there, on his feet and pacing, still with the phone pressed to his ear. Maybe it's good to play it low-key, Danny thinks. Work a little at a time; chip away at everything standing in the way.
"Gimme half that," Danny says to Chin. Patience is a virtue and all that, but if he's going to outwait McGarrett, he might as well be getting something constructive done. Kono comes in right as they're finishing up with a breezy "How is it?" and news that HPD has their annoying kid under observation. Danny can hear Steve on the phone with the governor now, even through the closed office door, his voice taking on that extra-special edge that says the SEAL is itching to break lose and do some serious damage.
All of which is going to make any conversation Danny wants to have with him even more problematic, but the job is what it is, whatever the hell else is going on between the two of them, so when Steve yanks the door open and comes out to join the rest of them, Danny says, "And the word is…?"
"Officially? We should have full cooperation from the State Department by tomorrow morning, but we better have our act together on this one, or there will be, and I quote, 'a shitstorm' coming down on us, and not just from the embassy."
"And unofficially?"
"Unofficially--" Steve stops and shakes his head, as though he can't believe what he's about to say. "Unofficially--if it's not too much trouble--the governor would like commemorative photos of us deporting his ass, and if we can get one or two shots of his obstructionist parents enjoying the moment, so much the better."
There's a second or two of silence as everybody processes, and then Chin's mouth twitches up into a half-smile, and Kono smothers a laugh behind the back of her hand. Steve relaxes enough to almost smile, but then shoots Danny a sidelong glance, like he's remembering they're only barely speaking to each other.
"All right, then," Danny says, ignoring the look, partially because it'll mess with Steve if he does, and partially because he'd kind of forgotten, too. He shoves a page of names at Kono and another one at Steve. "This would be where we make sure we have our act together."
They go round-robin, everyone checking on everyone else, and if it takes less time than Danny expects, it's still late by the time they finish up. Chin and Danny take up all the notes, Danny filing under Chin's direct supervision--he is not going to fuck with the system in the middle of a case, even if he doesn't understand it and plans to talk Chin around to something more normal later--while Kono runs back-ups of everything, and Steve paces in front of the board and goes over the plan for the next morning for the fiftieth time.
"Hang loose," Chin says to Steve, which is a nice thought, but more-or-less useless, what with the go-go-go Steve's all but radiating. Still, Danny thinks. Good for Chin, giving it the old college try. "He thinks he's free and clear on this one; he's not going anywhere. And if he does, HPD's watching him."
"Yeah," Steve answers. "Sure. Hanging loose."
Danny sighs inwardly, because it's better than laughing at how crazed having to sit around makes Steve. He's about to suggest that Steve go perpetrate some violence in a marginally appropriate way--say, go pick up this week's favorite weapon and blast the hell out of an unsuspecting target--when Steve's tossing the whiteboard markers at Kono, catching her attention as she comes back into the war room.
"Spar?" he asks, with a slow smile that she matches.
"You got it, boss," she says, cracking her knuckles and shaking out her wrists. Chin rolls his eyes as she bounces up onto her toes, then follows Steve out of the room. "Pads or full contact?" Danny hears her say as they disappear in the direction of the gym.
"I'm thinking there's only one answer to that," Danny says to Chin. "What about you?"
"I don't think either one of them even knows where the pads are," Chin answers, heading into the computer lab to put the systems to sleep. "All right, I am gone. See you in the morning."
"Don't forget fresh batteries for the camera," Danny says. "We wouldn't want to disappoint Madam Governor."
"Already on my list," Chin says, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and giving Danny the 'hang loose' waggle of his hand as he heads out. Danny takes one last look to make sure they've gotten everything out of the war room, then goes along and kills the lights, until the only one on is the one in his office, so there's no way Steve can accidentally miss that Danny's still around. He can choose to ignore the fact, but Danny wants to know that's what he's done, and he wants Steve to know that he'll know.
Danny cleans up his notes, and clears off his desk, and empties his trash, and reminds himself about a thousand times that patience is what's required here. He talks to Grace and hears all about her day and the plans for the weekend, and even checks in with Rachel about some science project he's helping Grace with that Rachel's sure he's going to forget about. He's down to sharpening pencils and thinking about getting a plant just so he can water it when he looks up to find Steve hovering in his door, sweaty and rumpled, his boots and socks in one hand, a bottle of water in the other.
"You two have a nice, violent altercation?" Danny asks, going for casual and pretty pleased with how it comes out. "I'm not seeing any blood, but I get the feeling Kono likes to go for body blows. Any internal bleeding I should be aware of?"
"The woman does have some nasty moves," Steve admits, rolling his shoulder and wincing. "And she is quick… Swear to God, all she needs is a quarter-second opening."
"Good," Danny says. "As often as she goes in UC, that's exactly what I want to hear."
"Yeah, me, too" Steve says, and Danny knows that's at least part of the reason he and Kono go at it as often as they do. The other part is that they both really like beating the shit out of people, but, hey, to each their own. The silence stretches out, Danny watching as Steve leans against the door, then stands back up, shifting his weight from foot to foot, all of which is pretty fascinating in a guy who Danny seen be so still Danny's been tempted to check him for a pulse.
"I didn't--" Steve stops and swallows hard; Danny makes himself stay quiet. "I never meant any disrespect to our partnership, Danno. You have to know that. I--it just--happened, and I won't let--"
"Whoa, hang on," Danny interrupts. "Let's try not to fuck this up any more than we already have, yeah?" He waits until Steve looks at him, because this is getting out of hand and Danny needs to stop this shit right now. "What I said earlier--I only meant the part where we were dancing around ignoring the, the gorilla in the pink tutu, not the tutu itself."
Steve looks at him for a long time before he comes all the way in and takes the chair in front of Danny's desk. Danny's not too proud to admit that it's suddenly a hell of a lot easier to breathe.
"Okay," Steve says, setting his boots and the water bottle on the floor.
"Okay," Danny answers, and the silence descends again. It's not exactly strained, but still. "All right, look," Danny finally says. "I'll talk. You answer. We can keep it simple: yes or no, or, you know, the occasional grunt. Good by you?"
"Yeah," Steve says, and Danny can tell he was considering grunting, but Danny can rise above that kind of shit.
"So, to summarize: you kissed me; I left; we have done nothing but bitch at each other for the last three days. Correct?"
"Yeah," Steve says again.
"New fact for you: I got out of your truck because I needed to be absolutely sure of what was going on in my head, not because I had to go throw up, okay?"
Danny makes sure he keeps eye contact, waiting until Steve nods once.
"Okay," Danny says, taking a deep breath. "And this is beyond the agreed-upon yes/no/grunt but… This is where I need a new fact from you. In actual words."
"It's okay, coach; I think I can handle the pressure." Steve leans forward and braces both forearms on his thighs--not exactly a relaxed body posture, but not fight or flight either. "Go for it."
"I--need to know what that was," Danny says, with as much calm as he can find, which isn't much, but he's in too far to back out now. "Was it blowing off steam, something easy and convenient or--"
"No," Steve says, jerking his head up and staring at Danny. "No. Nothing like that."
He says it fast and serious and a little horrified that Danny could even think that, and it's like all the shit that's been rattling around in Danny's head for the last few days just up and leaves. He doesn't even try to keep any of it off his face, and that, it turns out, is absolutely and definitely the best thing he's done all week.
"Okay," he says. "That's--yeah, good."
Steve's half-smiling at him, that not-quite-smirk that usually comes out when Danny's missed some giant, island-way-of-life tradition and Steve can't decide whether to laugh at him outright or pat him on the head. It usually annoys the fuck out of Danny, but since he's apparently been missing things here for a while, he's going to let it slide, just this once, even before Steve takes a deep breath of his own and says, "Look, tomorrow, after we deal with this idiot kid, you should--if you want, you could come out to the house and I'll make dinner."
"I could do that," Danny says, and it's kind of ridiculous how easy it is to say that, given all the crap that's been flying between them for the last few days. Then again, from the way the smirk on Steve's face morphs into an honest-to-God smile, with more than a touch of relief, maybe he's not the only one who's feeling the same way.
*
Danny pulls over in a strip shopping center that's right before the turn into Steve's neighborhood for one last gut-check and a couple minutes of deep-breathing. He's not going to bail, but he'd caught Steve looking at him more than once during the day with an expression that said Steve wasn't sure that Danny wouldn't do exactly that, and worse, that Steve was getting himself set to deal with it. Whatever else happens tonight, Danny feels like he should acknowledge the very real need he feels to find whoever's responsible for that and beat them senseless.
He gets himself settled and heads back out for the final few miles, and by the time he's pulling into the driveway, he's as cool as he's going to get. He grabs the bottle of scotch that's his contribution to the evening and breathes a wordless prayer to St. Jude--because this thing is way beyond St. Michael--that this thing won't blow up in their faces as he heads for the door.
