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delicatalePart III
“Here you go.”
Steve hands a beer to his father, sitting next to him on the lana’i. Their last evening in before they take off for their cruise, his parents asked him and his sister to come for dinner. Mary already left, begging off coffee because of some party, broken wrist be damned, and with his mother busy packing a few last things and making sure they’re all prepared, it’s Steve and his father on their own to watch the sun go down, setting the ocean alight.
“Thanks. How’s life, son?”
Steve takes a deep breath, trying his best not to explode into words of frustration and need and Danny, all around Danny, always coming back to Danny these days. They’ve barely had a minute to say hello and goodbye lately, days since the cooking field trip, and it’s just not fair, it really isn’t.
“It’s - busy, to say the least.”
“You sound displeased. I’d think someone like you would be happy to be busy.”
“Yeah, I am. It’s just. I...haven’t got to see Danny much.”
He knows it’ll come to this conversation, so better bite the bullet now. It’s not like his parents haven’t gathered what’s going on between the two of them anyway.
“Ah.”
“Yeah.”
Steve looks sideways at his dad, watching him drink some more of his beer.
“How’s that going?”
“Well, that’s the thing. We barely see each other so I have no idea, Dad. I just don’t know where we’re going. I know where I want to go, but then we don’t get a minute to ourselves and we always get interrupted and it’s like, we’re stuck in this vicious circle where every time we’re taking a step forward, someone or something stops us. Fuck, he’s starting to rub off on me.”
Tangents and rants aren’t really Steve’s style; Danny is definitely taking his toll on him, it’s obvious. John chuckles quietly into his beer bottle.
“You need to make time for these things, Steve, or they’ll slip away from you.”
“Well, if I could go on a cruise every weekend, I would...but Danny works so much. Every day, Dad, every goddamn day.”
"He takes pride in his job, son. You can't hold that against him."
"I know, and I'm not. I guess I'm just fed up of being relegated to the back seat."
His father eyes him shrewdly. "You don't really think you're not important to Danny, do you? Because that boy only has eyes for you, no matter when we see him. And you're no better. You two remind me of your Mom and me. When we first met, I couldn't look away from her, and the glances she'd throw me..."
"Dad," Steve complains at the way his father is mooning at the house.
"What, you think you look different from a distance? Think again, sunshine."
Steve considers this. It doesn't scare him in the slightest, which is probably more worrying than if he was scared he's falling too deep, wanting too much. Because it's not that Danny isn't willing to give it -- he is. It makes Steve all warm inside, every time he thinks of the way Danny whined and groaned whenever they'd had to stop what they were doing.
He huffs a sigh. He doesn't want to talk about it more, because it only drives in the fact that Danny isn't his, yet, and for some reason he craves the acknowledgement, freely given, from Danny's lips and body to Steve's.
He wants to know that they’re doing this, that Danny is into this relationship as much as Steve is, but those are words he’s afraid to say and he’s sure actions can speak louder anyway. He just wants to be able to tell people, if he wants to, that yes, he is with Danny and yes, it is serious and they’re not fucking around, just each other. Steve is there, definitely, besides the whole 'fucking' thing, obviously. And it’s driving him crazy.
“You’re in the honeymoon phase, son. And when life gets in the way, I get that it’s frustrating. You should try and clear some time for you two, so you can work some stuff out, for a start.”
“That’d mean get Danny to close for a day or two, or get Kono to work double shifts.”
“Well, you’ve been telling us how well the bakery is doing lately. Maybe Danny can afford to only open for half a day this weekend? This way Kono does only one shift.”
Steve thinks about that. He likes it. "I'll talk to him about it. Maybe he'll agree for the weekend after? It's probably too soon to ask him about this weekend."
John shrugs. "At this stage, I don't think a week's all that big a delay."
"Yeah," Steve says sourly. It's not like they haven't been forced to wait for months already. "Anyway. What time do you leave tomorrow?" Not his smoothest change of subject, but the thought grates enough for Steve to want to avoid it.
John groans. "Too damn early," he grumbles. "We have to be at the port at 6.30am."
Steve whistles through his teeth. His dad hates early mornings. His mom, on the other hand, has been an early riser all her life. It probably says something about the strength of their marriage that they've learned to live around it.
"Still, though. A week away, just the two of you. You can't tell me you aren't looking forward to it."
"Oh, for sure. It's not just you young kids that want your time together."
"Please do not elaborate."
John chuckles to himself, watching the ocean. It's calm, peaceful. Maybe Steve can get Danny to come down here while his parents are away. They could bring Grace, too -- she'd love it.
Yeah. Sounds like a plan.
---
Danny has had enough. He just has, okay, it’s been almost two weeks since he got to see Steve for more than 5 minutes, let alone in private, so really, he’s had enough, and he’s about to burst, and he needs this.
It doesn’t take long for him to get his plan worked out. He gets a little apartment-type place rented for the weekend at the North Shore, as far away from Honolulu as he can find, and tells Kono they’ll be closed from Saturday afternoon to Monday morning. If she wants to come in, she’s more than welcome to, but she can’t expect him, because he will not be available. She gives him a wide eyed, surprised look, but nods quickly, not making a sound. He’s too wound up and tired and frustrated and he’d just yell at her, so it’s a good thing she doesn’t protest.
Then it’s just a matter of preparations. The apartment he’s booked - on the internet, with help from Grace - is close to the beach and nice and airy, not that Danny expects them to spend much time outside the bedroom. He goes groceries shopping for basic supplies, lube, condoms, fresh fruit and cereal, coffee and milk, beer and some steaks and frozen fries, ketchup, bacon and eggs and a bag of bagels. It doesn’t matter if Steve complains about the lack of vegetables, he’ll have to work with what Danny’s got and that is it, they’re not leaving the apartment for the weekend, seriously, no way.
When he gets to Steve’s on Saturday morning, there is no one there and no, no, that is not happening, they cannot be this unlucky. Danny takes out his phone and contemplates calling Steve right away, but then changes his mind. It takes three rings for Chin to pick up.
“Hey brah, howzit?”
“Hey Chin - look, I don’t want to keep you long, I’m sure you’re busy. You got any idea where Steve is?”
“Yeah, sure, he said he was doing something for his parents, repainting or something.”
Danny bites his lip, suddenly remembering Steve talking about doing the paint job on the outside of the family home while his parents were away.
“Oh, yeah, that’s right! Thanks, Chin.”
“You’re welcome. Is everything okay?”
God, if Chin can hear the tension stringing Danny’s body so tight through the phone, it’s bad. Bad bad bad.
“Everything’s fine. Gotta go. Give my love to Malia!”
“Will do.”
Danny hangs up and starts the car right away, driving through the city to the McGarretts' home, trying his best not to run every red light and curse every slow driver on the road. When he gets there, the sight of Steve, up on a ladder in a white wifebeater and battered jeans, painting the side of the house a pale yellow, makes Danny’s heart skip a beat. Or three.
Steve turns at the sound of the Camaro pulling up. His face, red and flushed with the heat and exertion, lights up when he sees Danny get out.
"Hey, D!" he yells cheerfully.
"Hey yourself. Are you almost done? I was thinking we could go get lunch, maybe?"
Steve eyes the front of the house, done but for the last corner at the bottom. "Well, that's the last of it now, and then it's done. So yeah, definitely, if you can stick around for twenty minutes or so--and if you give me a hand, we could get it done even faster."
Danny doesn't even hesitate -- he's striding over and grabbing a brush before Steve finishes speaking. Steve's brows furrow at his eagerness.
"What's up with you?" he asks.
"Nothing. I'm just really hungry. Where's the paint?"
Between the two of them, it takes less than ten minutes to finish the last of the side. Steve tosses the brush inside the paint tray, satisfaction etched all over his face.
"Looks nice," Danny says, forcing himself to sound casual.
"Dad will be pissed that I did it all without him, but we want him to take it easy now that he's retired. I think it's nice, too."
Danny drops his own brush, unclenching impatient fingers from the handle.
"So, lunch?"
"Sure. Let me just get changed."
Danny wants to snap at him not to bother, that he won't be wearing clothes for very long anyway, if Danny has anything to say about it. But he doesn't want to spoil the surprise; he wants to see Steve's face when he pushes him inside the apartment and locks the door behind them.
He waits by the car, resisting the urge to fiddle, because it would just make him more irritated. Steve jogs out, finally, a simple white T-shirt tugged over loose, threadbare jeans. He looks delectable. He tries to steal the keys from Danny, but Danny's not having it, pushing and prodding him into the passenger seat while he near runs for the driver's. The car peels off with a squeal of tires, nose pointing towards the North Shore. Steve seems content to let Danny drive in peace, doesn't even ask where they're going, but looks out of the window happily. His knee is almost nudging the gear shaft; Danny has to clench his hands on the wheel to not palm it possessively. Knowing where they're headed, what he's about to do to this infuriating, desirable, gorgeous man, it's setting his blood on fire. It's actually worse than knowing they might be interrupted at any moment, because they're not there yet and Danny can't touch him already.
When they’re out of downtown Honolulu Steve frowns, turning towards Danny to raise an eyebrow at him. Danny keeps his eyes firmly on the road after acknowledging Steve’s move, not wanting to spoil the surprise.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see. Hey, how about you turn your phone off?”
Steve makes a noise, something Danny’s not quite sure of, but he can’t take his eyes off the road, no way, if he does then he’ll stop the car right here on the side of the road and the rest be damned.
“Why?”
“Just do it, Steve. Please.”
“Is yours off?”
“It will be soon.”
“I can grab it for you, turn it off.”
There’s something devious in Steve’s tone, and Danny clenches his teeth.
“No, no. You can’t - look, we’re going somewhere, let’s get there, okay? Won’t be much longer.”
“Considering the speed you’re driving at, I believe you on that one.”
Danny doesn’t answer, and they lapse into silence again. He can feel how curious Steve is, though, hear and sense him shifting constantly in his seat, looking around the scenery to try and determine where they’re going. Danny keeps his jaw locked and his eyes on the road, and it takes 20 more minutes but finally they arrive to a cluster of little bungalows overlooking the ocean. Danny parks the car in front of number 5, feeling the keys he’s grabbed for the renting agency the day before digging into his thigh.
“Okay, we’re here.”
“I’m confused, Danny.”
Danny grabs his phone and turns it off, before looking at Steve.
“Is your phone off?”
“Yes, but -”
“I’m kidnapping you for the weekend. I have rented this place, and we’re going to go in and I am going to get you naked and we’re going to finally have two days to ourselves with no distractions. I have food and supplies in the boot, and our phones are off, and just - no distractions, Steve, no one to interrupt and to ruin it.”
