put your mind at ease; Danny/Steve (H50)
Title: put your mind at ease
Author: eleanor_lavish
Pairing: Danny/Steve (H50)
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 5864
Summary: Somewhere in the last year, while Steve was busy killing bad guys, Don’t Ask Don’t Tell has been erased from the books and guys like Jeff can marry whoever they damn well please.
Notes: Thanks to my awesome beta misspamela and to my awesome roommate schuyler. Dedicated to my awesome couch buddy danacias. Also, I can’t tell what it says about me that Danny’s voice is like pulling teeth, but I can crawl inside Steve McGarrett’s brain and feel right at home. Probably nothing good.
It’s not like he didn’t know it was happening. Steve tried to keep up with current events, or at least as much as possible when he’s spending most of his time in car chases and shootouts and shouting matches with Danny over unnecessary police procedure. He’d voted for Obama, like every good Hawaiian, and he remembers a headline a year ago, a picture of the President sitting at his desk, smiling wide. But he knew from experience that the Navy didn’t turn on a dime - it could, that was the whole point of chain-of-command - but the bureaucracy of Washington made it so the military could always takes its own sweet time adjusting to policies.
Maybe that’s why, over a year after he took a leave from the Navy to head the 5-0, Steve finds himself completely unprepared for the embossed invitation sitting in the pile of mail on his kitchen table. Jeff Taymor, the most badass former member of Steve’s aquatic team, was getting married in D.C. This was surprising enough - Jeff was a hulk of a guy, with the sickest sense of humor Steve had ever run into, even for the Navy - but the back of the invite has a handwritten message that makes Steve’s whole system run cold.
I hope you’ll be able to get your hot ass to DC for the wedding, just so that Bill will stop thinking I photoshopped a model into all my pictures. Stag party theme is The Navy Goes Commando, if that’s any incentive. Best, J
Steve’s pulse is racing. Sure enough, when he turns it back over, the invite warmly welcomes him to witness the union of Jeffrey Allen Taymor and William Michael Fontaine. His first thought is stupid, stupid, how could he be so stupid, along with a knee-jerk reaction to crank his gas stove and burn the evidence right there. It takes a full twenty seconds for the realization to kick in.
Oh,, Steve thinks, right. It’s all straightened out then. Somewhere in the last year, while Steve was busy killing bad guys, Don’t Ask Don’t Tell has been erased from the books and guys like Jeff can marry whoever they damn well please.
Steve sits down hard on one of his kitchen chairs and doesn’t move again until his phone buzzes with an urgent where r u? gun runners spotted off diamond head from Danny. It’s lucky he spent ten years learning how to do things without thinking, or Steve would wonder later how he managed to drive his car from his house to 5-0 headquarters.
*
“Boss?” Kono pokes him as Danny’s fingers snap in front of his face.
“Sorry,” Steve says, blinking. “What was that?”
Danny sighs heavily beside him and Steve manages to shoot him a glare. “Some of us are, you know, working today?” Danny says, his arms crossing over his chest. “I mean, I’m sure there are a million ninja SEAL tactical maneuvers you’re working out in that massive head of yours right now, but the rest of the team could benefit from, I don’t know, hearing them out loud.”
“Right,” Steve says, thinking fast, because hey, they’re in the park, and there are seven heavily armed guys loading a small boat with what is possibly heroin as well as guns, and Steve hadn’t been thinking tactically at all. He’d been thinking about Jeff’s wedding, and how he could probably even go, and what that might mean, and if maybe Jeff knew about him. “Right, okay,” Steve shakes his head to clear the fog. “Chin - you and Danny circle around that way. Kono - hold this area, and make sure you take down any of them that come this way.”
“Let me guess, Rambo. You’re going down the middle.” Danny raises his eyebrows and Steve grins at him.
“Danno, I love how well you know me,” he says with genuine affection, because he knows that Danny’s response will be another heavy sigh, and a nod to Chin to do just what Steve told him to do. It’s been a year, and Danny actually trusts Steve’s calls now, at least on most things. Usually.