Steve's back on the lana'i; he waves Danny in and comes in from the back to meet him halfway. It's really only been a couple of hours since Danny's seen him--dealing with the U.S. Department of State and their paperwork is not something Danny's looking forward to repeating, like, ever, and their definition of 'full cooperation' leaves a lot to be desired in Danny's book--but Steve's showered and changed, and even if it's only a variation on the daily cargoes and t-shirt, black on black this time, there still was some effort put into the whole thing, which Danny appreciates. From the way Steve's eyes move over Danny's untucked button-down and khakis, that quick sweep that never misses anything, Danny's pretty sure they're on the same page.
"A bottle in a brown paper bag?" Steve nods at the Scotch Danny's still holding. "Classy, Danno."
"I thought about getting one of those fancy wrapping bags, but I figured you'd rather I spent the extra money on the booze itself," Danny answers.
"I'm not going to argue with Glenlivet," Steve says, as he pulls the bottle out of the bag.
"Okay, two things," Danny says, before it can get quiet and awkward and he loses his nerve. "One--I am so out of practice with the whole dating thing you don't even want to know."
"Gotcha--resetting expectations to low," Steve says with that half-smile, the one that always tempts Danny to smack his face. "That's one; what's two?"
"This," Danny says, taking the bottle of Scotch out of Steve's hands and putting it on the sideboard next to them before he draws Steve down and into a kiss. It's not supposed to be anything big, just an easy way to start the night, but then Steve's breath hitches right as Danny's about to pull away, and Danny has to go back for more. By the time they stop, which is only because oxygen is necessary for life, Steve's backed up against the sideboard, half-sitting on it, legs spread wide enough that Danny fits between them, his hands tight on Danny's hips, and Danny's skin is too small for the rest of him.
"Right," Danny says, sucking air into his lungs like his brain's forgotten how to breathe. He drags his tongue over his lower lip; it's swollen and tender and he can't stay away from where Steve had bitten down. "That--I figured we should get that out of the way early." His heart is slamming in his chest, the blood roaring in his ears so loudly he has no idea if he's whispering or yelling or what. "Be done with it, so there's no wondering when or if or..."
"Yeah," Steve says, his eyes on Danny's mouth. He's breathing as hard as Danny is, which is kind of a relief, as well as being hot as hell. At least Danny's not the only one losing his mind here. "Good thinking." They're close enough that Danny can see the pulse under his jaw and knows that when he puts his mouth there, Steve makes a needy, desperate sound. Something hisses and clatters in the kitchen and Steve blinks twice before he turns to look in that direction. "Dinner," he says, finally.
"Okay. Yeah." Danny works on getting his hands out from where they're under Steve's shirt, halfway up his back, dragging them away from the unexpectedly soft skin layered over hard, shifting muscle, and makes himself take a step back. Steve moves with him, though, so that the only thing that happens is they're standing up, still close enough that Danny can practically feel Steve's heart beating against him; and this time it's Danny's breath that catches somewhere deep in his chest. Steve lets go of Danny's hips, but only to catch his face in both of his hands and bring him back for another kiss, harder this time, rougher and more desperate, as though Steve's not sure he's getting another chance, more like the kiss in the truck, hot as hell, yeah, but not how Danny wants Steve.
Danny hauls himself back from the brink, eases them both down a notch or two, until it's less desperation and more appreciation, Steve's mouth still on his, but only barely, more of a touch than a kiss. When whatever it is in the kitchen hisses again, accompanied by a definite scorched smell, Danny says, against Steve's mouth, "I distinctly heard you promise me dinner, bitch."
Steve huffs out a laugh, and lets Danny go, stepping back and scrubbing his hand hard over his head as he disappears into the kitchen. Danny takes a step back of his own, not thinking about how easy it would be to be moving right along with Steve and the hell with eating.
"Yeah, so, about dinner," Steve calls, reappearing with two beers. He hands one to Danny, and tips the other one up, drinking half of it in one long swallow and Danny can barely tear his eyes off how the muscles in his throat flex and relax. He takes a long drink himself, for distraction, if nothing else. "We can, uh, go with the ahi alone, or there's a half of a pizza in the fridge."
"I clearly heard you say you'd make me dinner," Danny says. "Cold pizza does not cut it, even before I add in the distinct possibility that there is pineapple on it."
"Jesus, you're high-maintenance," Steve says. "Not that this is coming as any kind of a surprise but--"
"See, that's half your problem right there, McGarrett: nobody to hold you accountable," Danny cracks back. "Do I need to explain about fruit and pizza again, maybe break it down into words of a syllable or less--?"
"Fine, okay, we're going with the ahi," Steve says, throwing up his hands in surrender. "Give me two minutes."
He disappears back into the kitchen, coming right back out juggling a platter and some plates. Danny's in charge of opening doors out to the lana'i and the grill, and bringing along the beers and the forks and knives. Steve hadn't been kidding: he slaps the tuna on the grill for next to no time, flipping it once and then off and onto the plates in the promised two minutes.
"Really?" Danny pokes at the fish on his plate dubiously. "This is cooked?"
"Danno." Steve sets his beer down on the table with a thump. "I will let you miss out on ham and pineapple on your pizza, because it's a matter of taste--you're still wrong, but I'll let it go--but that tuna was swimming this morning and it does not get cooked beyond rare."
Steve's got the appalled look going, and the twitchy eyebrow thing, and Danny's not sure how he manages to keep a straight face as he says, "Well, back in Jersey, you don't grill tuna; you just open the--"
"If you tell me tuna is supposed to come in a can, Danny, so help me God, I will--"
Danny finally cracks and grins at the outrage, and Steve looks like he can't decide whether he wants to strangle Danny or possibly slit his throat with the knife he's using to cut the tuna. All in all, an excellent pay-off, Danny thinks. Plus, the fish itself is outstanding so it's a win all around.
He kicks Steve under the table and pushes his beer a little closer to him. Steve kicks him back, but drinks the damn thing and relaxes. It's a good look on him; Danny doesn't think he'll see it much on the job, but he can damn sure work on it when they're not on the clock.
The sun is down and it's almost full night by the time they collect everything and take it back inside, and Danny's not exactly sure how it happens, but one second he's drying dishes, his sleeves rolled halfway up his arms and Steve bitching at him because he's not doing it the Navy way, and the next second, Steve's got him pinned against the counter and they're kissing again. It probably had something to do with him telling Steve to fuck off and Steve taking it literally, but Danny'll work it out later.
"Danny," Steve's saying. "Danny, Jesus--" He breaks off in a ragged gasp as Danny finds that spot, the one under his jaw, right over the artery, and bites down on it, sharper than he means to, but goddamn, how is he supposed to resist the noises Steve's making? Steve's hands are back on Danny's hips; every time Danny shifts his mouth to another part of Steve's neck, they dig in a little harder. By the time Danny's working on marking up Steve's collarbone, he can feel the bruises forming under them, and shit, that's--Danny wants that, wants it enough to push into Steve's hands that much harder.
"Yeah," he says, into Steve's skin. "Like that, come on--you know we're going to be at work in a couple of days, and you're gonna do something stupid and reckless, and I'll--"
"Not reckless," Steve gasps. "I know--fuck, yeah, again--know what I can do, how much I can push it--"
"Shut up," Danny growls, biting down again, until Steve hisses under him. "You'll be an idiot and I'll be ready to beat you senseless, and underneath it all, you're gonna know this--" He mouths over the mark he's left, red now, but it'll darken up before long; Steve shudders against him, long, slow, helpless, and Danny drags his mouth against his skin so he can feel it happen again. "Know it's there; know I know it, too--"
"Danny, fuck," Steve swears, low and vicious, and then they're moving, Steve dragging him away from the counter and out of the kitchen, down the hall toward the bedrooms, a crazy, staggering path, every step punctuated by another kiss, another bite, another growl. They miss the door to the bedroom, Danny ending up slammed into the wall next to it, hard enough that he'd be bitching Steve out except that it gives him a chance to get his hands back on skin. He's greedy for it, wants it like he hasn't wanted anything for longer than he can remember. He goes where Steve wants him to, moving wherever Steve steers them, ignoring anything that's not the way his thumbs settle into the hollow of Steve's hips, or the low, almost noiseless whine that he can feel when he slides them along and under his waistband.