Steve gapes at him, pupils thoroughly dilated just from that, Jesus. Danny's been hard ever since they passed the five mile marker, ever since Steve offered to to turn his phone off for him, so hard his cock is going to bear the edge of his inseam digging into it, he's sure. He looks at Steve, begs him with his eyes even as his mouth runs away from him, because if Steve backs off now, well. He doesn't think they could salvage the fall out.
Steve's stare lasts just long enough for Danny to start to worry he's overdone it, even though he was sure he couldn't have read Steve wrong, not now. Then Steve turns, clicks the door open and jumps out of the car, heading for the boot. He slams it open, grabs as many bags as he can carry and heads for the front door, bouncing with impatience. Danny watches the muscles bunch in his arms from the weight, watches his jeans tighten around the crotch, watches sweat trickle down Steve's neck while he stands there and waits, and fuck if it doesn't make Danny's knees go soft.
He gets with it, jumps out and hurries to the door, fitting the key inside with fingers shaking ever so faintly. Steve brushes past him while Danny runs back to the car, grabs the two remaining bags, thumbs the alarm and jogs back inside, slamming the door shut with his hip. Steve has found his way into the kitchen and is shoving food and beer inside with both hands. He grabs the bags from Danny and doesn't even look inside, just sticks both of them into the fridge and slams the door shut.
The two of them stare at each other, standing in the kitchen, need running like a current through them, so strong that Danny literally does not know where he wants to touch Steve most, and so can't actually touch him at all.
Steve looks back, eyes locked on Danny's mouth. He wets his lower lip with the tip of his tongue.
It's like a dam breaking loose. Danny surges forward, slams him back against the counter, takes his mouth like it's the one thing keeping him sane, mashes their lips together and grabs the back of Steve's head, pulling it to the side until he can pry his lips open and lick his way inside. Steve doesn't need to be prompted -- he goes pliant against Danny, lets him in, lets Danny take him if that's what Danny needs. His hands are fisted at Danny's hips, and he opens them, pulling him closer. Danny slips a thigh between his legs, feels all that muscle surround him, and it's actually difficult to breathe, he wants this so much.
All his plans have been thrown out of the window. There's a bed just two rooms away, a big double bed that Danny had specifically asked for, but he'll be damned if they're going to make it there -- this time. Right now moving is not an option, moving away from Steve a fate worse than death. He slips his free hand under Steve's T-shirt, touches hot, sweaty skin, feels the way Steve arches into him to the soles of his feet. His hand migrates up Steve's back, tracing muscles, the sharp, defined stretch of his spine, and he wants.
Steve slides a long, firm thigh over the back of Danny's leg, opening himself further to Danny's body, pulls him into the space between his legs even as his hand closes on one side of Danny's ass, tugging. Danny groans into the kiss when their cocks slide together, off-centre, just a tease that nevertheless manages to nearly liquefy his bones. He ruts against Steve helplessly, mindlessly, needing to be closer.
Steve bites down on Danny’s bottom lip before he breaks off the kiss, tilting his head back as he lets out a small, desperate wanton noise, enough to make Danny’s stomach roll with lust. He trails his lips along Steve’s upper chest as he tries to breathe, cotton under his tongue and the smell of Steve invading his senses, sweat and musk and paint and leather and washing powder. Danny tugs Steve’s shirt up and up, and Steve obeys the silent plea willingly, raising his arms over his head and finishing the job, throwing his shirt somewhere behind Danny - not that he cares.
Danny noses along Steve’s pecs, flicks his tongue against a nipple, earning himself a sharp pull on his hair and a hiss, Steve’s hips jerking into Danny’s - okay, Danny notes, sensitive nipples, he can definitely work with that. They’re both obviously so wired that anything can send them over the edge - Danny is afraid for a second that Steve will realize too quickly how teeth digging into his hipbones sends Danny reeling right away.
But considering how this first round is probably going to end, Danny doesn’t worry for too long - something tells him neither of them are going to take their sweet time for exploration right now. They have at least 36 hours to get there, though, and Danny has many plans involving Steve naked, once they’re over the need, once they can afford to take their time.
Steve moves again, licking a drop of sweat off Danny’s temple as he grabs the sides of Danny’s shirt and pulls, not bothering with undoing buttons, and under other circumstances Danny would probably yell at him, but as it is, Danny can only arch into the touch as buttons go flying all over the kitchen and Steve trails his fingertips along Danny’s chest, down his stomach, his breath sharp and shallow near Danny’s ear.
“Fuck, Danny -”
Danny bites down on Steve’s chest, close to his left nipple, afraid that words could spoil it, afraid that, if they talk now, they’ll find a way to fuck it up, jinx it again. Steve gasps but it doesn’t sound like pain and that’s good enough for Danny, who busies himself with getting Steve’s jeans open, and fuck, the bastard is going commando. Danny’s mouth positively waters when his hand closes around Steve’s cock, hard and leaking and making Steve jerk again, his knuckles white where he’s holding on to the kitchen counter. Danny wants to taste him so much it’s overtaking everything else in his brain, doubts and fears and frustration, and so he goes for it, kissing his way down Steve’s stomach, feeling it being sucked in sharply when he nips at Steve’s belly button. Danny runs his hands along Steve’s jean-clad thighs when he’s on one knee in front of him, facing his cock.
He licks the underside from base to tip, and Steve lets out a strangled noise, muffled, and when Danny looks up he sees Steve biting on his knuckles, goosebumps rising all over his skin.
"Don't do that," he growls. Steve looks dazed, a question in his eyes, teeth still closed around his knuckle. "I want to hear you. There's no one in this house, the closest neighbour is across the yard, so give it to me."
Steve whimpers, but removes his hand from his mouth. The next sound fills the air with desperation; Danny stares up into Steve's half-lidded eyes as he takes him back inside his mouth. He doesn’t allow Steve to move, keeps his hands on Steve’s hips, pressing him hard against the counter top. For a moment, if only just a moment, Danny wants to feel in control, wants Steve to lose it, just because of Danny and his mouth.
Danny goes for it, sucking in earnest, cheeks hollowed when he takes Steve’s cock as deep as he can inside his mouth. He can’t stop thinking - no phones to start ringing, nobody to come knocking at the door, just the two of them and whatever they want to do to each other at the tip of their fingers. Steve lets out a deep groan, and when Danny flicks his eyes up along Steve’s chest, all the way up to his face, his eyes, he sees how dark they are. Danny looks at Steve’s features, the flush of his cheeks and the way he’s biting his lip, looking at Danny with such intensity Danny’s cock jumps in his pants. He’s going to come without even getting Steve’s hands on him if they go on like this, and that - that isn’t fair.
He pulls his mouth away from Steve’s cock with an obscene, wet sound, and Steve whines a little but Danny - Danny’s losing his goddamn mind.
“Touch me, Steve. Please. You have to - fuck, please.”
Steve practically falls to his knees at that, cradling Danny’s face with one hand as he kisses him, his free hand working the button of Danny’s slacks open, the zipper down, tugging and pushing and pulling until Danny’s cock is out of his pants and boxers.
The rush of air over his unbearably sensitised skin is borderline painful, but somehow Steve's hand around it makes it better. He squeezes gently and Danny moans, squeezes harder and Danny sways closer, pressing his forehead to Steve's neck in a bid to hold himself together. His own hand is twisting its way down Steve's body, following the muscles of his stomach, dipping lower until he's curling his fingers around Steve's cock. Now it's both of them groaning, both of them pushing closer, both of them frantic with need.
"Danny... Danny," Steve keeps saying, like Danny's name is the only thing keeping him sane.
Danny can't actually speak -- he can only pant breathlessly against Steve's neck, feel his breath bounce off the wet skin, and the next thing he knows he's latched his mouth over Steve's pulse point and sucking, like he can't get enough. Steve actually yelps at that, and Danny feels the twitching of Steve's cock in his hand, the way it swells and grows impossibly harder -- and then there's wetness everywhere, sliding over his fingers and staining every scrap of clothing they've still got on. Steve sags against him, sucking in air, hand gone slack around Danny as he sinks into the afterglow; it feels like every muscle of Steve's body has gone slack and useless.
Danny can barely stand it. He wraps his wet hand over Steve's, gives him a hint, squeezes both their fingers over his shaft until it's familiar pressure with unfamiliar hands, so fucking good, and the way Steve is mouthing at his neck, wet lips dragging over skin that twitches from the smallest touch; Steve's hand suddenly tightens and twists, and it's game over for Danny, too.
He comes to sprawled over Steve, loose and sated to his very bones. While he's been drifting, Steve has somehow maneuvered them across the floor, so Steve's head is by the counter and his feet are by the fridge, taking up all the free space on the kitchen floor. Danny's lying on top of him, one leg thrown between Steve's, arm slung over Steve's waist as he pillows his head on Steve's surprisingly comfortable bicep.
"Fuck me," Danny manages, voice rough and wrecked with the sounds torn out of him.
"In a bit," Steve says comfortably, sounding happy and relaxed and almost zen.
Danny pushes his head off its resting place with some effort, and braces it on his hand. Steve is smiling, almost like he can't help himself; his lips are red and rubbed raw by Danny's stubble, his hair is an absolute mess, yet his eyes are languid and thoroughly, disgustingly smug when he peeks at Danny through his lashes.
"What are you so happy about?" Danny drawls.
Steve's smile grows until it's so goofy Danny kind of wants to smack his own forehead in despair. He's thinking--no, decided to have sex with that man, regularly and for the foreseeable future. Ergo, who's the bigger goof here?
"Nothin'," Steve slurs, a walking--lying--advert for post-coital bliss. "It's just, we're here, Danny. We made it."
“You realize it’s not only about sex, right?”
Steve’s smile fades a little, a confused look appearing on his face. This moment, right there, this face on Steve and the two of them sprawled over the kitchen floor in some rented apartment on the North Shore, that exact moment in space and time, Danny realizes that he’s totally, utterly and helplessly in love with the biggest dork the universe has ever created. And there’s nothing he can, or would, do about it, either.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, babe, that I would never have felt this frustrated and hard up the second you walked into the bakery for the past two weeks if it was only about the sex. I’m cool about sex, okay, I don’t need it like I need air, and I can live without it easily, I have for a long time, alright, it’s fine. But you, you and you puppy-dog eyes and your stupid remarks about whole grain and oats and shit, and the way you are with Gracie and with your parents, and your dress blues and how infuriatingly good-looking you are, and how you make me laugh and listen to me, you just. What I’m trying to say is that I kinda love you, you know, and you never made the first moves so I thought you didn’t really care, but then people told me that you’re not good with words and stuff. So I’m telling you now, so at least you know, even if you can’t say it back or something.”
“You kinda love me?”
Steve is smiling again, grin back in full force, and Danny punches his shoulder with the small amount of strength he’s still got left in him.
“Fuck you, McGarrett, it’s not that easy for me, either.”