Chin blows a hole in the bottom of the boat with his shotgun, Kono takes out two runners with three shots, Danny gets to say “come on, do you think this is a cartoon?” to a bad guy who tries to blind him with sand, and Steve gets to rabbit punch a guy in the kidneys. All in all, it’s a damn fine day of work.
“You’re a psycho,” Danny tells Steve when he says so, and Steve slings an arm around his shoulder.
“You love me Danny, admit it,” he says without thinking.
“I love my daughter, thin crust pizza, the Jets and my car. You, my friend, scare the shit out of me on a daily basis.” He lets Steve drive his precious car back to the station, though, so Steve doesn’t stop smiling.
“Hey, pod person,” Danny says as they’re stopped at a light. “What’re you so happy about?”
“I don’t know,” Steve says, but then Danny tugs his necktie open and tips his head back against the seat and Steve’s eyes are drawn to his throat and he has the wild, impossible thought that he can, he could just reach out and feel that warm skin under his fingers, could pull off the road and lean in and bite Danny’s shoulder, he could...
“Whoa, whoa, eyes on the road, what the fuck!” Danny yells, and Steve has to swerve hard to avoid sideswiping a minivan.
“Sorry,” Steve says, suddenly awake and aware and mortified, because just because he won’t get tossed from the Navy for wanting to taste every fucking inch of Danny Williams, that doesn’t mean that Danny wouldn’t punch him in the face. That doesn’t mean that Danny has any idea Steve’s ever even thought about him like that, or that Danny would want him back, or even care.
Steve’s been so careful, for so long, that now he’s pretty sure he might explode from all the shit he hasn’t done in the name of his career. The shrinks Danny keeps threatening him with would be thrilled.
*
Steve remembers a guy in Afghanistan - a tough soldier, wiry and smart and quiet. They all called him Jax, short for Jackson. The night before a potential suicide mission to take a small village, Jax wrote a three line email to his boyfriend saying he was afraid, but he was going to stand tall and fight and die proudly for his country. He signed it “I love you, always remember that”. Steve remembers that Jax made it back from that one only to be frog-marched to the General’s office a week later, with orders home.
It was so stupid, Steve remembers thinking. They all knew the Navy read their emails, they all knew anything could be a red flag. Jax was a moron. A total fucking moron who couldn’t keep his shit together and now they were down a munitions expert. It was unforgivable to let down the unit like that. Steve almost put his fist down Jax’s throat when he told them, called him a fucking traitor; the unit had to hold him back from a fight. Come to think of it, Jeff’s the one who twisted Steve’s arm behind his back and walked him out into the hot desert air. “Cool off,” Jeff said tersely. “It’s all fucked to hell, and I know you didn’t mean that shit.”
But he did. Steve held his unit to the same high standard he held himself, and Steve McGarrett was never going to risk the safety of his unit or his position in the Navy for a quick fuck, no matter how much he wanted it. He wasn’t going to buy twink porn and try to hide it in his kit. He wasn’t going to be seen hanging out at gay bars or let some eager recruit suck him off before a mission or get a damn boyfriend and send him fucking emails the night before a firefight. He was going to do what he had to do to get through every day without facing that demon inside him, and he really fucking expected the rest of his men to do the same.
Somehow, Steve never thought to blame the policy itself.
*
Three days later, he parks his truck across the street and down half a block from Fusion and watches guys slip past the ropes and in the door - tall, short, bald, young, whatever, in shirts that cling in all the right places, skin glowing in the neon lights. He could go in now - get a drink, find a guy, take him home, work out eighteen years of pent-up frustration with some out-of-towner who he’d never have to see again.
He sits in his truck for a long time, knuckles white on the steering wheel, and he’s irrationally relieved when he manages to witness a kid breaking into a BMW, and gets to work out some frustration in other ways.
*
“Hey, Steve,” Chin smiles at him when he walks in to HQ the next day. “Heard you had a late night.”
“Is it just me, or are criminals getting dumber,” he asks with a grin. Chin laughs.