Steve manhandles him through the doorway, two steps, then three and Danny's backed into the mattress and falling onto the bed, Steve coming with him, the two of them managing somehow to twist enough that they land side-by-side, Steve's mouth finding his again, solid and sure, and as good as that is--and it is fucking hotter than hell to have Steve McGarrett tongue-fucking him like it's as necessary as breathing--it's even better that Danny still hasn't had to take his hands off Steve. He lets Steve roll them, lets his legs fall open so he can cradle Steve between them and rocks up into him, swallowing down the desperate sound Steve makes at the hard rub of his dick against Danny's. Steve grinds down onto him, and Danny gets his hands up under his t-shirt, still craving skin, and they get a rhythm going, not smooth at all, but nasty and fucking perfect, at least until Steve pulls back and away.
"Danny, hey," he says, flushed and panting, and Danny would kill him except Steve comes right back in for more, and Danny uses the opportunity to get one leg wrapped around his waist. "God," Steve mutters. "Wait, just… wait."
"Seriously?" Danny asks, not letting go, because he's figured out enough to know that physical contact is a million times better than words no matter how much Steve might argue the point. "We're gonna have a… a conversation? Now?"
"Shut up," Steve tells him. "Just, what…" Steve stops and takes a deep breath, draws it in slow and lets it out in out even slower, and when he looks back at Danny, his eyes are dark and intense, and it's a fucking power trip, Danny thinks, being the focus of all that. "What do you want?"
Jesus Christ, anything, Danny thinks, but he manages not to blurt it out. Instead, he lays his hands flat on Steve's back and draws them slowly up along his spine. Steve's eyes darken and there's the smallest catch in his breathing. Danny smiles.
"That," he says, leaning up enough that he can flick his tongue over the marks he's left on Steve's neck. "And that," he adds, as Steve tenses against him. Steve takes another breath, but it's shaky this time. "Yeah, like that," Danny murmurs. "I want to know what makes you come apart and then I want to watch it happen."
Steve goes absolutely still on top of him, and Danny thinks he might have crossed a line, gone too far into the places that might as well have barbed wire and guard dogs stationed to keep everyone out.
"Your turn." Danny keeps his hands on Steve, skin to skin, and makes himself breathe as easily as he can, even when Steve pulls away again. He's about to bail and go with the hey, but anything's fine, no, really no matter how not cool it makes him sound when Steve leans over and yanks the drawer out of the bedside table, dumping the contents across the comforter, picking through them with quick, abrupt movements until he finds what he's looking for, dropping a condom and little bottle of slick next to Danny. Everything else, he knocks off the bed with a sweep of his arm, and then his attention is back on Danny.
"This," he says. "I want you to--" He breaks off and looks at Danny, that quick, half-desperate look from the night in the truck, the one that Danny's going to get rid of if it's the last thing he does.
"Okay," he manages to answer, his voice stuck somewhere in his throat, and his brain almost completely off-line. Steve sits back on his heels and reaches behind his shoulder to pull his shirt up and off, taking his eyes off Danny's only when the shirt's in the way. Danny leans up on one elbow and traces the backs of his fingers along the skin right above Steve's pants. He could probably find some wisecrack to break the tension--like he's been doing all night--but every nerve in his body is informing him that he likes the tension; from the way the control freak in front of him is barely breathing, Danny thinks he likes it, too.
He leans up further, and Steve takes the hint, bending down to meet Danny halfway. Danny keeps the kisses simple--quick brushes against Steve's mouth, no rush, no hurry, lazy and easy, even as Steve's working on the buttons to Danny's shirt, even when it's off and Danny smooths his free hand down, hooking his fingers under Steve's waistband and tugging.
"Take these off for me," Danny says, against Steve's mouth, and lazy and easy pretty much evaporate, Steve skinning out of the cargoes in nothing flat, every move quick and efficient, no time wasted at all. He crawls back up over Danny, stripping him of his khakis and straddling him without slowing down, ducking his head to hide his eyes as he reaches for the lube.
Danny doesn't like that, not being able to see what's going on with Steve, but he keeps his hands on him the whole time, and if it's a little unclear in his head who needs it more, he doesn't think it matters much.
"Come on," Danny breathes. "Show me." Steve looks up at that, finds Danny's eyes and holds them as he opens the bottle and lets it spill over his hand, and fuck if Danny's ever seen anything hotter than watching Steve's eyes as he fucks himself open on his own hand, at least not until he's got the condom on Danny and it's Danny's dick that he's fucking himself on, going in slow, relentless, deep. Danny groans and digs his hands hard into where he's holding Steve steady.
"God," Danny grits out, jaw set, fighting off everything, everything screaming at him to move, because he's already so close and he's a hundred percent sure he's not anywhere near ready for it to end. He blinks the sweat out of his eyes, not willing to let go even for the couple of seconds it might take to clear them and focuses back on Steve's face. "So good, so good," he says, and presses up carefully, angling his hips so that he's, fuck, deeper, and he's not sure how that's even possible.
"Danny, I need--fuck," Steve says, and he sounds wrecked, needy, but he's not moving, he's waiting for Danny's okay, and that really is the hottest thing ever. "Please."
"Yeah," Danny says, easing off the death grip he's got on Steve's hips. "Go, go."
Steve exhales in a long, drawn-out shudder and starts to rock on Danny, nothing more than tiny shifts of his hips, but it's enough to make Danny see double, leave them both breathless and shaky. Danny works with him, finds the right angle, the one that coaxes fucking incredible noises out of Steve, soft and raw, every one a tiny bit more desperate, a little closer to the edge, every one bringing Danny right along with him.
"Yeah," Danny tells him. "That's it, come on, just like that, so fucking good, come on, come on." He wants to see Steve come apart, wants to see everything that's behind the walls Steve surrounds himself with, not just the bits and pieces he's used to getting, but all of it, all of it. "Tell me, come on, tell me--"
"Danny," Steve says, his voice gone, noting but grating sand. "You--fuck--want your hand, Danny, want it from you--"
Danny's moving before Steve even finishes, one hand wrapped around around Steve's dick, thumb rubbing rough and nasty over the head, and when he drags his nails along the length of it, now, now, now, Steve comes for him, his body arching helplessly in a long, lean curve of skin and muscle, comes so hard around Danny that he can't do anything but slam up into him and follow.
*
"So, what's wrong with this picture?" Danny says into the night. The blinds are still open and the moon is full, reflecting off the water outside, so it's not very dark, definitely light enough to see the ripple of muscles across Steve's back as he shrugs.
"Nothing?" His voice is muffled; he doesn't bother to pick his head up off the pillow.
"Wrong answer," Danny says. It's not a particularly big bed they're on, Danny on his back, Steve sprawled out face-down next to him, so even if they're not, say, cuddling, they're touching across multiple points, more than enough places for Danny to assess the completely unrelaxed state Steve is in.
"Seriously, we just had sex, and at the risk of adding to your over-inflated ego, it was pretty awesome sex, and you--" Danny's not sure if the just-having-sex thing means he can poke and prod at Steve, but he does it anyway, on the theory that they're in Steve's bed, so having to remove Danny's dead body would be more trouble than shutting him up is worth. Steve bats at Danny's hand, but otherwise does not attempt murder. "And you, I've seen you more relaxed catching a nap on the floor of the war room." Danny pokes him again. "The concrete floor of the war room."
"I know it's concrete; I've slept on the damn thing," Steve says, in that we-are-not-having-this-discussion voice, as though he thinks Danny's actually going to take the hint.
"My point, exactly, because here you are, in your bed, and you might think you're radiating serenity, but I am here to tell you how wrong you are."
"Danny." Steve turns his head. "Shut up."
"The yes/no/grunt thing worked out pretty well last time; so, same deal here. I'll talk; you answer, and we can both get some sleep."
"Danny--"
"All right, so let's confirm: awesome sex, yes?"
"If I say 'no', will you take enough offense to be quiet?"
"Yes, no, grunt."
"Yes," Steve says, after a while, and Danny knows he's a smug bastard but he has to admit it's kind of impressive the way Steve manages it without moving beyond opening one eye and arching an eyebrow.
"You're welcome," Danny says, because, hey, it takes two, right? Steve snorts and goes back to pretending he's trying to sleep, but Danny thinks he's the tiniest bit less tense. Point in Danny's favor. "That leaves us with the oh-shit-what-have-I-done part of the equation."
Steve grunts, which is more of a response than Danny expects, and the plan is to keep going, except Danny's suddenly not sure he's ready to hear the answer, enough that he can't quite make himself ask the question. After a couple of seconds of silence, Steve lifts his head up; he doesn't say anything, but he's watching Danny carefully.
"So," Danny makes himself say. "Is that what we're dealing with here?"
"Not on my side," Steve says, and it's such a relief Danny almost misses the rest of what he's saying under the words, at least until he catches on to how everything's gotten all tense again.
"Not on your side," Danny repeats. "But you're waiting for it on my side, is that it?"
"You tell me, Danny."
"Jesus, you're such an idiot," Danny says. "Do I look like--" He sighs and shakes his head and goes with simple words. "No, okay? No buyer's remorse in sight."