Steve just settles Danny more comfortably on top of him. "So," he says conversationally. Danny goes on full alert, because that tone, Steve's about to say something that Danny will have to kill him for. "You wanna talk about your feelings now?"
Danny's going to get up, fetch the butter knife, and stab him to death. Any minute now.
"I am swiftly re-evaluating my decision to have sex with you until the day I die," he says levelly, trying not to feel so very comfortable where he lies.
Steve stares at him, eyes soft and fond. "That may be the sweetest thing you've ever said to me," he says.
Danny rolls his eyes in exasperation and sinks back down on top of him. "I honestly don't know why I put up with you sometimes," he grumbles.
Steve presses a kiss to the top of his head. Danny tries to find it disgustingly sappy and completely fails.
"For the record," Steve says against Danny's forehead, which is pressed to Steve's chin, "I would really love having sex with you until the day you die."
Danny hides his smile against Steve's neck. "So I've finally hit on a way to let you talk about your feelings, sailor?"
Steve sticks his finger in Danny's ribs instead of a reply, thus discovering one of the most viciously protected secrets of all time -- Danny Williams is ticklish.
Steve McGarrett is a world-class menace, Danny's always said so. Danny kicks him, trying to gain some leverage to push himself off Steve's religiously sculpted body, but Steve's got him held down, those ridiculously long arms pinning Danny to his chest while Steve uses those stupid legs that go for miles to flip them, so that Danny's back is now in cruel contact with the cold floor, and Steve is sprawled smugly all over him.
"I hate you so much," Danny grumbles.
Steve's grin turns manic. "No you don't. You love me!"
"Don't think that means you can get away with shit like that."
"Oh, don't pout, I mean, it's cute and everything, but--no, actually, it does kind of look good on you."
"Hate. You."
Danny isn't pouting. No, really. He's contemplating his next move. Unfortunately, and rather impressively considering his age, his cock thinks his next move should be to spread his legs and give in, like Steve's won him or something, and should now exercise his claim, which is so patently stupid Danny kind of wants to smack himself. As it happens, though, Steve's looking down at him with those eyes of his again, dark and intent, and he thinks Steve might be on the same wavelength here.
“Are we about to have hate sex then? Because from what I gather, sex is where we’re headed right now.”
To prove his point, he rolls his hips into Danny’s, and Danny fights the urge to close his eyes and moan, hold onto Steve and bruise him.
“Maybe. Don’t grin like that, it’s not funny.”
“It is, though. I think -”
“Don’t lie.”
“You’re hilarious. Anyway, bedroom, Danny. There’s one in this place, right? Because, I mean, I’d really like to fuck you, but I’d really like not to fuck you on the kitchen floor.”
“Oh, now you want to be a romantic? Of course there’s a bedroom in this place, do you think I’d book us some place to have wild gay sex in, in which there is no bedroom? It’s just - over there.”
Danny waves a hand towards the general direction of the bedroom, and then suddenly Steve is off him, getting back to his feet in a graceful, cat-like fashion, which is mildly irritating and a little hypnotizing at the same time. Danny follows a little more slowly, and whatever clothes they had left are shed right here, before Danny leads Steve to the bedroom, their fingers entwined.
The sheets are white - Danny’s not quite sure that’s a good idea but he promises himself to get them washed before they leave the apartment, he’s polite like that, he can’t really help himself, but the most important is that the mattress is soft and bouncy, feeling like heaven and Danny lies on top of the covers, burying his nose in the fresh small of the sheets for a moment. He feels the large bed dip and looks over his shoulder to see Steve watching him, eyes hungry.
“What?”
“What 'what', are you kidding me? Have you seen yourself?”
“Well, I don’t make a habit of looking at my own ass, I’ll admit.”
“Maybe you should.”
Danny can’t help his chuckles, turning to rest on his stomach on the bed, trying not to rub too much against the sheets but allowing himself tiny little thrusts of his hips, not enough - definitely not enough when Steve is right here and could be touching Danny, but some friction anyway. Steve’s eyes flick down to take in how Danny’s hips move a fraction, rhythmically, and he reaches out, curling a hand around Danny’s ribs and pressing his lips just above the curve of Danny’s ass, feather-like. He kisses his way up, slowly, making Danny pant against his forearm, and when Steve reaches his ear, he flicks his tongue against the earlobe, teeth tugging on it for a second.
“For the record, about what we were talking about earlier, it’s not because I don’t say it or show it that I don’t feel it. I’m working on it, okay? It’s definitely not only about sex, Danny.”
Danny turns his head towards Steve’s, their eyes meeting for a second.
“I know. But thank you, anyway. For saying that.”
"I just want to make sure you know it," Steve says a little anxiously.
Danny hasn't felt this prone to extremely sappy thoughts for some years now. Yet there's something about Steve that makes Danny want to hug the stuffing out of him, while at the same time do some horribly depraved things to him. It's a strange combination, but it works for him.
Steve lowers himself carefully over Danny's back, and the wet head of his cock drags against Danny's crack, teasing and promising in equal measures. Danny loses track of his thoughts. Steve is kissing the back of his neck, chest rubbing gently against Danny's back, curls of hair teasing his skin.
"Nnngh," he says, which is not really what he meant to say, but that's the risk one runs at trying to talk when Steve McGarrett is in full-out sexing mode. "There was lube and condoms in those bags. Did you take them out?"
Steve stops kissing him. Danny does not like this new development.
"I didn't find any lube or condoms in the bags I took in."
"Must have been in the bags I carried," Danny says.
Behind him, there is a suspicious bout of silence.
"Steve?"
"Uh. Just, um. Give me a second."
The delicious weight lifts off Danny's back; he feels its loss keenly. He turns his head to see Steve stride out of the room. It's a nice view, firm, tempting ass swaying with every movement of his hips, muscles shifting under his skin. He's around the corner before Danny can tear his eyes off it, and it's not until then that Danny realises he's resumed circling his hips into the mattress. He forces himself to stop.
Thirty seconds pass, then a minute. "What the hell are you doing out there, McGarrett?" he yells impatiently, turning to lie on his back.
Steve pads back into the room after another thirty seconds or so, carrying a familiar tube and a large cardboard box. They look--strange.
'What kept you?' Danny intends to say, but, well, an aroused Steve McGarrett walking towards you kind of tends to sap every thought from your head, he discovers.
Steve nears the bed, stopping a step or two away. Danny drags his eyes up from Steve's gorgeous, flushed cock, over his chest to his face. Steve looks sheepish.
"What?"
Steve throws the lube and condoms onto Danny's chest.
Danny yelps, twitching until he swipes them off onto the sheets. "What did you do?"
"Well, you walked in, and I couldn't wait, so I took the bags you held and I--"
"--put them in the fridge," Danny finishes with him, recollection dawning. "Oh my god, we fail so bad at actually having sex."
Something changes behind Steve's eyes, something looking very much like a challenge being accepted. It sends a thrill down Danny's spine.
"Now why would you say that?" Steve drawls, sinking his knees onto the mattress and crawling until he's settled himself between Danny's legs that have fallen open. "We're just getting started."
Danny looks up at Steve, seriously, his body goes on for miles and miles, so much skin that Danny wants to touch and lick and kiss and bite, and yeah, he’s drawing a blank, here, no reply coming to him. He just looks at Steve with wide eyes and his mouth open, his fingers closing and opening over the sheets, unable to find a single thing to say, and fuck, he hates being speechless. He admits it might not be so bad when he’s got Steve over him like this, there have been worse situations in which to be speechless.
Steve cocks his head to the side for a moment, genuinely looking worried when Danny doesn’t reply.
“Danny?”
Danny waves a hand between the two of them, reaching out and curling it around Steve’s arm, pulling him forward.
“Yes, yes, okay, let’s not just get started anymore, let’s do something about it, please.”
Steve’s back to grinning, and Danny wonders how he’s managed not to lump him over the head yet.
“I thought you were okay without sex?”
“Yeah, I’m okay without it when there’s not a 6'1'' ex-SuperSEAL naked and sweaty and gorgeous on top of me, alright? Also, said ex-SuperSEAL is also super hard, so really, we ought to do something about it. Enough of this playing around, Steven, we’ve waited long enough.”
Danny isn’t speechless anymore, which is good, because fuck, he’s good with words and he needs them, especially against people like Steve, who have all the charm and the hot genes and everything when Danny’s just - Danny. Not that he thinks he’s bad-looking, or not charming, he knows he’s both, but next to someone like McGarrett, very few men can compete.
Which is not the point. The point is, Danny’s relieved to find his words back, to look at Steve’s face change with the flow of his sentences. There’s something terribly endearing about Steve when he’s listening to Danny, with all of his attention and focus on Danny and his words. It makes Danny flush with pleasure to realize just how attentive to him Steve is.
“Okay, so. You’re okay with me - with me fucking you, right?”
“Steven, babe, Jesus Christ yes, it’s fine, I will not have a big gay freak-out on you, I want this, I want you. And I’m 34, please stop thinking I am a blushing virgin. Do you really think I wouldn’t have freaked out already if I’d never done this before?”
"I don't mean that. I mean--I'd like to, but you can fuck me, it's all right if you'd rather--"
"Steve. Read my lips. Get your cock inside my ass right this minute."
Steve swallows, looking down into Danny's determined eyes. "Okay," he breathes, reaching for the unfortunate tube of slick.
He rolls it between his hands, trying to warm it, but only succeeds in making his hands cold, Danny finds out when he reaches for it.
"Let's try with a smaller amount," he says, flicks the cap and squeezes out a gloopy dollop into Steve's palm.
Steve stares at it for a moment before he rubs it between his fingers.
"I think it's working," he says, and Danny can see it is -- the goo starts turning more to liquid the longer Steve works it.
"Try it out."
"It's still cold, though."
"It'll get warmer once it's inside me."
Steve shivers at that and rolls on his side, bracing himself on an elbow. He reaches between Danny's legs, and Danny lifts them to his chest, spreads them as wide as they'll go. The first touch of Steve's fingers is cool and Danny flinches a little, but levels Steve a look when he starts to pull his hand away.
"Don't you dare move unless it's to push in," he warns.
Steve's lips quirk a little at the corner and his hand is back, working a single digit inside Danny's body. Danny clenches around it before he forces himself to relax. Steve sinks in easily, and Danny doesn't even try to hold his groan in. Steve shivers again, Danny can feel it against his leg, the minute twitches of Steve's side against him. Steve's mouth has fallen open, his tongue sticking out at the corner in concentration, and Danny wants desperately to suck it into his mouth. They'll be plenty of time for that later.
"More," he grunts after a few minutes.
Steve complies immediately this time, pressing a second finger in. It's delicious, the now-warm lube contrasting with the still-cool one on Steve's other finger. The two digits slide around together, one warm and one cold, and when both knuckles press against Danny's prostate his back comes arching off the bed.