“I don’t know, man. The neighborhood around Kuhio isn’t known for being a criminal mainstay. Maybe the good ones know not to jack a car in front of a cop.”
“I’m not a cop,” Steve says reflexively, but inside he’s running on high alert. Chin knows this town better than anyone, he could put the pieces together in a few easy steps. The club, Steve there by himself after midnight...
“Yeah, yeah, so the paperwork Danny and I have to correct on a daily basis keeps telling me,” Chin answers, with a friendly pat on Steve’s shoulder as he walks back to his office.
Stand down, Steve tells himself, but his skin is prickling hot and cold.
*
“Hey Cath,” he says, and it’s a testament to how long she’s known him when her first question is “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Steve grits out. He’s puttering in the garage, looking through long-abandoned drawers full of nails and screws, trying to find one that will fix his coffee table. “Can’t a guy just call to hear his girl’s voice?”
“One,” Catherine says, amusement obvious in her voice, “I am not your girl. Two, you have a habit of calling me for favors, so excuse me for asking.”
“I might, um,” Steve starts, and why is he suddenly finding this hard? “Do you know where you’ll be in November?” he asks, trying for nonchalant and failing miserably.
“The Med, I think,” she replies, “Why?”
“Nothing, I just have a wedding thing - ”
“Who?” she cuts in, and Steve bites his lip.
“No one, just a guy from my old team. Haven’t seen him in a while.”
“Okay, so, tell me why you aren’t just employing your usual ‘go alone and pick up a hot bridesmaid’ tactic for this one? And don’t act surprised that I figured that one out, Commander.”
Steve smiles in spite of himself. “It’s, um. Not that kind of crowd? I don’t think?” She hums patiently, waiting for him to explain. He should have known he wouldn’t get off that easy. “I don’t know, Cath. I just never thought I’d be wearing my dress whites to some big gay wedding in DC,” and jesus, could he sound like any more of a homophobic jackass? “Fuck, I didn’t mean - “
“Ah,” Cath says, “I was wondering when the hammer would fall on this one.”
“What?” he asks, mystified.
“Steve.” She says his name gently, like he’s a skittish colt. “it’s okay to feel off-kilter when the rules change.”
“I know,” he snaps. “What - “
“For all your rule bending, you like the world pretty black and white. But really? I am a fan of any ruling that promotes honesty within the unit. Secrets are hard, and they put wedges between people.”
“I know,” he repeats, wondering at the irony of being trapped in a lecture about how secrets are hard.
“All I’m saying, Commander, is that I know you haven’t gotten your sea legs on this one, but maybe you’re better off just jumping in the water. You always did better that way.” Her voice is light and teasing.
“Cath,” he whispers.
“Just go to the wedding and pick up a hot groomsman and fucking enjoy yourself, McGarrett.”
Steve leans back on his dad’s car and slides down until he’s sitting on the cold concrete. He tips his head back and closes his eyes. “I have no idea what I’m doing, Cath,” he says.
“I know,” she says kindly. “You know, you rarely actually do? Go with your gut, it serves you well.” Steve manages a weak laugh. “Speaking of,” she adds, “I knew I should have bought that strap-on in Majorca.”
“I hate you so much,” Steve intones, dropping his head to his knees. She’s laughing as he hangs up on her.
*
When you’re sixteen and your mom has just died and your dad ships you off to the mainland with zero explanation and you spend your senior year of high school trying to shut off every emotional valve in your body so that you don’t go postal on the really nice elderly second-cousins who took you in, you don’t really have the energy to deal with a sexuality crisis on top of everything else. In 1994, Steve didn’t give a goddamn about the passing of DADT. He just wanted to stop feeling everything.
Steve joined the Navy because he loved the water and missed it intensely, and because his grandfather was an awesome war hero, and because he wanted to get as far away from his fucking life as possible and maybe shoot some people in the face while he was there.