"You sure about that?" Steve rolls up onto his side; Danny figures the fact that he's still facing Danny is a major win, so he refrains from smacking the guy upside the head. "You sure about all this?"
"You mean sleeping with my partner?" Danny says. "Granted, it's frowned upon in most situations, but it happens and we're such a weird case anyway that--"
"No," Steve says. "I mean sleeping with your partner who's a guy."
"Oh," Danny says, and sometimes he really can be as stupid as Rachel likes to call him. In his defense, he thinks he might have just lost half his functioning brain cells, but yeah, stupid sometimes.
"Yeah. Oh."
"Funny thing about that," Danny says. "It did actually cross my mind, but I figured since it wasn't until I'd spent the whole night going round and round about what a stupid idea getting involved with you personally is, the fact that you were a guy wasn't going to be a deal-breaker."
"Come on, Danny--"
"Come on, and what, McGarrett? Jesus, you get an idea in your head and there is no getting it out, is there?" Danny takes a deep breath and counts to ten, though, for real, with McGarrett, the practice probably should be counting to a hundred. "I get it, okay? I'm not stupid or naïve or--"
"I never said you were," Steve says, and he's halfway back to that thousand yard stare, but at least Danny knows some of where it's coming from now.
"No," Danny says, keeping at least a tiny grip on his temper, which he'd like some credit for, but doesn't think he's going to get. "You're just sitting around, waiting for it all to blow up in your face."
Steve doesn't say anything, but he stays right where he is, which, Danny figures, is at least another half-point in his favor.
"If this thing blows up--in our faces, thank you very much--it's not going to be because I forgot to notice I was screwing around with a guy." Danny pokes at Steve's shoulder, as much to gauge how tight he is as anything. "You're good, McGarrett, but you're not that good."
Steve looks at him for another long couple of seconds before he nods once, and then drops back down onto the mattress. "Quit jabbing me."
"Quit being stupid." Danny takes a couple of slow, even breaths and thinks he maybe didn't handle that too badly. "And, you know, we couldn't have talked about this, oh, say, five hours ago, when I first got here?"
"Five hours ago, I was still figuring we were in first date territory and you weren't that kind of a girl."
"I would tell you to fuck off, but the last time I did, you took it as a challenge, so assume the sentiment applies."
"Duly noted," Steve says. "Can we go to sleep now?"
"I don't know; are you done being an idiot?"
Steve doesn't bother lifting his head from where he's burrowed into the pillows, so his voice is muffled when he answers, "I swear, Danno, if you don't shut up, I am going to smother you with your own pillow."
"Wow, we didn't even make it through the first night before you start with the death threats. The honeymoon is so over."
Steve makes a noise like he's grinding all the enamel off his teeth, but it doesn't escape Danny's notice that he's about a thousand times less tense, even if he still has a ways to go before he'd qualify as boneless. Good thing he's not the only one who doesn't ever back down from a challenge. Danny's just more subtle about it.
"Say goodnight, Danny."
"Good night, Danny," Danny says, and grins when Steve can't help laughing. Seriously, he didn't actually expect Danny to leave that one by the wayside, did he? He lets himself relax and closes his eyes against the moonlight and surprises himself by dropping off almost instantly.
What's not surprising is that Steve sleeps like shit. It might only be that there's somebody else in bed with him, but Danny gets the feeling it's way more commonplace than that. He thinks he comes awake every time Steve does, but there's no way to know for sure, of course. Still, by Danny's count, they're up four times before Steve's making to get out of bed at 5:39. The only reason he stays then is because Danny rolls over and dares him to sleep past sunrise, so Danny lets it go at a little past seven when Steve's padding around, looking for a bathing suit.
"Don't drown," Danny manages to mumble, and Steve pauses on the way out the door to ask him if he knows how insulting it is to imply that a SEAL might not make it back from an early morning swim in non-hostile waters.
"Mostly I was implying that I might want to see you again and expressing an interest in your welfare, but fine, be that way," Danny says to the empty room before rolling back over and pulling a pillow over his head to block out the light. It doesn't work; it's late enough that he can't get back to sleep, so he wanders out to the kitchen and figures out the coffee-maker.
It's old, and from the look of it, it's going to take a while to make an entire pot, so he hits the shower quickly and stares in bemusement at the toothbrush still in its wrapper sitting by the sink. "Hostess with the mostest," he tells his reflection.
The coffee's ready when he comes back out, and upon further investigation, he finds eggs and bacon and a frying pan. He walks out and down to the water and decides the tiny dot on the other side of the cove is probably Steve, who doesn't look to be finishing up any time soon, so he puts the idea of breakfast on hold and ends up fiddling with the old TV. The Giants are the early game; they're in the second quarter when he finds them. It's sleeting at the Meadowlands, he notices. Good times.
Steve comes back in right at halftime, rubbing a towel over his hair and stealing Danny's coffee, making a face at the cream and sugar in it.
"Jesus," Danny says, hauling himself off the couch and getting him a cup that's black, no sugar. "Shut up and quit dripping on the floor." Steve mutters something about bitchy, over-caffeinated divas, but disappears into the bathroom without further comment.
"If you can wait 'til this drive's done, I'll make some eggs," Danny says, when he comes back out.
"Sure," Steve says, throwing himself on the couch next to Danny and eying the score critically. "It's awesome out there this morning; you're really going to waste it on this bad of a game?"
"Hey, like you always tell me, it's Hawaii. It's probably still going to be awesome out there in an hour, and it'll probably be awesome again tomorrow. It's weird like that," Danny says. "And yes, the Giants are getting the shit kicked out of them, but please notice how I have yet to bring up yesterday's Notre Dame-Navy score."
Steve grunts but it had been an ugly, ugly game, so he keeps his mouth shut. The Giants grind it out but fumble on the two, which basically seals their doom; when Danny elbows Steve to ask whether he wants his eggs scrambled or fried, the only answer he gets is some heavy breathing and a half-asleep grumble.
"Okay," Danny says to no one in particular. "I guess that answers the is-this-gonna-be-awkward question." He mutes the sound on the game and settles back to watch the fourth quarter, Steve pressed warm and heavy along his side.
Fandom: Hawaii Five-0
Pairing: Steve/Danny
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine
Notes/Warnings: Follows Dinner and a Movie; Late Lunch, Afternoon At The Beach; and Party Time.
Many, many thanks to
withdiamonds for listening to me hyperventilate about this one for a solid week, and to everyone who's sent me such lovely fb. This has been such a fun trip; I'm so happy to have taken it along with you.Also posted all together on AO3, here.
"Okay," Danny says, walking into Steve's office. "We need to talk."
"Shouldn't you be helping Chin?" Steve glances up from his laptop, and then looks right back down, managing to do the whole not-meet-Danny's-eyes thing, that thing that's been so popular in recent days, in record time.
"Chin?" Danny snorts. "Chin Ho Kelly--the one with fifteen years on the force? That Chin? I'm thinking he can handle cross-checking alibis without my assistance." He closes the door behind him and leans against it. He doesn't actually think Chin or Kono is going to walk in and interrupt them but he's not taking any chances. "So, that would be a no, I don't need to be helping Chin."
Steve gives him the short, curt, I'm-listening-to-you-but-not-really-because-the-fate-of-the-free-world-hangs-on-my-glaring-at-my-laptop nod.
"So," Danny says. "Talking."
"About?"
"Oh, we're going to play it like that, are we?" Danny smiles, mostly to mess with Steve's shit a little, because he's right on the borderline of fucking pissed and he knows Steve knows it. "Okay, sure. Talking about you--" Danny points to Steve--"and me--" he points to himself-- "and kissing."
That gets a flicker of Steve's eyes, which confirms what Danny's been thinking: that Steve's been counting on Danny not wanting to talk about it. To be honest, it's not on the top of Danny's list of wants, but it sure as hell is topping the list of needs.
"It should have happened a couple of days ago, but things got busy and I'll own up to letting that side-track me." It was easy enough to do that, Danny thinks, but that still doesn't mean it's what he should have done. "My fault," he admits. "Surprisingly enough, as much as I want to, I don't really think you engineered an art heist that's like something out of The Thomas Crowne Affair complete with us running all over the island and you taking calls from the goddamned White House so you could avoid the subject. I wouldn't put it past you, mind you; I just don't think even you could pull off something this fucked up on no notice. Anyway. We're mostly done with that now, so. Talking."
"Danny," Steve sighs, after a while, but not nearly as long as Danny had been prepared to wait him out. "There's not--anything to talk about."
"You know," Danny says. "That would seriously piss me off except I know that on some completely incomprehensible level, you actually believe that saying it makes it be that way."