"Yes," he hisses between his teeth, trying to fuck himself on them, relishing the small burn as muscles long fallen into disregard are stretched open once again.
Steve grunts, wrapping his free hand over Danny's hips to keep him still. Danny pays it no heed, twisting down onto the delicious intrusion.
"Get on with it," he barks, thrusting down hard. "One more."
Steve pulls his hand away enough to add more lube, and Danny whines with need. Then he's back, cool once more; the shift in temperatures is driving Danny insane, teasing sensitive nerve endings into a frenzy. It’s been so long since he’s found himself in this position, but right now he can’t remember why, sparks of pleasure exploding all over his body, nerve-endings alight with every single touch of Steve's. His own hands are not idle, either, traveling along Steve’s chest and shoulder and face, fingers brushing along Steve’s lips to feel the tip of his tongue, moving up to feel the lines of his face.
By the time Steve pulls his fingers out of Danny, Danny is panting and way too hot, his skin constricting him, not allowing enough space for the dizzying bliss mixed with intensifying frustration that he’s feeling. His cock is painfully hard and leaking over his stomach, left untouched by Steve, which is both for the best and completely unfair. Danny manages not to whine, though, clenching his jaw as he looks at Steve rolling a condom over his cock. He hisses, and Danny grimaces.
“Cold?”
“Fuck. It’s awful.”
“C’mere.”
With fingers curled around Steve’s shoulder, Danny pulls him down, kisses him - slow and languid this time, wanting Steve to forget about the disagreeable sensation, focus on the good. He wraps his legs around Steve’s hips, and when Steve pulls away, his eyes telling Danny way too many things Steve doesn’t really know how to express in words, Danny smiles.
“C’mon, babe.”
He stops himself before he says take me, or have me, or even worse, make love to me, refusing to humiliate himself that way. He’s not really giving himself up right now; he’s given himself up to Steve a long time ago really, but he’s still got his pride, okay, he’s not going to admit it.
Steve slowly, carefully starts pushing his cock inside, stopping regularly to blow out loud breaths of air, and Danny is quite content with knowing he’s not the only one on the very edge of falling into something he’ll never get back up from. Steve is mumbling incoherently in the crook of Danny’s neck, prayers and Danny’s name and curses all mixed together nonsensically, completely endearing, and when he’s buried as far as he can go inside Danny, he stills, breathing slowly. Danny feels light-headed, his muscles squeezing around Steve, and he’s feeling so full because Steve’s so big, and it’s perfect and it feels amazing, it does, but it’ll be even better once Steve starts moving.
“Okay, babe?”
“Need a moment.”
Danny twitches a little around the intrusion; he's not trying to hurry Steve along, honestly, he just can't help himself. He loves the feel of a cock stretching him wide, always has, and it's been so long, and it's just so good he can't help his hips canting into it under Steve's weight.
"God," he grunts, feeling Steve slip an impossible fraction deeper.
"Jesus fuck," Steve gasps into his neck, breathless.
Finally, finally he starts moving, back and forth a little, gentle thrusts, working Danny loose around him. Danny throws his head back against the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut at the exquisite burn of his muscles being stretched. It’s the kind of overwhelming sensation Danny thrives for and never really gets, never really got, even when he was a kid getting into trouble in the streets of Weehawken. Even the rush of adrenaline is different, stronger, more intense with Steve moving inside him, over him, with his eyes closed tight in concentration and his jaw slack with pleasure.
When Steve hits his prostate after a sudden stronger thrust, Danny cries out, his fingers slipping against Steve’s skin as he scrambles for purchase, needing something to hold onto and not quite managing. One of his hands falls to Steve’s thigh, feeling the muscles under the silky smooth skin, and Steve moans low in his throat when Danny drags his hand up over Steve’s ass, groping for a moment. His own hips are moving in sync with Steve’s, the two of them pushing and pulling together, making their way quickly towards the edge.
Steve feels so good - Danny is a little delirious with sensations, bliss coursing through his veins like a drug, each of Steve’s thrusts a new, fresh hit, and Danny never wants to come down from the high, ever. He holds onto Steve, his head tilted back, pushed into the sheets as he moans and cries out Steve’s name, feeling Steve’s rhythm increase unsteadily, as if he’s losing it, too, pressing his grunts and curses and pleas into Danny’s skin.
His blood feels like it's burning through his body, centered on the delirious heat in his cock. He needs to be touched, needs it so much he's keening with it, and Steve's too far gone to be of any help. So Danny worms his hand between their bodies, going for it himself. The first touch of it bows his back, hips sinking down harder onto Steve, drawing him deeper. He clenches around him, and Steve moans desperately as Danny's palm stripes his cock, so fast it's almost a blur of motion. It's too much, too much, oh god, Danny can't hold it in any longer, just, he needs it right now--
It feels like his skin is exploding, flaying off with the force of his climax. His legs, wound around Steve's hips to keep him open wider, contract viciously, so much so that Steve can only move in increments, in and out with barely a twitch of his hips as Danny's muscles pulse his release around him. Steve groans desperately, shoving himself inside as fast as he can before letting out a stuttered, hoarse yell as he empties himself inside Danny, holding on for dear life.
Danny doesn't think he could move if the house was coming down over them. Steve's panting on top of him, mouthing weakly at his neck. They manage to move a little after a while, enough for Steve to dispose of the condom and for Danny to curl into Steve’s body, Steve’s face still buried in Danny’s neck.
“Still with me?”
“Mmh. Not going anywhere.”
Danny nods with the muffled, tender words that Steve presses into the curve of his neck. His smile might be a little goofy, but he honestly, really doesn’t care. He’s got this, he’s got this for the foreseeable future, and he’s not about to let go. Sure, they’ll keep on arguing and teasing each other, and probably Danny will want to punch Steve in the mouth every now and again, but so what.
“Oh, shit!”
Steve blinks his eyes open, looking up with a worried twist to his mouth after Danny’s sudden exclamation.
“What? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I forgot to bring flour. I wanted to make pancakes. I make really good pancakes, Steven.”
“I’m sure. I can go out to the store later. When I can walk.”
Danny tries his best not to whine, because he really wanted them to hole themselves up in this place for the whole weekend and not have to feel the sun on their skin for any moment. Well, he didn’t fool himself that Steve wouldn’t go for a swim in the morning, but he could sleep through that. He just fails at being ready for anything.
“I didn’t - oh, fine. We’ll need sugar, too, anyway. And vanilla extract.”
“Should I get pen and paper?”
“Shut up.”
Steve grins, turning over on his back and stretching lazily, an overgrown cat with golden skin catching in the afternoon sun coming through the window. Danny cannot help how he reaches out and runs his fingers along Steve’s stomach to the dip of his hipbone, feeling Steve watch him.
“I’m going to have to up my workout regime.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m planning on keeping you around, and if I keep you around then there will always be mouth-watering cakes and pastries in my reach. If I get fat you won’t want me anymore.”
Steve has to be joking. Danny really hopes Steve is joking, because that is just ridiculous, and not just because he’s not the kind to ever let himself go enough to become fat. He could be as big as Kamekona is nowadays, it wouldn’t make Danny change his mind. The fact that Danny knows it wouldn’t happen anyway - Steve is too much of a health freak, let’s be honest, Danny’s going to have to adapt - is not the issue, though. Who knew an ex-Navy SEAL with the body of a Greek God could be self-conscious?
“You, you are a goof. I’m not kidding, babe, you’re the goofiest person I have ever met - if you get fat I won’t want you anymore, what, are you kidding me?”
Steve shoots him a quick look under his eyelashes. No, seriously. Danny sighs. His life, what is it even these days.
"I will still want you when you're 80 and gray and can't get it up anymore. What's an imperfect body compared to that, you idiot?"
Steve smiles, this sweet, slightly surprised smile, like it's more than he ever expected. It's charming and frustrating at the same time -- but if Danny wasn't willing to put in a little effort, he wouldn't be contemplating tying his life to this ridiculous man.
Steve shifts onto his side, facing Danny. His hand is ruffling the damp hair on Danny's chest, stroking the skin underneath. Danny is maybe a little in heaven.
And then of course Steve has to open his big damn mouth.
"Was that your screwed-up version of a marriage proposal?"
Danny's eyes bug out a little. Steve doesn't look freaked-out or anything, merely curious and patiently waiting for the answer. And really, what is Danny going to do with him?
"When I propose to you, you infuriating man, you will know about it, okay?"
"Hmm," Steve says, lips twitching. "Duly noted. I'll have to think of something to say back."
"You'll have to think?"
"Well, being married to you won't be all sunshine and roses. For one thing, I might have to start running 15 miles instead of the 10 I was thinking about. For another, you are just a little ray of sunshine on Monday mornings, and I will have to learn to get out of bed in a hurry."
Danny scowls ominously.
"Any other deterrents to marrying me?" he snaps.
"Deterrents? I didn't say they were deterrents. I'll just have to think of ways of adapting to them, is all."
"Why do I even find you attractive, Jesus fucking Christ. You are an asshole."
"See? Already we're learning new things about each other."
There really is no other course of action. Danny reaches behind Steve's head, tugs away his pillow and bashes him over the head with it. Steve dodges, giggling like a little kid, latches onto Danny's stomach and blows a raspberry onto the skin.
"It's like being with an overgrown 6-year-old," Danny whines, trying to smack him away. Steve just clings harder.
Eventually they separate, and even get out of bed. The beers are cold from the time spent in the fridge, and the drink feels heavenly sliding down Danny's throat. Steve's leaning onto his back, chin hooked over Danny's shoulder as he watches Danny study the contents of the fridge and cupboards for tonight's meal in lieu of pancakes, at least until they obtain the ingredients -- because they're both starving. Steve never got the lunch Danny promised him, and Danny hadn't been able to eat anything that morning from the buzz of anticipation in his gut.
There is steak, which is the easiest thing to make, at least when one throws it at Steve to manage. Meanwhile Danny gets the bag of french fries out and spills half of it on a baking tray, ready to slip into the oven when it heats.
"Salad?"
"Yeah."
They work together so seamlessly that it's a while before Danny realises they have slipped into a comfortable silence only broken by random comments on the state of the meal and what's on TV tonight. It's so soothing, natural, like they've been cooking together for years instead of hours. Steve passes him a spoon without Danny having to ask, and Danny's already handing him plates for the steaks a mere second after Steve opens his mouth to ask for them. They sit at the table, a huge bowl of crisp salad and cherry tomatoes hogging the middle, steak and fries piled onto the plates, beers at hand.
Dinner, overall, is a quiet affair. They talk about work and Grace and make plans for the three of them when she’s next staying with Danny. And afterwards, when the dishes are done and drying, they settle in front of a classic game found on a random channel, and Danny yells and grumbles and Steve laughs and mocks, and yeah. Yeah, Danny can definitely see this, for the rest of his life.