It’s the most cliche set of reasons ever for a fucked up teenager to enter Annapolis, and Steve would hate himself for it if the Navy hadn’t turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to him. He loved the training and the discipline and the fact that no one asked him about his feelings ever. And he was good at it. He was strong and fast and smart and calm under pressure and even during SEAL training he woke up intensely glad that he picked this life and not some boring, shitty normal one.
Steve didn’t have a sexual identity crisis. If the options were ‘sleep with guys and maybe lose everything’ or ‘don’t sleep with guys and do this forever’, there was no actual decision to be made. He took the confusing, arousing, terrifying feelings that he’d refused to put a name to and slowly, steadily turned that valve off too. He didn’t think about guys the same way he didn’t think about his parents, or about Mary and if she was okay. He just turned it off.
Problem was, he didn’t have a game plan for how to turn it back on.
Everything’s different now. These days, Steve has expanses of time that are spent wading through the boring parts of cases, drinking coffee with his team, listening to Danny tell insane stories about his days in Newark, watching surf competitions with Kono, having a beer with Chin. He doesn’t mind them, though, as long as they are punctuated with the excitement of catching the bad guy, of hanging guys off of roofs and flying helicopters and watching Danny’s hair get more and more unruly during a car chase. They’re his unit - Danny and Kono and Chin - but they’re his equals in ways that the Navy would never understand or allow, and Steve likes it, he likes the challenge of having to fight with Danny about cases, about everything, pushing buttons and having his pushed back.
They’re partners, and his brain knows that means one thing, but Steve’s libido has recently had a hard time not thinking it means something else entirely.
*
Steve hasn’t masturbated this much since he was in high school.
Seriously, he knows the internet is mostly pornography, but he’s never really explored its depths before, and wow. There are twinks and bears and leather daddies and fake military men who piss Steve off with their non-regulation facial hair. There is hardcore, and then there is REALLY hardcore, and stuff that involves sex toys Steve is completely unfamiliar with, and high production videos with all-American boys and amateur channels of nothing but guys jerking off. For four solid days, Steve watches it all.
“Band of Brothers marathon last night?” Danny asks him over the coffee pot at HQ. It’s almost eleven in the morning and Steve’s just managed to roll in to work. They haven’t had a major case since the gun runner thing last week, which is partly why Steve feels... okay, maybe not justified, but less guilty for his recent all-night habits.
“Hmm?” Steve manages blearily.
“You look like my Uncle Frank after three days straight at Belmont,” he answers, and Steve is too tired to even try and parse that sentence. He takes a sip of his coffee and shuffles toward his office. He manages to make it halfway to his desk before giving up and flopping down on the couch. “Hey,” Danny says, from the doorway. “Have you slept at all this week?”
Steve thinks about what he’s been doing instead of sleep and he can feel himself start to blush. “Too warm out, I guess,” he lies, and Danny frowns at him. He’s wearing a stupid tie, the blue one that Steve likes because it makes Danny’s eyes seem brighter, and his shirtsleeves are already rolled up, a bright white that stands out starkly against the now-constant Hawaiian tan on Danny’s forearms and fuck, Steve really needs some sleep.
“I know you think you’re made of titanium, or whatever,” Danny says, taking short, clipped steps until he’s standing in front of Steve. “But human beings can, in fact, get sick once in a while.” Steve should see this coming, but he’s not really on his game today, so when Danny’s hand curls around the back of his neck, Steve flinches. “Whoa, hey,” Danny says, quiet and soothing, moving his hand so that the back of his knuckles brush over Steve’s cheek. Steve can feel the blood rushing through his body, and he almost laughs at how confused it is, split between his creeping blush and his dick. “I don’t think it’s fever, but you’re a little warm, man.”
“I’m fine,” Steve manages, leaning back out of Danny’s reach. When he looks up, Danny is standing between his thighs, eyebrows bunched with worry, but all Steve can do slide his hands under his thighs to keep from reaching out and yanking Danny’s belt open. “Or, maybe I should go home,” he says weakly, pushing himself up and grabbing his keys.