"No, I'm saying it because it's the tr--"
"No," Danny says, and if it's a little--okay, a lot--too loud, too damn bad. "It is not the truth."
"Fine," Steve's yelling back, before the echoes of Danny's voice even settle. "Why don't you just go ahead and tell me what you want me to say."
"Let's start with something honest," Danny snaps. "Because, this," he gestures between Steve and himself, "whatever this is, it's between partners, and I shouldn't have to be standing here pointing out how that doesn't work without some trust."
There's a long silence, complete with zero eye contact, with the icing on the cake of Steve's phone ringing and him saying, "It's Jameson."
He has to take it, Danny knows that, but there's an unmistakable relief in his eyes. It's fast, there and gone, but Danny sees it and if he's been pissed, now he's just tired.
"Don't do this," Danny says, as he opens the office door. "Do not treat this partnership like it's disposable, because whatever else does or does not happen, that has never been true."
He turns and gets his ass out of Steve's office after that. It's not what he meant to say--hell, he's not even sure where it even came from--but fuck it, it's the truth. He ends up back in the war room, throwing himself in a chair and pretending like he's fascinated with the background information on the stolen-but-now-recovered Imperial Jade dragons they've been chasing after. Steve's office door stays pointedly closed.
"The random stuff you pick up on this job," Danny says, when he looks up to find Chin watching him. "Two days ago, I'd have said it was a green rock, but now, hey, I know there's jadeite and nephrite, and if I ever win the lottery I should go straight for the Burmese stuff."
Chin nods and goes back to working his way through the notes--they all know it's the ambassador's son who's engineered the whole thing, and they've got him dead-to-rights, but even getting face-time for questioning provoked an international incident--hence the calls from the White House--so there's no room for any slip-ups. Danny knows Chin's not going to stop until everything's triple-checked and verified.
"John McGarrett was very good to me," Chin says, after a few minutes. He doesn't look up from where he's making notes on the interview forms. Danny isn't surprised Chin hasn't missed any of the dancing around each other that's been going on; subtlety isn't exactly his and Steve's strong suit even at the best of times. "But I don't know that I would have wanted to be his son."
Danny thinks about a lot of things, from the way Steve and Mary have almost perfected the opposite sibling maneuver, as though neither one of them could figure out which might get more attention, flying perfect or flying wild; to that goddamned shrine of a house Steve won't leave; and how his own dad never missed a single game of his in high school, even though Danny never came close to breaking records.
"I'm guessing the genius in there doesn't think there was room for anything but textbook perfection," he says, half to Chin, half to himself. Chin shrugs and nods, and Danny sighs. From where he's sitting, he can see into Steve's office at an angle, enough to know that the idiot's still in there, on his feet and pacing, still with the phone pressed to his ear. Maybe it's good to play it low-key, Danny thinks. Work a little at a time; chip away at everything standing in the way.
"Gimme half that," Danny says to Chin. Patience is a virtue and all that, but if he's going to outwait McGarrett, he might as well be getting something constructive done. Kono comes in right as they're finishing up with a breezy "How is it?" and news that HPD has their annoying kid under observation. Danny can hear Steve on the phone with the governor now, even through the closed office door, his voice taking on that extra-special edge that says the SEAL is itching to break lose and do some serious damage.
All of which is going to make any conversation Danny wants to have with him even more problematic, but the job is what it is, whatever the hell else is going on between the two of them, so when Steve yanks the door open and comes out to join the rest of them, Danny says, "And the word is…?"
"Officially? We should have full cooperation from the State Department by tomorrow morning, but we better have our act together on this one, or there will be, and I quote, 'a shitstorm' coming down on us, and not just from the embassy."
"And unofficially?"
"Unofficially--" Steve stops and shakes his head, as though he can't believe what he's about to say. "Unofficially--if it's not too much trouble--the governor would like commemorative photos of us deporting his ass, and if we can get one or two shots of his obstructionist parents enjoying the moment, so much the better."
There's a second or two of silence as everybody processes, and then Chin's mouth twitches up into a half-smile, and Kono smothers a laugh behind the back of her hand. Steve relaxes enough to almost smile, but then shoots Danny a sidelong glance, like he's remembering they're only barely speaking to each other.
"All right, then," Danny says, ignoring the look, partially because it'll mess with Steve if he does, and partially because he'd kind of forgotten, too. He shoves a page of names at Kono and another one at Steve. "This would be where we make sure we have our act together."
They go round-robin, everyone checking on everyone else, and if it takes less time than Danny expects, it's still late by the time they finish up. Chin and Danny take up all the notes, Danny filing under Chin's direct supervision--he is not going to fuck with the system in the middle of a case, even if he doesn't understand it and plans to talk Chin around to something more normal later--while Kono runs back-ups of everything, and Steve paces in front of the board and goes over the plan for the next morning for the fiftieth time.
"Hang loose," Chin says to Steve, which is a nice thought, but more-or-less useless, what with the go-go-go Steve's all but radiating. Still, Danny thinks. Good for Chin, giving it the old college try. "He thinks he's free and clear on this one; he's not going anywhere. And if he does, HPD's watching him."
"Yeah," Steve answers. "Sure. Hanging loose."
Danny sighs inwardly, because it's better than laughing at how crazed having to sit around makes Steve. He's about to suggest that Steve go perpetrate some violence in a marginally appropriate way--say, go pick up this week's favorite weapon and blast the hell out of an unsuspecting target--when Steve's tossing the whiteboard markers at Kono, catching her attention as she comes back into the war room.
"Spar?" he asks, with a slow smile that she matches.
"You got it, boss," she says, cracking her knuckles and shaking out her wrists. Chin rolls his eyes as she bounces up onto her toes, then follows Steve out of the room. "Pads or full contact?" Danny hears her say as they disappear in the direction of the gym.
"I'm thinking there's only one answer to that," Danny says to Chin. "What about you?"
"I don't think either one of them even knows where the pads are," Chin answers, heading into the computer lab to put the systems to sleep. "All right, I am gone. See you in the morning."
"Don't forget fresh batteries for the camera," Danny says. "We wouldn't want to disappoint Madam Governor."
"Already on my list," Chin says, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and giving Danny the 'hang loose' waggle of his hand as he heads out. Danny takes one last look to make sure they've gotten everything out of the war room, then goes along and kills the lights, until the only one on is the one in his office, so there's no way Steve can accidentally miss that Danny's still around. He can choose to ignore the fact, but Danny wants to know that's what he's done, and he wants Steve to know that he'll know.
Danny cleans up his notes, and clears off his desk, and empties his trash, and reminds himself about a thousand times that patience is what's required here. He talks to Grace and hears all about her day and the plans for the weekend, and even checks in with Rachel about some science project he's helping Grace with that Rachel's sure he's going to forget about. He's down to sharpening pencils and thinking about getting a plant just so he can water it when he looks up to find Steve hovering in his door, sweaty and rumpled, his boots and socks in one hand, a bottle of water in the other.
"You two have a nice, violent altercation?" Danny asks, going for casual and pretty pleased with how it comes out. "I'm not seeing any blood, but I get the feeling Kono likes to go for body blows. Any internal bleeding I should be aware of?"
"The woman does have some nasty moves," Steve admits, rolling his shoulder and wincing. "And she is quick… Swear to God, all she needs is a quarter-second opening."
"Good," Danny says. "As often as she goes in UC, that's exactly what I want to hear."
"Yeah, me, too" Steve says, and Danny knows that's at least part of the reason he and Kono go at it as often as they do. The other part is that they both really like beating the shit out of people, but, hey, to each their own. The silence stretches out, Danny watching as Steve leans against the door, then stands back up, shifting his weight from foot to foot, all of which is pretty fascinating in a guy who Danny seen be so still Danny's been tempted to check him for a pulse.
"I didn't--" Steve stops and swallows hard; Danny makes himself stay quiet. "I never meant any disrespect to our partnership, Danno. You have to know that. I--it just--happened, and I won't let--"
"Whoa, hang on," Danny interrupts. "Let's try not to fuck this up any more than we already have, yeah?" He waits until Steve looks at him, because this is getting out of hand and Danny needs to stop this shit right now. "What I said earlier--I only meant the part where we were dancing around ignoring the, the gorilla in the pink tutu, not the tutu itself."
Steve looks at him for a long time before he comes all the way in and takes the chair in front of Danny's desk. Danny's not too proud to admit that it's suddenly a hell of a lot easier to breathe.
"Okay," Steve says, setting his boots and the water bottle on the floor.
"Okay," Danny answers, and the silence descends again. It's not exactly strained, but still. "All right, look," Danny finally says. "I'll talk. You answer. We can keep it simple: yes or no, or, you know, the occasional grunt. Good by you?"
"Yeah," Steve says, and Danny can tell he was considering grunting, but Danny can rise above that kind of shit.