Epilogue
“Here you go.”
Steve hands a beer to his father, sitting next to him on the lana’i. Their last evening in before they take off for their cruise, his parents asked him and his sister to come for dinner. Mary already left, begging off coffee because of some party, broken wrist be damned, and with his mother busy packing a few last things and making sure they’re all prepared, it’s Steve and his father on their own to watch the sun go down, setting the ocean alight.
“Thanks. How’s life, son?”
Steve takes a deep breath, trying his best not to explode into words of frustration and need and Danny, all around Danny, always coming back to Danny these days. They’ve barely had a minute to say hello and goodbye lately, days since the cooking field trip, and it’s just not fair, it really isn’t.
“It’s - busy, to say the least.”
“You sound displeased. I’d think someone like you would be happy to be busy.”
“Yeah, I am. It’s just. I...haven’t got to see Danny much.”
He knows it’ll come to this conversation, so better bite the bullet now. It’s not like his parents haven’t gathered what’s going on between the two of them anyway.
“Ah.”
“Yeah.”
Steve looks sideways at his dad, watching him drink some more of his beer.
“How’s that going?”
“Well, that’s the thing. We barely see each other so I have no idea, Dad. I just don’t know where we’re going. I know where I want to go, but then we don’t get a minute to ourselves and we always get interrupted and it’s like, we’re stuck in this vicious circle where every time we’re taking a step forward, someone or something stops us. Fuck, he’s starting to rub off on me.”
Tangents and rants aren’t really Steve’s style; Danny is definitely taking his toll on him, it’s obvious. John chuckles quietly into his beer bottle.
“You need to make time for these things, Steve, or they’ll slip away from you.”
“Well, if I could go on a cruise every weekend, I would...but Danny works so much. Every day, Dad, every goddamn day.”
"He takes pride in his job, son. You can't hold that against him."
"I know, and I'm not. I guess I'm just fed up of being relegated to the back seat."
His father eyes him shrewdly. "You don't really think you're not important to Danny, do you? Because that boy only has eyes for you, no matter when we see him. And you're no better. You two remind me of your Mom and me. When we first met, I couldn't look away from her, and the glances she'd throw me..."
"Dad," Steve complains at the way his father is mooning at the house.
"What, you think you look different from a distance? Think again, sunshine."
Steve considers this. It doesn't scare him in the slightest, which is probably more worrying than if he was scared he's falling too deep, wanting too much. Because it's not that Danny isn't willing to give it -- he is. It makes Steve all warm inside, every time he thinks of the way Danny whined and groaned whenever they'd had to stop what they were doing.
He huffs a sigh. He doesn't want to talk about it more, because it only drives in the fact that Danny isn't his, yet, and for some reason he craves the acknowledgement, freely given, from Danny's lips and body to Steve's.
He wants to know that they’re doing this, that Danny is into this relationship as much as Steve is, but those are words he’s afraid to say and he’s sure actions can speak louder anyway. He just wants to be able to tell people, if he wants to, that yes, he is with Danny and yes, it is serious and they’re not fucking around, just each other. Steve is there, definitely, besides the whole 'fucking' thing, obviously. And it’s driving him crazy.
“You’re in the honeymoon phase, son. And when life gets in the way, I get that it’s frustrating. You should try and clear some time for you two, so you can work some stuff out, for a start.”
“That’d mean get Danny to close for a day or two, or get Kono to work double shifts.”
“Well, you’ve been telling us how well the bakery is doing lately. Maybe Danny can afford to only open for half a day this weekend? This way Kono does only one shift.”
Steve thinks about that. He likes it. "I'll talk to him about it. Maybe he'll agree for the weekend after? It's probably too soon to ask him about this weekend."
John shrugs. "At this stage, I don't think a week's all that big a delay."
"Yeah," Steve says sourly. It's not like they haven't been forced to wait for months already. "Anyway. What time do you leave tomorrow?" Not his smoothest change of subject, but the thought grates enough for Steve to want to avoid it.
John groans. "Too damn early," he grumbles. "We have to be at the port at 6.30am."
Steve whistles through his teeth. His dad hates early mornings. His mom, on the other hand, has been an early riser all her life. It probably says something about the strength of their marriage that they've learned to live around it.
"Still, though. A week away, just the two of you. You can't tell me you aren't looking forward to it."
"Oh, for sure. It's not just you young kids that want your time together."
"Please do not elaborate."
John chuckles to himself, watching the ocean. It's calm, peaceful. Maybe Steve can get Danny to come down here while his parents are away. They could bring Grace, too -- she'd love it.
Yeah. Sounds like a plan.
---
Danny has had enough. He just has, okay, it’s been almost two weeks since he got to see Steve for more than 5 minutes, let alone in private, so really, he’s had enough, and he’s about to burst, and he needs this.
It doesn’t take long for him to get his plan worked out. He gets a little apartment-type place rented for the weekend at the North Shore, as far away from Honolulu as he can find, and tells Kono they’ll be closed from Saturday afternoon to Monday morning. If she wants to come in, she’s more than welcome to, but she can’t expect him, because he will not be available. She gives him a wide eyed, surprised look, but nods quickly, not making a sound. He’s too wound up and tired and frustrated and he’d just yell at her, so it’s a good thing she doesn’t protest.
Then it’s just a matter of preparations. The apartment he’s booked - on the internet, with help from Grace - is close to the beach and nice and airy, not that Danny expects them to spend much time outside the bedroom. He goes groceries shopping for basic supplies, lube, condoms, fresh fruit and cereal, coffee and milk, beer and some steaks and frozen fries, ketchup, bacon and eggs and a bag of bagels. It doesn’t matter if Steve complains about the lack of vegetables, he’ll have to work with what Danny’s got and that is it, they’re not leaving the apartment for the weekend, seriously, no way.
When he gets to Steve’s on Saturday morning, there is no one there and no, no, that is not happening, they cannot be this unlucky. Danny takes out his phone and contemplates calling Steve right away, but then changes his mind. It takes three rings for Chin to pick up.
“Hey brah, howzit?”
“Hey Chin - look, I don’t want to keep you long, I’m sure you’re busy. You got any idea where Steve is?”
“Yeah, sure, he said he was doing something for his parents, repainting or something.”
Danny bites his lip, suddenly remembering Steve talking about doing the paint job on the outside of the family home while his parents were away.
“Oh, yeah, that’s right! Thanks, Chin.”
“You’re welcome. Is everything okay?”
God, if Chin can hear the tension stringing Danny’s body so tight through the phone, it’s bad. Bad bad bad.
“Everything’s fine. Gotta go. Give my love to Malia!”
“Will do.”
Danny hangs up and starts the car right away, driving through the city to the McGarretts' home, trying his best not to run every red light and curse every slow driver on the road. When he gets there, the sight of Steve, up on a ladder in a white wifebeater and battered jeans, painting the side of the house a pale yellow, makes Danny’s heart skip a beat. Or three.
Steve turns at the sound of the Camaro pulling up. His face, red and flushed with the heat and exertion, lights up when he sees Danny get out.
"Hey, D!" he yells cheerfully.
"Hey yourself. Are you almost done? I was thinking we could go get lunch, maybe?"
Steve eyes the front of the house, done but for the last corner at the bottom. "Well, that's the last of it now, and then it's done. So yeah, definitely, if you can stick around for twenty minutes or so--and if you give me a hand, we could get it done even faster."
Danny doesn't even hesitate -- he's striding over and grabbing a brush before Steve finishes speaking. Steve's brows furrow at his eagerness.
"What's up with you?" he asks.
"Nothing. I'm just really hungry. Where's the paint?"
Between the two of them, it takes less than ten minutes to finish the last of the side. Steve tosses the brush inside the paint tray, satisfaction etched all over his face.
"Looks nice," Danny says, forcing himself to sound casual.
"Dad will be pissed that I did it all without him, but we want him to take it easy now that he's retired. I think it's nice, too."
Danny drops his own brush, unclenching impatient fingers from the handle.
"So, lunch?"
"Sure. Let me just get changed."
Danny wants to snap at him not to bother, that he won't be wearing clothes for very long anyway, if Danny has anything to say about it. But he doesn't want to spoil the surprise; he wants to see Steve's face when he pushes him inside the apartment and locks the door behind them.
He waits by the car, resisting the urge to fiddle, because it would just make him more irritated. Steve jogs out, finally, a simple white T-shirt tugged over loose, threadbare jeans. He looks delectable. He tries to steal the keys from Danny, but Danny's not having it, pushing and prodding him into the passenger seat while he near runs for the driver's. The car peels off with a squeal of tires, nose pointing towards the North Shore. Steve seems content to let Danny drive in peace, doesn't even ask where they're going, but looks out of the window happily. His knee is almost nudging the gear shaft; Danny has to clench his hands on the wheel to not palm it possessively. Knowing where they're headed, what he's about to do to this infuriating, desirable, gorgeous man, it's setting his blood on fire. It's actually worse than knowing they might be interrupted at any moment, because they're not there yet and Danny can't touch him already.
When they’re out of downtown Honolulu Steve frowns, turning towards Danny to raise an eyebrow at him. Danny keeps his eyes firmly on the road after acknowledging Steve’s move, not wanting to spoil the surprise.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see. Hey, how about you turn your phone off?”
Steve makes a noise, something Danny’s not quite sure of, but he can’t take his eyes off the road, no way, if he does then he’ll stop the car right here on the side of the road and the rest be damned.
“Why?”
“Just do it, Steve. Please.”
“Is yours off?”
“It will be soon.”
“I can grab it for you, turn it off.”
There’s something devious in Steve’s tone, and Danny clenches his teeth.
“No, no. You can’t - look, we’re going somewhere, let’s get there, okay? Won’t be much longer.”
“Considering the speed you’re driving at, I believe you on that one.”
Danny doesn’t answer, and they lapse into silence again. He can feel how curious Steve is, though, hear and sense him shifting constantly in his seat, looking around the scenery to try and determine where they’re going. Danny keeps his jaw locked and his eyes on the road, and it takes 20 more minutes but finally they arrive to a cluster of little bungalows overlooking the ocean. Danny parks the car in front of number 5, feeling the keys he’s grabbed for the renting agency the day before digging into his thigh.
“Okay, we’re here.”
“I’m confused, Danny.”
Danny grabs his phone and turns it off, before looking at Steve.
“Is your phone off?”
“Yes, but -”
“I’m kidnapping you for the weekend. I have rented this place, and we’re going to go in and I am going to get you naked and we’re going to finally have two days to ourselves with no distractions. I have food and supplies in the boot, and our phones are off, and just - no distractions, Steve, no one to interrupt and to ruin it.”