"So, to summarize: you kissed me; I left; we have done nothing but bitch at each other for the last three days. Correct?"
"Yeah," Steve says again.
"New fact for you: I got out of your truck because I needed to be absolutely sure of what was going on in my head, not because I had to go throw up, okay?"
Danny makes sure he keeps eye contact, waiting until Steve nods once.
"Okay," Danny says, taking a deep breath. "And this is beyond the agreed-upon yes/no/grunt but… This is where I need a new fact from you. In actual words."
"It's okay, coach; I think I can handle the pressure." Steve leans forward and braces both forearms on his thighs--not exactly a relaxed body posture, but not fight or flight either. "Go for it."
"I--need to know what that was," Danny says, with as much calm as he can find, which isn't much, but he's in too far to back out now. "Was it blowing off steam, something easy and convenient or--"
"No," Steve says, jerking his head up and staring at Danny. "No. Nothing like that."
He says it fast and serious and a little horrified that Danny could even think that, and it's like all the shit that's been rattling around in Danny's head for the last few days just up and leaves. He doesn't even try to keep any of it off his face, and that, it turns out, is absolutely and definitely the best thing he's done all week.
"Okay," he says. "That's--yeah, good."
Steve's half-smiling at him, that not-quite-smirk that usually comes out when Danny's missed some giant, island-way-of-life tradition and Steve can't decide whether to laugh at him outright or pat him on the head. It usually annoys the fuck out of Danny, but since he's apparently been missing things here for a while, he's going to let it slide, just this once, even before Steve takes a deep breath of his own and says, "Look, tomorrow, after we deal with this idiot kid, you should--if you want, you could come out to the house and I'll make dinner."
"I could do that," Danny says, and it's kind of ridiculous how easy it is to say that, given all the crap that's been flying between them for the last few days. Then again, from the way the smirk on Steve's face morphs into an honest-to-God smile, with more than a touch of relief, maybe he's not the only one who's feeling the same way.
*
Danny pulls over in a strip shopping center that's right before the turn into Steve's neighborhood for one last gut-check and a couple minutes of deep-breathing. He's not going to bail, but he'd caught Steve looking at him more than once during the day with an expression that said Steve wasn't sure that Danny wouldn't do exactly that, and worse, that Steve was getting himself set to deal with it. Whatever else happens tonight, Danny feels like he should acknowledge the very real need he feels to find whoever's responsible for that and beat them senseless.
He gets himself settled and heads back out for the final few miles, and by the time he's pulling into the driveway, he's as cool as he's going to get. He grabs the bottle of scotch that's his contribution to the evening and breathes a wordless prayer to St. Jude--because this thing is way beyond St. Michael--that this thing won't blow up in their faces as he heads for the door.
Steve's back on the lana'i; he waves Danny in and comes in from the back to meet him halfway. It's really only been a couple of hours since Danny's seen him--dealing with the U.S. Department of State and their paperwork is not something Danny's looking forward to repeating, like, ever, and their definition of 'full cooperation' leaves a lot to be desired in Danny's book--but Steve's showered and changed, and even if it's only a variation on the daily cargoes and t-shirt, black on black this time, there still was some effort put into the whole thing, which Danny appreciates. From the way Steve's eyes move over Danny's untucked button-down and khakis, that quick sweep that never misses anything, Danny's pretty sure they're on the same page.
"A bottle in a brown paper bag?" Steve nods at the Scotch Danny's still holding. "Classy, Danno."
"I thought about getting one of those fancy wrapping bags, but I figured you'd rather I spent the extra money on the booze itself," Danny answers.
"I'm not going to argue with Glenlivet," Steve says, as he pulls the bottle out of the bag.
"Okay, two things," Danny says, before it can get quiet and awkward and he loses his nerve. "One--I am so out of practice with the whole dating thing you don't even want to know."
"Gotcha--resetting expectations to low," Steve says with that half-smile, the one that always tempts Danny to smack his face. "That's one; what's two?"
"This," Danny says, taking the bottle of Scotch out of Steve's hands and putting it on the sideboard next to them before he draws Steve down and into a kiss. It's not supposed to be anything big, just an easy way to start the night, but then Steve's breath hitches right as Danny's about to pull away, and Danny has to go back for more. By the time they stop, which is only because oxygen is necessary for life, Steve's backed up against the sideboard, half-sitting on it, legs spread wide enough that Danny fits between them, his hands tight on Danny's hips, and Danny's skin is too small for the rest of him.
"Right," Danny says, sucking air into his lungs like his brain's forgotten how to breathe. He drags his tongue over his lower lip; it's swollen and tender and he can't stay away from where Steve had bitten down. "That--I figured we should get that out of the way early." His heart is slamming in his chest, the blood roaring in his ears so loudly he has no idea if he's whispering or yelling or what. "Be done with it, so there's no wondering when or if or..."
"Yeah," Steve says, his eyes on Danny's mouth. He's breathing as hard as Danny is, which is kind of a relief, as well as being hot as hell. At least Danny's not the only one losing his mind here. "Good thinking." They're close enough that Danny can see the pulse under his jaw and knows that when he puts his mouth there, Steve makes a needy, desperate sound. Something hisses and clatters in the kitchen and Steve blinks twice before he turns to look in that direction. "Dinner," he says, finally.
"Okay. Yeah." Danny works on getting his hands out from where they're under Steve's shirt, halfway up his back, dragging them away from the unexpectedly soft skin layered over hard, shifting muscle, and makes himself take a step back. Steve moves with him, though, so that the only thing that happens is they're standing up, still close enough that Danny can practically feel Steve's heart beating against him; and this time it's Danny's breath that catches somewhere deep in his chest. Steve lets go of Danny's hips, but only to catch his face in both of his hands and bring him back for another kiss, harder this time, rougher and more desperate, as though Steve's not sure he's getting another chance, more like the kiss in the truck, hot as hell, yeah, but not how Danny wants Steve.
Danny hauls himself back from the brink, eases them both down a notch or two, until it's less desperation and more appreciation, Steve's mouth still on his, but only barely, more of a touch than a kiss. When whatever it is in the kitchen hisses again, accompanied by a definite scorched smell, Danny says, against Steve's mouth, "I distinctly heard you promise me dinner, bitch."
Steve huffs out a laugh, and lets Danny go, stepping back and scrubbing his hand hard over his head as he disappears into the kitchen. Danny takes a step back of his own, not thinking about how easy it would be to be moving right along with Steve and the hell with eating.
"Yeah, so, about dinner," Steve calls, reappearing with two beers. He hands one to Danny, and tips the other one up, drinking half of it in one long swallow and Danny can barely tear his eyes off how the muscles in his throat flex and relax. He takes a long drink himself, for distraction, if nothing else. "We can, uh, go with the ahi alone, or there's a half of a pizza in the fridge."
"I clearly heard you say you'd make me dinner," Danny says. "Cold pizza does not cut it, even before I add in the distinct possibility that there is pineapple on it."
"Jesus, you're high-maintenance," Steve says. "Not that this is coming as any kind of a surprise but--"
"See, that's half your problem right there, McGarrett: nobody to hold you accountable," Danny cracks back. "Do I need to explain about fruit and pizza again, maybe break it down into words of a syllable or less--?"
"Fine, okay, we're going with the ahi," Steve says, throwing up his hands in surrender. "Give me two minutes."
He disappears back into the kitchen, coming right back out juggling a platter and some plates. Danny's in charge of opening doors out to the lana'i and the grill, and bringing along the beers and the forks and knives. Steve hadn't been kidding: he slaps the tuna on the grill for next to no time, flipping it once and then off and onto the plates in the promised two minutes.
"Really?" Danny pokes at the fish on his plate dubiously. "This is cooked?"
"Danno." Steve sets his beer down on the table with a thump. "I will let you miss out on ham and pineapple on your pizza, because it's a matter of taste--you're still wrong, but I'll let it go--but that tuna was swimming this morning and it does not get cooked beyond rare."
Steve's got the appalled look going, and the twitchy eyebrow thing, and Danny's not sure how he manages to keep a straight face as he says, "Well, back in Jersey, you don't grill tuna; you just open the--"
"If you tell me tuna is supposed to come in a can, Danny, so help me God, I will--"
Danny finally cracks and grins at the outrage, and Steve looks like he can't decide whether he wants to strangle Danny or possibly slit his throat with the knife he's using to cut the tuna. All in all, an excellent pay-off, Danny thinks. Plus, the fish itself is outstanding so it's a win all around.
He kicks Steve under the table and pushes his beer a little closer to him. Steve kicks him back, but drinks the damn thing and relaxes. It's a good look on him; Danny doesn't think he'll see it much on the job, but he can damn sure work on it when they're not on the clock.