Steve gapes at him, pupils thoroughly dilated just from that, Jesus. Danny's been hard ever since they passed the five mile marker, ever since Steve offered to to turn his phone off for him, so hard his cock is going to bear the edge of his inseam digging into it, he's sure. He looks at Steve, begs him with his eyes even as his mouth runs away from him, because if Steve backs off now, well. He doesn't think they could salvage the fall out.
Steve's stare lasts just long enough for Danny to start to worry he's overdone it, even though he was sure he couldn't have read Steve wrong, not now. Then Steve turns, clicks the door open and jumps out of the car, heading for the boot. He slams it open, grabs as many bags as he can carry and heads for the front door, bouncing with impatience. Danny watches the muscles bunch in his arms from the weight, watches his jeans tighten around the crotch, watches sweat trickle down Steve's neck while he stands there and waits, and fuck if it doesn't make Danny's knees go soft.
He gets with it, jumps out and hurries to the door, fitting the key inside with fingers shaking ever so faintly. Steve brushes past him while Danny runs back to the car, grabs the two remaining bags, thumbs the alarm and jogs back inside, slamming the door shut with his hip. Steve has found his way into the kitchen and is shoving food and beer inside with both hands. He grabs the bags from Danny and doesn't even look inside, just sticks both of them into the fridge and slams the door shut.
The two of them stare at each other, standing in the kitchen, need running like a current through them, so strong that Danny literally does not know where he wants to touch Steve most, and so can't actually touch him at all.
Steve looks back, eyes locked on Danny's mouth. He wets his lower lip with the tip of his tongue.
It's like a dam breaking loose. Danny surges forward, slams him back against the counter, takes his mouth like it's the one thing keeping him sane, mashes their lips together and grabs the back of Steve's head, pulling it to the side until he can pry his lips open and lick his way inside. Steve doesn't need to be prompted -- he goes pliant against Danny, lets him in, lets Danny take him if that's what Danny needs. His hands are fisted at Danny's hips, and he opens them, pulling him closer. Danny slips a thigh between his legs, feels all that muscle surround him, and it's actually difficult to breathe, he wants this so much.
All his plans have been thrown out of the window. There's a bed just two rooms away, a big double bed that Danny had specifically asked for, but he'll be damned if they're going to make it there -- this time. Right now moving is not an option, moving away from Steve a fate worse than death. He slips his free hand under Steve's T-shirt, touches hot, sweaty skin, feels the way Steve arches into him to the soles of his feet. His hand migrates up Steve's back, tracing muscles, the sharp, defined stretch of his spine, and he wants.
Steve slides a long, firm thigh over the back of Danny's leg, opening himself further to Danny's body, pulls him into the space between his legs even as his hand closes on one side of Danny's ass, tugging. Danny groans into the kiss when their cocks slide together, off-centre, just a tease that nevertheless manages to nearly liquefy his bones. He ruts against Steve helplessly, mindlessly, needing to be closer.
Steve bites down on Danny’s bottom lip before he breaks off the kiss, tilting his head back as he lets out a small, desperate wanton noise, enough to make Danny’s stomach roll with lust. He trails his lips along Steve’s upper chest as he tries to breathe, cotton under his tongue and the smell of Steve invading his senses, sweat and musk and paint and leather and washing powder. Danny tugs Steve’s shirt up and up, and Steve obeys the silent plea willingly, raising his arms over his head and finishing the job, throwing his shirt somewhere behind Danny - not that he cares.
Danny noses along Steve’s pecs, flicks his tongue against a nipple, earning himself a sharp pull on his hair and a hiss, Steve’s hips jerking into Danny’s - okay, Danny notes, sensitive nipples, he can definitely work with that. They’re both obviously so wired that anything can send them over the edge - Danny is afraid for a second that Steve will realize too quickly how teeth digging into his hipbones sends Danny reeling right away.
But considering how this first round is probably going to end, Danny doesn’t worry for too long - something tells him neither of them are going to take their sweet time for exploration right now. They have at least 36 hours to get there, though, and Danny has many plans involving Steve naked, once they’re over the need, once they can afford to take their time.
Steve moves again, licking a drop of sweat off Danny’s temple as he grabs the sides of Danny’s shirt and pulls, not bothering with undoing buttons, and under other circumstances Danny would probably yell at him, but as it is, Danny can only arch into the touch as buttons go flying all over the kitchen and Steve trails his fingertips along Danny’s chest, down his stomach, his breath sharp and shallow near Danny’s ear.
“Fuck, Danny -”
Danny bites down on Steve’s chest, close to his left nipple, afraid that words could spoil it, afraid that, if they talk now, they’ll find a way to fuck it up, jinx it again. Steve gasps but it doesn’t sound like pain and that’s good enough for Danny, who busies himself with getting Steve’s jeans open, and fuck, the bastard is going commando. Danny’s mouth positively waters when his hand closes around Steve’s cock, hard and leaking and making Steve jerk again, his knuckles white where he’s holding on to the kitchen counter. Danny wants to taste him so much it’s overtaking everything else in his brain, doubts and fears and frustration, and so he goes for it, kissing his way down Steve’s stomach, feeling it being sucked in sharply when he nips at Steve’s belly button. Danny runs his hands along Steve’s jean-clad thighs when he’s on one knee in front of him, facing his cock.
He licks the underside from base to tip, and Steve lets out a strangled noise, muffled, and when Danny looks up he sees Steve biting on his knuckles, goosebumps rising all over his skin.
"Don't do that," he growls. Steve looks dazed, a question in his eyes, teeth still closed around his knuckle. "I want to hear you. There's no one in this house, the closest neighbour is across the yard, so give it to me."
Steve whimpers, but removes his hand from his mouth. The next sound fills the air with desperation; Danny stares up into Steve's half-lidded eyes as he takes him back inside his mouth. He doesn’t allow Steve to move, keeps his hands on Steve’s hips, pressing him hard against the counter top. For a moment, if only just a moment, Danny wants to feel in control, wants Steve to lose it, just because of Danny and his mouth.
Danny goes for it, sucking in earnest, cheeks hollowed when he takes Steve’s cock as deep as he can inside his mouth. He can’t stop thinking - no phones to start ringing, nobody to come knocking at the door, just the two of them and whatever they want to do to each other at the tip of their fingers. Steve lets out a deep groan, and when Danny flicks his eyes up along Steve’s chest, all the way up to his face, his eyes, he sees how dark they are. Danny looks at Steve’s features, the flush of his cheeks and the way he’s biting his lip, looking at Danny with such intensity Danny’s cock jumps in his pants. He’s going to come without even getting Steve’s hands on him if they go on like this, and that - that isn’t fair.
He pulls his mouth away from Steve’s cock with an obscene, wet sound, and Steve whines a little but Danny - Danny’s losing his goddamn mind.
“Touch me, Steve. Please. You have to - fuck, please.”
Steve practically falls to his knees at that, cradling Danny’s face with one hand as he kisses him, his free hand working the button of Danny’s slacks open, the zipper down, tugging and pushing and pulling until Danny’s cock is out of his pants and boxers.
The rush of air over his unbearably sensitised skin is borderline painful, but somehow Steve's hand around it makes it better. He squeezes gently and Danny moans, squeezes harder and Danny sways closer, pressing his forehead to Steve's neck in a bid to hold himself together. His own hand is twisting its way down Steve's body, following the muscles of his stomach, dipping lower until he's curling his fingers around Steve's cock. Now it's both of them groaning, both of them pushing closer, both of them frantic with need.
"Danny... Danny," Steve keeps saying, like Danny's name is the only thing keeping him sane.
Danny can't actually speak -- he can only pant breathlessly against Steve's neck, feel his breath bounce off the wet skin, and the next thing he knows he's latched his mouth over Steve's pulse point and sucking, like he can't get enough. Steve actually yelps at that, and Danny feels the twitching of Steve's cock in his hand, the way it swells and grows impossibly harder -- and then there's wetness everywhere, sliding over his fingers and staining every scrap of clothing they've still got on. Steve sags against him, sucking in air, hand gone slack around Danny as he sinks into the afterglow; it feels like every muscle of Steve's body has gone slack and useless.
Danny can barely stand it. He wraps his wet hand over Steve's, gives him a hint, squeezes both their fingers over his shaft until it's familiar pressure with unfamiliar hands, so fucking good, and the way Steve is mouthing at his neck, wet lips dragging over skin that twitches from the smallest touch; Steve's hand suddenly tightens and twists, and it's game over for Danny, too.
He comes to sprawled over Steve, loose and sated to his very bones. While he's been drifting, Steve has somehow maneuvered them across the floor, so Steve's head is by the counter and his feet are by the fridge, taking up all the free space on the kitchen floor. Danny's lying on top of him, one leg thrown between Steve's, arm slung over Steve's waist as he pillows his head on Steve's surprisingly comfortable bicep.
"Fuck me," Danny manages, voice rough and wrecked with the sounds torn out of him.
"In a bit," Steve says comfortably, sounding happy and relaxed and almost zen.
Danny pushes his head off its resting place with some effort, and braces it on his hand. Steve is smiling, almost like he can't help himself; his lips are red and rubbed raw by Danny's stubble, his hair is an absolute mess, yet his eyes are languid and thoroughly, disgustingly smug when he peeks at Danny through his lashes.
"What are you so happy about?" Danny drawls.
Steve's smile grows until it's so goofy Danny kind of wants to smack his own forehead in despair. He's thinking--no, decided to have sex with that man, regularly and for the foreseeable future. Ergo, who's the bigger goof here?
"Nothin'," Steve slurs, a walking--lying--advert for post-coital bliss. "It's just, we're here, Danny. We made it."
“You realize it’s not only about sex, right?”
Steve’s smile fades a little, a confused look appearing on his face. This moment, right there, this face on Steve and the two of them sprawled over the kitchen floor in some rented apartment on the North Shore, that exact moment in space and time, Danny realizes that he’s totally, utterly and helplessly in love with the biggest dork the universe has ever created. And there’s nothing he can, or would, do about it, either.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, babe, that I would never have felt this frustrated and hard up the second you walked into the bakery for the past two weeks if it was only about the sex. I’m cool about sex, okay, I don’t need it like I need air, and I can live without it easily, I have for a long time, alright, it’s fine. But you, you and you puppy-dog eyes and your stupid remarks about whole grain and oats and shit, and the way you are with Gracie and with your parents, and your dress blues and how infuriatingly good-looking you are, and how you make me laugh and listen to me, you just. What I’m trying to say is that I kinda love you, you know, and you never made the first moves so I thought you didn’t really care, but then people told me that you’re not good with words and stuff. So I’m telling you now, so at least you know, even if you can’t say it back or something.”
“You kinda love me?”
Steve is smiling again, grin back in full force, and Danny punches his shoulder with the small amount of strength he’s still got left in him.
“Fuck you, McGarrett, it’s not that easy for me, either.”