The sun is down and it's almost full night by the time they collect everything and take it back inside, and Danny's not exactly sure how it happens, but one second he's drying dishes, his sleeves rolled halfway up his arms and Steve bitching at him because he's not doing it the Navy way, and the next second, Steve's got him pinned against the counter and they're kissing again. It probably had something to do with him telling Steve to fuck off and Steve taking it literally, but Danny'll work it out later.
"Danny," Steve's saying. "Danny, Jesus--" He breaks off in a ragged gasp as Danny finds that spot, the one under his jaw, right over the artery, and bites down on it, sharper than he means to, but goddamn, how is he supposed to resist the noises Steve's making? Steve's hands are back on Danny's hips; every time Danny shifts his mouth to another part of Steve's neck, they dig in a little harder. By the time Danny's working on marking up Steve's collarbone, he can feel the bruises forming under them, and shit, that's--Danny wants that, wants it enough to push into Steve's hands that much harder.
"Yeah," he says, into Steve's skin. "Like that, come on--you know we're going to be at work in a couple of days, and you're gonna do something stupid and reckless, and I'll--"
"Not reckless," Steve gasps. "I know--fuck, yeah, again--know what I can do, how much I can push it--"
"Shut up," Danny growls, biting down again, until Steve hisses under him. "You'll be an idiot and I'll be ready to beat you senseless, and underneath it all, you're gonna know this--" He mouths over the mark he's left, red now, but it'll darken up before long; Steve shudders against him, long, slow, helpless, and Danny drags his mouth against his skin so he can feel it happen again. "Know it's there; know I know it, too--"
"Danny, fuck," Steve swears, low and vicious, and then they're moving, Steve dragging him away from the counter and out of the kitchen, down the hall toward the bedrooms, a crazy, staggering path, every step punctuated by another kiss, another bite, another growl. They miss the door to the bedroom, Danny ending up slammed into the wall next to it, hard enough that he'd be bitching Steve out except that it gives him a chance to get his hands back on skin. He's greedy for it, wants it like he hasn't wanted anything for longer than he can remember. He goes where Steve wants him to, moving wherever Steve steers them, ignoring anything that's not the way his thumbs settle into the hollow of Steve's hips, or the low, almost noiseless whine that he can feel when he slides them along and under his waistband.
Steve manhandles him through the doorway, two steps, then three and Danny's backed into the mattress and falling onto the bed, Steve coming with him, the two of them managing somehow to twist enough that they land side-by-side, Steve's mouth finding his again, solid and sure, and as good as that is--and it is fucking hotter than hell to have Steve McGarrett tongue-fucking him like it's as necessary as breathing--it's even better that Danny still hasn't had to take his hands off Steve. He lets Steve roll them, lets his legs fall open so he can cradle Steve between them and rocks up into him, swallowing down the desperate sound Steve makes at the hard rub of his dick against Danny's. Steve grinds down onto him, and Danny gets his hands up under his t-shirt, still craving skin, and they get a rhythm going, not smooth at all, but nasty and fucking perfect, at least until Steve pulls back and away.
"Danny, hey," he says, flushed and panting, and Danny would kill him except Steve comes right back in for more, and Danny uses the opportunity to get one leg wrapped around his waist. "God," Steve mutters. "Wait, just… wait."
"Seriously?" Danny asks, not letting go, because he's figured out enough to know that physical contact is a million times better than words no matter how much Steve might argue the point. "We're gonna have a… a conversation? Now?"
"Shut up," Steve tells him. "Just, what…" Steve stops and takes a deep breath, draws it in slow and lets it out in out even slower, and when he looks back at Danny, his eyes are dark and intense, and it's a fucking power trip, Danny thinks, being the focus of all that. "What do you want?"
Jesus Christ, anything, Danny thinks, but he manages not to blurt it out. Instead, he lays his hands flat on Steve's back and draws them slowly up along his spine. Steve's eyes darken and there's the smallest catch in his breathing. Danny smiles.
"That," he says, leaning up enough that he can flick his tongue over the marks he's left on Steve's neck. "And that," he adds, as Steve tenses against him. Steve takes another breath, but it's shaky this time. "Yeah, like that," Danny murmurs. "I want to know what makes you come apart and then I want to watch it happen."
Steve goes absolutely still on top of him, and Danny thinks he might have crossed a line, gone too far into the places that might as well have barbed wire and guard dogs stationed to keep everyone out.
"Your turn." Danny keeps his hands on Steve, skin to skin, and makes himself breathe as easily as he can, even when Steve pulls away again. He's about to bail and go with the hey, but anything's fine, no, really no matter how not cool it makes him sound when Steve leans over and yanks the drawer out of the bedside table, dumping the contents across the comforter, picking through them with quick, abrupt movements until he finds what he's looking for, dropping a condom and little bottle of slick next to Danny. Everything else, he knocks off the bed with a sweep of his arm, and then his attention is back on Danny.
"This," he says. "I want you to--" He breaks off and looks at Danny, that quick, half-desperate look from the night in the truck, the one that Danny's going to get rid of if it's the last thing he does.
"Okay," he manages to answer, his voice stuck somewhere in his throat, and his brain almost completely off-line. Steve sits back on his heels and reaches behind his shoulder to pull his shirt up and off, taking his eyes off Danny's only when the shirt's in the way. Danny leans up on one elbow and traces the backs of his fingers along the skin right above Steve's pants. He could probably find some wisecrack to break the tension--like he's been doing all night--but every nerve in his body is informing him that he likes the tension; from the way the control freak in front of him is barely breathing, Danny thinks he likes it, too.
He leans up further, and Steve takes the hint, bending down to meet Danny halfway. Danny keeps the kisses simple--quick brushes against Steve's mouth, no rush, no hurry, lazy and easy, even as Steve's working on the buttons to Danny's shirt, even when it's off and Danny smooths his free hand down, hooking his fingers under Steve's waistband and tugging.
"Take these off for me," Danny says, against Steve's mouth, and lazy and easy pretty much evaporate, Steve skinning out of the cargoes in nothing flat, every move quick and efficient, no time wasted at all. He crawls back up over Danny, stripping him of his khakis and straddling him without slowing down, ducking his head to hide his eyes as he reaches for the lube.
Danny doesn't like that, not being able to see what's going on with Steve, but he keeps his hands on him the whole time, and if it's a little unclear in his head who needs it more, he doesn't think it matters much.
"Come on," Danny breathes. "Show me." Steve looks up at that, finds Danny's eyes and holds them as he opens the bottle and lets it spill over his hand, and fuck if Danny's ever seen anything hotter than watching Steve's eyes as he fucks himself open on his own hand, at least not until he's got the condom on Danny and it's Danny's dick that he's fucking himself on, going in slow, relentless, deep. Danny groans and digs his hands hard into where he's holding Steve steady.
"God," Danny grits out, jaw set, fighting off everything, everything screaming at him to move, because he's already so close and he's a hundred percent sure he's not anywhere near ready for it to end. He blinks the sweat out of his eyes, not willing to let go even for the couple of seconds it might take to clear them and focuses back on Steve's face. "So good, so good," he says, and presses up carefully, angling his hips so that he's, fuck, deeper, and he's not sure how that's even possible.
"Danny, I need--fuck," Steve says, and he sounds wrecked, needy, but he's not moving, he's waiting for Danny's okay, and that really is the hottest thing ever. "Please."
"Yeah," Danny says, easing off the death grip he's got on Steve's hips. "Go, go."
Steve exhales in a long, drawn-out shudder and starts to rock on Danny, nothing more than tiny shifts of his hips, but it's enough to make Danny see double, leave them both breathless and shaky. Danny works with him, finds the right angle, the one that coaxes fucking incredible noises out of Steve, soft and raw, every one a tiny bit more desperate, a little closer to the edge, every one bringing Danny right along with him.
"Yeah," Danny tells him. "That's it, come on, just like that, so fucking good, come on, come on." He wants to see Steve come apart, wants to see everything that's behind the walls Steve surrounds himself with, not just the bits and pieces he's used to getting, but all of it, all of it. "Tell me, come on, tell me--"
"Danny," Steve says, his voice gone, noting but grating sand. "You--fuck--want your hand, Danny, want it from you--"
Danny's moving before Steve even finishes, one hand wrapped around around Steve's dick, thumb rubbing rough and nasty over the head, and when he drags his nails along the length of it, now, now, now, Steve comes for him, his body arching helplessly in a long, lean curve of skin and muscle, comes so hard around Danny that he can't do anything but slam up into him and follow.
*
"So, what's wrong with this picture?" Danny says into the night. The blinds are still open and the moon is full, reflecting off the water outside, so it's not very dark, definitely light enough to see the ripple of muscles across Steve's back as he shrugs.