Steve just settles Danny more comfortably on top of him. "So," he says conversationally. Danny goes on full alert, because that tone, Steve's about to say something that Danny will have to kill him for. "You wanna talk about your feelings now?"
Danny's going to get up, fetch the butter knife, and stab him to death. Any minute now.
"I am swiftly re-evaluating my decision to have sex with you until the day I die," he says levelly, trying not to feel so very comfortable where he lies.
Steve stares at him, eyes soft and fond. "That may be the sweetest thing you've ever said to me," he says.
Danny rolls his eyes in exasperation and sinks back down on top of him. "I honestly don't know why I put up with you sometimes," he grumbles.
Steve presses a kiss to the top of his head. Danny tries to find it disgustingly sappy and completely fails.
"For the record," Steve says against Danny's forehead, which is pressed to Steve's chin, "I would really love having sex with you until the day you die."
Danny hides his smile against Steve's neck. "So I've finally hit on a way to let you talk about your feelings, sailor?"
Steve sticks his finger in Danny's ribs instead of a reply, thus discovering one of the most viciously protected secrets of all time -- Danny Williams is ticklish.
Steve McGarrett is a world-class menace, Danny's always said so. Danny kicks him, trying to gain some leverage to push himself off Steve's religiously sculpted body, but Steve's got him held down, those ridiculously long arms pinning Danny to his chest while Steve uses those stupid legs that go for miles to flip them, so that Danny's back is now in cruel contact with the cold floor, and Steve is sprawled smugly all over him.
"I hate you so much," Danny grumbles.
Steve's grin turns manic. "No you don't. You love me!"
"Don't think that means you can get away with shit like that."
"Oh, don't pout, I mean, it's cute and everything, but--no, actually, it does kind of look good on you."
"Hate. You."
Danny isn't pouting. No, really. He's contemplating his next move. Unfortunately, and rather impressively considering his age, his cock thinks his next move should be to spread his legs and give in, like Steve's won him or something, and should now exercise his claim, which is so patently stupid Danny kind of wants to smack himself. As it happens, though, Steve's looking down at him with those eyes of his again, dark and intent, and he thinks Steve might be on the same wavelength here.
“Are we about to have hate sex then? Because from what I gather, sex is where we’re headed right now.”
To prove his point, he rolls his hips into Danny’s, and Danny fights the urge to close his eyes and moan, hold onto Steve and bruise him.
“Maybe. Don’t grin like that, it’s not funny.”
“It is, though. I think -”
“Don’t lie.”
“You’re hilarious. Anyway, bedroom, Danny. There’s one in this place, right? Because, I mean, I’d really like to fuck you, but I’d really like not to fuck you on the kitchen floor.”
“Oh, now you want to be a romantic? Of course there’s a bedroom in this place, do you think I’d book us some place to have wild gay sex in, in which there is no bedroom? It’s just - over there.”
Danny waves a hand towards the general direction of the bedroom, and then suddenly Steve is off him, getting back to his feet in a graceful, cat-like fashion, which is mildly irritating and a little hypnotizing at the same time. Danny follows a little more slowly, and whatever clothes they had left are shed right here, before Danny leads Steve to the bedroom, their fingers entwined.
The sheets are white - Danny’s not quite sure that’s a good idea but he promises himself to get them washed before they leave the apartment, he’s polite like that, he can’t really help himself, but the most important is that the mattress is soft and bouncy, feeling like heaven and Danny lies on top of the covers, burying his nose in the fresh small of the sheets for a moment. He feels the large bed dip and looks over his shoulder to see Steve watching him, eyes hungry.
“What?”
“What 'what', are you kidding me? Have you seen yourself?”
“Well, I don’t make a habit of looking at my own ass, I’ll admit.”
“Maybe you should.”
Danny can’t help his chuckles, turning to rest on his stomach on the bed, trying not to rub too much against the sheets but allowing himself tiny little thrusts of his hips, not enough - definitely not enough when Steve is right here and could be touching Danny, but some friction anyway. Steve’s eyes flick down to take in how Danny’s hips move a fraction, rhythmically, and he reaches out, curling a hand around Danny’s ribs and pressing his lips just above the curve of Danny’s ass, feather-like. He kisses his way up, slowly, making Danny pant against his forearm, and when Steve reaches his ear, he flicks his tongue against the earlobe, teeth tugging on it for a second.
“For the record, about what we were talking about earlier, it’s not because I don’t say it or show it that I don’t feel it. I’m working on it, okay? It’s definitely not only about sex, Danny.”
Danny turns his head towards Steve’s, their eyes meeting for a second.
“I know. But thank you, anyway. For saying that.”
"I just want to make sure you know it," Steve says a little anxiously.
Danny hasn't felt this prone to extremely sappy thoughts for some years now. Yet there's something about Steve that makes Danny want to hug the stuffing out of him, while at the same time do some horribly depraved things to him. It's a strange combination, but it works for him.
Steve lowers himself carefully over Danny's back, and the wet head of his cock drags against Danny's crack, teasing and promising in equal measures. Danny loses track of his thoughts. Steve is kissing the back of his neck, chest rubbing gently against Danny's back, curls of hair teasing his skin.
"Nnngh," he says, which is not really what he meant to say, but that's the risk one runs at trying to talk when Steve McGarrett is in full-out sexing mode. "There was lube and condoms in those bags. Did you take them out?"
Steve stops kissing him. Danny does not like this new development.
"I didn't find any lube or condoms in the bags I took in."
"Must have been in the bags I carried," Danny says.
Behind him, there is a suspicious bout of silence.
"Steve?"
"Uh. Just, um. Give me a second."
The delicious weight lifts off Danny's back; he feels its loss keenly. He turns his head to see Steve stride out of the room. It's a nice view, firm, tempting ass swaying with every movement of his hips, muscles shifting under his skin. He's around the corner before Danny can tear his eyes off it, and it's not until then that Danny realises he's resumed circling his hips into the mattress. He forces himself to stop.
Thirty seconds pass, then a minute. "What the hell are you doing out there, McGarrett?" he yells impatiently, turning to lie on his back.
Steve pads back into the room after another thirty seconds or so, carrying a familiar tube and a large cardboard box. They look--strange.
'What kept you?' Danny intends to say, but, well, an aroused Steve McGarrett walking towards you kind of tends to sap every thought from your head, he discovers.
Steve nears the bed, stopping a step or two away. Danny drags his eyes up from Steve's gorgeous, flushed cock, over his chest to his face. Steve looks sheepish.
"What?"
Steve throws the lube and condoms onto Danny's chest.
Danny yelps, twitching until he swipes them off onto the sheets. "What did you do?"
"Well, you walked in, and I couldn't wait, so I took the bags you held and I--"
"--put them in the fridge," Danny finishes with him, recollection dawning. "Oh my god, we fail so bad at actually having sex."
Something changes behind Steve's eyes, something looking very much like a challenge being accepted. It sends a thrill down Danny's spine.
"Now why would you say that?" Steve drawls, sinking his knees onto the mattress and crawling until he's settled himself between Danny's legs that have fallen open. "We're just getting started."
Danny looks up at Steve, seriously, his body goes on for miles and miles, so much skin that Danny wants to touch and lick and kiss and bite, and yeah, he’s drawing a blank, here, no reply coming to him. He just looks at Steve with wide eyes and his mouth open, his fingers closing and opening over the sheets, unable to find a single thing to say, and fuck, he hates being speechless. He admits it might not be so bad when he’s got Steve over him like this, there have been worse situations in which to be speechless.
Steve cocks his head to the side for a moment, genuinely looking worried when Danny doesn’t reply.
“Danny?”
Danny waves a hand between the two of them, reaching out and curling it around Steve’s arm, pulling him forward.
“Yes, yes, okay, let’s not just get started anymore, let’s do something about it, please.”
Steve’s back to grinning, and Danny wonders how he’s managed not to lump him over the head yet.
“I thought you were okay without sex?”
“Yeah, I’m okay without it when there’s not a 6'1'' ex-SuperSEAL naked and sweaty and gorgeous on top of me, alright? Also, said ex-SuperSEAL is also super hard, so really, we ought to do something about it. Enough of this playing around, Steven, we’ve waited long enough.”
Danny isn’t speechless anymore, which is good, because fuck, he’s good with words and he needs them, especially against people like Steve, who have all the charm and the hot genes and everything when Danny’s just - Danny. Not that he thinks he’s bad-looking, or not charming, he knows he’s both, but next to someone like McGarrett, very few men can compete.
Which is not the point. The point is, Danny’s relieved to find his words back, to look at Steve’s face change with the flow of his sentences. There’s something terribly endearing about Steve when he’s listening to Danny, with all of his attention and focus on Danny and his words. It makes Danny flush with pleasure to realize just how attentive to him Steve is.
“Okay, so. You’re okay with me - with me fucking you, right?”
“Steven, babe, Jesus Christ yes, it’s fine, I will not have a big gay freak-out on you, I want this, I want you. And I’m 34, please stop thinking I am a blushing virgin. Do you really think I wouldn’t have freaked out already if I’d never done this before?”
"I don't mean that. I mean--I'd like to, but you can fuck me, it's all right if you'd rather--"
"Steve. Read my lips. Get your cock inside my ass right this minute."
Steve swallows, looking down into Danny's determined eyes. "Okay," he breathes, reaching for the unfortunate tube of slick.
He rolls it between his hands, trying to warm it, but only succeeds in making his hands cold, Danny finds out when he reaches for it.
"Let's try with a smaller amount," he says, flicks the cap and squeezes out a gloopy dollop into Steve's palm.
Steve stares at it for a moment before he rubs it between his fingers.
"I think it's working," he says, and Danny can see it is -- the goo starts turning more to liquid the longer Steve works it.
"Try it out."
"It's still cold, though."
"It'll get warmer once it's inside me."
Steve shivers at that and rolls on his side, bracing himself on an elbow. He reaches between Danny's legs, and Danny lifts them to his chest, spreads them as wide as they'll go. The first touch of Steve's fingers is cool and Danny flinches a little, but levels Steve a look when he starts to pull his hand away.
"Don't you dare move unless it's to push in," he warns.
Steve's lips quirk a little at the corner and his hand is back, working a single digit inside Danny's body. Danny clenches around it before he forces himself to relax. Steve sinks in easily, and Danny doesn't even try to hold his groan in. Steve shivers again, Danny can feel it against his leg, the minute twitches of Steve's side against him. Steve's mouth has fallen open, his tongue sticking out at the corner in concentration, and Danny wants desperately to suck it into his mouth. They'll be plenty of time for that later.
"More," he grunts after a few minutes.
Steve complies immediately this time, pressing a second finger in. It's delicious, the now-warm lube contrasting with the still-cool one on Steve's other finger. The two digits slide around together, one warm and one cold, and when both knuckles press against Danny's prostate his back comes arching off the bed.