"Nothing?" His voice is muffled; he doesn't bother to pick his head up off the pillow.
"Wrong answer," Danny says. It's not a particularly big bed they're on, Danny on his back, Steve sprawled out face-down next to him, so even if they're not, say, cuddling, they're touching across multiple points, more than enough places for Danny to assess the completely unrelaxed state Steve is in.
"Seriously, we just had sex, and at the risk of adding to your over-inflated ego, it was pretty awesome sex, and you--" Danny's not sure if the just-having-sex thing means he can poke and prod at Steve, but he does it anyway, on the theory that they're in Steve's bed, so having to remove Danny's dead body would be more trouble than shutting him up is worth. Steve bats at Danny's hand, but otherwise does not attempt murder. "And you, I've seen you more relaxed catching a nap on the floor of the war room." Danny pokes him again. "The concrete floor of the war room."
"I know it's concrete; I've slept on the damn thing," Steve says, in that we-are-not-having-this-discussion voice, as though he thinks Danny's actually going to take the hint.
"My point, exactly, because here you are, in your bed, and you might think you're radiating serenity, but I am here to tell you how wrong you are."
"Danny." Steve turns his head. "Shut up."
"The yes/no/grunt thing worked out pretty well last time; so, same deal here. I'll talk; you answer, and we can both get some sleep."
"Danny--"
"All right, so let's confirm: awesome sex, yes?"
"If I say 'no', will you take enough offense to be quiet?"
"Yes, no, grunt."
"Yes," Steve says, after a while, and Danny knows he's a smug bastard but he has to admit it's kind of impressive the way Steve manages it without moving beyond opening one eye and arching an eyebrow.
"You're welcome," Danny says, because, hey, it takes two, right? Steve snorts and goes back to pretending he's trying to sleep, but Danny thinks he's the tiniest bit less tense. Point in Danny's favor. "That leaves us with the oh-shit-what-have-I-done part of the equation."
Steve grunts, which is more of a response than Danny expects, and the plan is to keep going, except Danny's suddenly not sure he's ready to hear the answer, enough that he can't quite make himself ask the question. After a couple of seconds of silence, Steve lifts his head up; he doesn't say anything, but he's watching Danny carefully.
"So," Danny makes himself say. "Is that what we're dealing with here?"
"Not on my side," Steve says, and it's such a relief Danny almost misses the rest of what he's saying under the words, at least until he catches on to how everything's gotten all tense again.
"Not on your side," Danny repeats. "But you're waiting for it on my side, is that it?"
"You tell me, Danny."
"Jesus, you're such an idiot," Danny says. "Do I look like--" He sighs and shakes his head and goes with simple words. "No, okay? No buyer's remorse in sight."
"You sure about that?" Steve rolls up onto his side; Danny figures the fact that he's still facing Danny is a major win, so he refrains from smacking the guy upside the head. "You sure about all this?"
"You mean sleeping with my partner?" Danny says. "Granted, it's frowned upon in most situations, but it happens and we're such a weird case anyway that--"
"No," Steve says. "I mean sleeping with your partner who's a guy."
"Oh," Danny says, and sometimes he really can be as stupid as Rachel likes to call him. In his defense, he thinks he might have just lost half his functioning brain cells, but yeah, stupid sometimes.
"Yeah. Oh."
"Funny thing about that," Danny says. "It did actually cross my mind, but I figured since it wasn't until I'd spent the whole night going round and round about what a stupid idea getting involved with you personally is, the fact that you were a guy wasn't going to be a deal-breaker."
"Come on, Danny--"
"Come on, and what, McGarrett? Jesus, you get an idea in your head and there is no getting it out, is there?" Danny takes a deep breath and counts to ten, though, for real, with McGarrett, the practice probably should be counting to a hundred. "I get it, okay? I'm not stupid or naïve or--"
"I never said you were," Steve says, and he's halfway back to that thousand yard stare, but at least Danny knows some of where it's coming from now.
"No," Danny says, keeping at least a tiny grip on his temper, which he'd like some credit for, but doesn't think he's going to get. "You're just sitting around, waiting for it all to blow up in your face."
Steve doesn't say anything, but he stays right where he is, which, Danny figures, is at least another half-point in his favor.
"If this thing blows up--in our faces, thank you very much--it's not going to be because I forgot to notice I was screwing around with a guy." Danny pokes at Steve's shoulder, as much to gauge how tight he is as anything. "You're good, McGarrett, but you're not that good."
Steve looks at him for another long couple of seconds before he nods once, and then drops back down onto the mattress. "Quit jabbing me."
"Quit being stupid." Danny takes a couple of slow, even breaths and thinks he maybe didn't handle that too badly. "And, you know, we couldn't have talked about this, oh, say, five hours ago, when I first got here?"
"Five hours ago, I was still figuring we were in first date territory and you weren't that kind of a girl."
"I would tell you to fuck off, but the last time I did, you took it as a challenge, so assume the sentiment applies."
"Duly noted," Steve says. "Can we go to sleep now?"
"I don't know; are you done being an idiot?"
Steve doesn't bother lifting his head from where he's burrowed into the pillows, so his voice is muffled when he answers, "I swear, Danno, if you don't shut up, I am going to smother you with your own pillow."
"Wow, we didn't even make it through the first night before you start with the death threats. The honeymoon is so over."
Steve makes a noise like he's grinding all the enamel off his teeth, but it doesn't escape Danny's notice that he's about a thousand times less tense, even if he still has a ways to go before he'd qualify as boneless. Good thing he's not the only one who doesn't ever back down from a challenge. Danny's just more subtle about it.
"Say goodnight, Danny."
"Good night, Danny," Danny says, and grins when Steve can't help laughing. Seriously, he didn't actually expect Danny to leave that one by the wayside, did he? He lets himself relax and closes his eyes against the moonlight and surprises himself by dropping off almost instantly.
What's not surprising is that Steve sleeps like shit. It might only be that there's somebody else in bed with him, but Danny gets the feeling it's way more commonplace than that. He thinks he comes awake every time Steve does, but there's no way to know for sure, of course. Still, by Danny's count, they're up four times before Steve's making to get out of bed at 5:39. The only reason he stays then is because Danny rolls over and dares him to sleep past sunrise, so Danny lets it go at a little past seven when Steve's padding around, looking for a bathing suit.
"Don't drown," Danny manages to mumble, and Steve pauses on the way out the door to ask him if he knows how insulting it is to imply that a SEAL might not make it back from an early morning swim in non-hostile waters.
"Mostly I was implying that I might want to see you again and expressing an interest in your welfare, but fine, be that way," Danny says to the empty room before rolling back over and pulling a pillow over his head to block out the light. It doesn't work; it's late enough that he can't get back to sleep, so he wanders out to the kitchen and figures out the coffee-maker.
It's old, and from the look of it, it's going to take a while to make an entire pot, so he hits the shower quickly and stares in bemusement at the toothbrush still in its wrapper sitting by the sink. "Hostess with the mostest," he tells his reflection.
The coffee's ready when he comes back out, and upon further investigation, he finds eggs and bacon and a frying pan. He walks out and down to the water and decides the tiny dot on the other side of the cove is probably Steve, who doesn't look to be finishing up any time soon, so he puts the idea of breakfast on hold and ends up fiddling with the old TV. The Giants are the early game; they're in the second quarter when he finds them. It's sleeting at the Meadowlands, he notices. Good times.
Steve comes back in right at halftime, rubbing a towel over his hair and stealing Danny's coffee, making a face at the cream and sugar in it.
"Jesus," Danny says, hauling himself off the couch and getting him a cup that's black, no sugar. "Shut up and quit dripping on the floor." Steve mutters something about bitchy, over-caffeinated divas, but disappears into the bathroom without further comment.
"If you can wait 'til this drive's done, I'll make some eggs," Danny says, when he comes back out.
"Sure," Steve says, throwing himself on the couch next to Danny and eying the score critically. "It's awesome out there this morning; you're really going to waste it on this bad of a game?"
"Hey, like you always tell me, it's Hawaii. It's probably still going to be awesome out there in an hour, and it'll probably be awesome again tomorrow. It's weird like that," Danny says. "And yes, the Giants are getting the shit kicked out of them, but please notice how I have yet to bring up yesterday's Notre Dame-Navy score."
Steve grunts but it had been an ugly, ugly game, so he keeps his mouth shut. The Giants grind it out but fumble on the two, which basically seals their doom; when Danny elbows Steve to ask whether he wants his eggs scrambled or fried, the only answer he gets is some heavy breathing and a half-asleep grumble.
"Okay," Danny says to no one in particular. "I guess that answers the is-this-gonna-be-awkward question." He mutes the sound on the game and settles back to watch the fourth quarter, Steve pressed warm and heavy along his side.
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