"Yes," he hisses between his teeth, trying to fuck himself on them, relishing the small burn as muscles long fallen into disregard are stretched open once again.
Steve grunts, wrapping his free hand over Danny's hips to keep him still. Danny pays it no heed, twisting down onto the delicious intrusion.
"Get on with it," he barks, thrusting down hard. "One more."
Steve pulls his hand away enough to add more lube, and Danny whines with need. Then he's back, cool once more; the shift in temperatures is driving Danny insane, teasing sensitive nerve endings into a frenzy. It’s been so long since he’s found himself in this position, but right now he can’t remember why, sparks of pleasure exploding all over his body, nerve-endings alight with every single touch of Steve's. His own hands are not idle, either, traveling along Steve’s chest and shoulder and face, fingers brushing along Steve’s lips to feel the tip of his tongue, moving up to feel the lines of his face.
By the time Steve pulls his fingers out of Danny, Danny is panting and way too hot, his skin constricting him, not allowing enough space for the dizzying bliss mixed with intensifying frustration that he’s feeling. His cock is painfully hard and leaking over his stomach, left untouched by Steve, which is both for the best and completely unfair. Danny manages not to whine, though, clenching his jaw as he looks at Steve rolling a condom over his cock. He hisses, and Danny grimaces.
“Cold?”
“Fuck. It’s awful.”
“C’mere.”
With fingers curled around Steve’s shoulder, Danny pulls him down, kisses him - slow and languid this time, wanting Steve to forget about the disagreeable sensation, focus on the good. He wraps his legs around Steve’s hips, and when Steve pulls away, his eyes telling Danny way too many things Steve doesn’t really know how to express in words, Danny smiles.
“C’mon, babe.”
He stops himself before he says take me, or have me, or even worse, make love to me, refusing to humiliate himself that way. He’s not really giving himself up right now; he’s given himself up to Steve a long time ago really, but he’s still got his pride, okay, he’s not going to admit it.
Steve slowly, carefully starts pushing his cock inside, stopping regularly to blow out loud breaths of air, and Danny is quite content with knowing he’s not the only one on the very edge of falling into something he’ll never get back up from. Steve is mumbling incoherently in the crook of Danny’s neck, prayers and Danny’s name and curses all mixed together nonsensically, completely endearing, and when he’s buried as far as he can go inside Danny, he stills, breathing slowly. Danny feels light-headed, his muscles squeezing around Steve, and he’s feeling so full because Steve’s so big, and it’s perfect and it feels amazing, it does, but it’ll be even better once Steve starts moving.
“Okay, babe?”
“Need a moment.”
Danny twitches a little around the intrusion; he's not trying to hurry Steve along, honestly, he just can't help himself. He loves the feel of a cock stretching him wide, always has, and it's been so long, and it's just so good he can't help his hips canting into it under Steve's weight.
"God," he grunts, feeling Steve slip an impossible fraction deeper.
"Jesus fuck," Steve gasps into his neck, breathless.
Finally, finally he starts moving, back and forth a little, gentle thrusts, working Danny loose around him. Danny throws his head back against the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut at the exquisite burn of his muscles being stretched. It’s the kind of overwhelming sensation Danny thrives for and never really gets, never really got, even when he was a kid getting into trouble in the streets of Weehawken. Even the rush of adrenaline is different, stronger, more intense with Steve moving inside him, over him, with his eyes closed tight in concentration and his jaw slack with pleasure.
When Steve hits his prostate after a sudden stronger thrust, Danny cries out, his fingers slipping against Steve’s skin as he scrambles for purchase, needing something to hold onto and not quite managing. One of his hands falls to Steve’s thigh, feeling the muscles under the silky smooth skin, and Steve moans low in his throat when Danny drags his hand up over Steve’s ass, groping for a moment. His own hips are moving in sync with Steve’s, the two of them pushing and pulling together, making their way quickly towards the edge.
Steve feels so good - Danny is a little delirious with sensations, bliss coursing through his veins like a drug, each of Steve’s thrusts a new, fresh hit, and Danny never wants to come down from the high, ever. He holds onto Steve, his head tilted back, pushed into the sheets as he moans and cries out Steve’s name, feeling Steve’s rhythm increase unsteadily, as if he’s losing it, too, pressing his grunts and curses and pleas into Danny’s skin.
His blood feels like it's burning through his body, centered on the delirious heat in his cock. He needs to be touched, needs it so much he's keening with it, and Steve's too far gone to be of any help. So Danny worms his hand between their bodies, going for it himself. The first touch of it bows his back, hips sinking down harder onto Steve, drawing him deeper. He clenches around him, and Steve moans desperately as Danny's palm stripes his cock, so fast it's almost a blur of motion. It's too much, too much, oh god, Danny can't hold it in any longer, just, he needs it right now--
It feels like his skin is exploding, flaying off with the force of his climax. His legs, wound around Steve's hips to keep him open wider, contract viciously, so much so that Steve can only move in increments, in and out with barely a twitch of his hips as Danny's muscles pulse his release around him. Steve groans desperately, shoving himself inside as fast as he can before letting out a stuttered, hoarse yell as he empties himself inside Danny, holding on for dear life.
Danny doesn't think he could move if the house was coming down over them. Steve's panting on top of him, mouthing weakly at his neck. They manage to move a little after a while, enough for Steve to dispose of the condom and for Danny to curl into Steve’s body, Steve’s face still buried in Danny’s neck.
“Still with me?”
“Mmh. Not going anywhere.”
Danny nods with the muffled, tender words that Steve presses into the curve of his neck. His smile might be a little goofy, but he honestly, really doesn’t care. He’s got this, he’s got this for the foreseeable future, and he’s not about to let go. Sure, they’ll keep on arguing and teasing each other, and probably Danny will want to punch Steve in the mouth every now and again, but so what.
“Oh, shit!”
Steve blinks his eyes open, looking up with a worried twist to his mouth after Danny’s sudden exclamation.
“What? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I forgot to bring flour. I wanted to make pancakes. I make really good pancakes, Steven.”
“I’m sure. I can go out to the store later. When I can walk.”
Danny tries his best not to whine, because he really wanted them to hole themselves up in this place for the whole weekend and not have to feel the sun on their skin for any moment. Well, he didn’t fool himself that Steve wouldn’t go for a swim in the morning, but he could sleep through that. He just fails at being ready for anything.
“I didn’t - oh, fine. We’ll need sugar, too, anyway. And vanilla extract.”
“Should I get pen and paper?”
“Shut up.”
Steve grins, turning over on his back and stretching lazily, an overgrown cat with golden skin catching in the afternoon sun coming through the window. Danny cannot help how he reaches out and runs his fingers along Steve’s stomach to the dip of his hipbone, feeling Steve watch him.
“I’m going to have to up my workout regime.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m planning on keeping you around, and if I keep you around then there will always be mouth-watering cakes and pastries in my reach. If I get fat you won’t want me anymore.”
Steve has to be joking. Danny really hopes Steve is joking, because that is just ridiculous, and not just because he’s not the kind to ever let himself go enough to become fat. He could be as big as Kamekona is nowadays, it wouldn’t make Danny change his mind. The fact that Danny knows it wouldn’t happen anyway - Steve is too much of a health freak, let’s be honest, Danny’s going to have to adapt - is not the issue, though. Who knew an ex-Navy SEAL with the body of a Greek God could be self-conscious?
“You, you are a goof. I’m not kidding, babe, you’re the goofiest person I have ever met - if you get fat I won’t want you anymore, what, are you kidding me?”
Steve shoots him a quick look under his eyelashes. No, seriously. Danny sighs. His life, what is it even these days.
"I will still want you when you're 80 and gray and can't get it up anymore. What's an imperfect body compared to that, you idiot?"
Steve smiles, this sweet, slightly surprised smile, like it's more than he ever expected. It's charming and frustrating at the same time -- but if Danny wasn't willing to put in a little effort, he wouldn't be contemplating tying his life to this ridiculous man.
Steve shifts onto his side, facing Danny. His hand is ruffling the damp hair on Danny's chest, stroking the skin underneath. Danny is maybe a little in heaven.
And then of course Steve has to open his big damn mouth.
"Was that your screwed-up version of a marriage proposal?"
Danny's eyes bug out a little. Steve doesn't look freaked-out or anything, merely curious and patiently waiting for the answer. And really, what is Danny going to do with him?
"When I propose to you, you infuriating man, you will know about it, okay?"
"Hmm," Steve says, lips twitching. "Duly noted. I'll have to think of something to say back."
"You'll have to think?"
"Well, being married to you won't be all sunshine and roses. For one thing, I might have to start running 15 miles instead of the 10 I was thinking about. For another, you are just a little ray of sunshine on Monday mornings, and I will have to learn to get out of bed in a hurry."
Danny scowls ominously.
"Any other deterrents to marrying me?" he snaps.
"Deterrents? I didn't say they were deterrents. I'll just have to think of ways of adapting to them, is all."
"Why do I even find you attractive, Jesus fucking Christ. You are an asshole."
"See? Already we're learning new things about each other."
There really is no other course of action. Danny reaches behind Steve's head, tugs away his pillow and bashes him over the head with it. Steve dodges, giggling like a little kid, latches onto Danny's stomach and blows a raspberry onto the skin.
"It's like being with an overgrown 6-year-old," Danny whines, trying to smack him away. Steve just clings harder.
Eventually they separate, and even get out of bed. The beers are cold from the time spent in the fridge, and the drink feels heavenly sliding down Danny's throat. Steve's leaning onto his back, chin hooked over Danny's shoulder as he watches Danny study the contents of the fridge and cupboards for tonight's meal in lieu of pancakes, at least until they obtain the ingredients -- because they're both starving. Steve never got the lunch Danny promised him, and Danny hadn't been able to eat anything that morning from the buzz of anticipation in his gut.
There is steak, which is the easiest thing to make, at least when one throws it at Steve to manage. Meanwhile Danny gets the bag of french fries out and spills half of it on a baking tray, ready to slip into the oven when it heats.
"Salad?"
"Yeah."
They work together so seamlessly that it's a while before Danny realises they have slipped into a comfortable silence only broken by random comments on the state of the meal and what's on TV tonight. It's so soothing, natural, like they've been cooking together for years instead of hours. Steve passes him a spoon without Danny having to ask, and Danny's already handing him plates for the steaks a mere second after Steve opens his mouth to ask for them. They sit at the table, a huge bowl of crisp salad and cherry tomatoes hogging the middle, steak and fries piled onto the plates, beers at hand.
Dinner, overall, is a quiet affair. They talk about work and Grace and make plans for the three of them when she’s next staying with Danny. And afterwards, when the dishes are done and drying, they settle in front of a classic game found on a random channel, and Danny yells and grumbles and Steve laughs and mocks, and yeah. Yeah, Danny can definitely see this, for the rest of his life.
Epilogue