*
A year. A solid year of pretending that what he felt for Danny was just friendship. He hasn’t deluded himself this well since his Annapolis days when he fell for his Combat Tactics instructor and managed to shut his libido down completely with a regimen of daily three-hour workouts.
Steve thinks about pulling his heavy boxing bag out of storage and seeing if he could do that again, but there’s a difference between stupid and scared and twenty, and stupid and scared and thirty-three. At thirty-three, Steve’s pretty sure he’s too smart to believe his own lies anymore. At thirty-three, Steve’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to.
He climbs the stairs and falls face-first into bed, not bothering to do much more than kick off his boots and unholster his gun.
When he closes his eyes, though, all he can see is Danny, pulling off that damn tie and stalking toward Steve, biting his neck, pulling his hair, blue eyes blazing as Steve drops to his knees. It’s not fair, Steve thinks, not to himself or to Danny or their friendship, but Danny’s under his skin, twisting that valve, opening it up every damn day for the last year. And he doesn’t have to ignore it anymore, but the steady drip-drip-drip is driving him crazy.
He’s a big, gay SEAL with a big, stupid crush on his tiny, angry best friend, and after eighteen years of DADT, Steve has earned a wallow. He manages to text Chin that he’s taking the day off, and tomorrow too, why the fuck not, before passing out.
*
“You know you’re a jackass,” Steve hears Danny yell.
“And I don’t know why I gave you a key to my house, asshole,” Steve yells back as Danny’s footsteps echo up the stairs. “Go back to work.”
“Is that an order, Commander? Because you don’t look like you’re in any shape to be giving me orders today.” Danny smirks from the doorway, and Steve buries his head under his pillow. “Seriously, what the fuck is up with you?”
“Nothing,” Steve says, his words muffled. “Sick.”
“Bullshit.”
“Fuck off.”
“You’re still in your clothes from yesterday,” Danny says conversationally, and Steve finally sneaks a peek at him. He’s dressed like Danny, half-formal and half-disheveled, like he takes all his clothing cues from old episodes of Law & Order. It’s completely ridiculous, especially since it has got to be 85 degrees out today, and Steve doesn’t know why his stomach hurts just looking at him.
“Danny, please go away,” Steve says, as evenly as he can.
“Please?” Danny’s voice is closer now. “You’re wearing yesterday’s clothes, you missed work in what is probably the first time in, what? Twenty years? And you just used the word ‘please’ without a hint of sarcasm.” Steve can feel the bed dip when Danny sits down. “I am not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell happened last week.”
“Last week?” Steve asks, confused.
“Yes, last week, when this pod person showed up and started with the wild mood swings and the brooding and the not-sleeping.” Steve’s not looking, but he can picture Danny’s hands moving as he speaks. “It was something big, right? A phone call from beyond the grave? Or they finally told you that all that close-range shooting was making you go deaf? And your partner too, I might add. That shit is not okay, especially not that time in the cargo container? Seriously, I had a ringing in my ears for a week after that.”
Steve closes his eyes. He’s silent for long enough that Danny takes a breath, like he’s about to start up again, and Steve’s just. He’s too old for this shit. He’s too tired and too old and too angry that he never dealt with any of this before. “I got invited to a wedding,” he says plainly, and Danny almost laughs.
“You... okay? Was this the long lost love, the one that got away?”
“No, just a guy a know. A friend.”
“Oh my god, you are so shitty at this,” Danny sighs and Steve manages half a smile into his pillow. At least he’s annoying Danny. “Did no one ever teach you have to share? Because it doesn’t make you less of a badass to admit you have a feeling every now and then.”
“Like you?” Steve goads.
“Yes, you fucking caveman, like me. I have a multitude of feelings right now, ranging from frustration to concern to general annoyance that I am always the one who has to have these damn conversations with you in the first place. Many shrinks, McGarrett, I can get you the numbers of many shrinks.”
Steve’s smiling now, and he can’t fucking help it; it’s like Danny being here and annoyed and waving his hands around like some Italian grandmother is exactly what he needed to feel like the world wasn’t so out-of-control after all. “My friend Jeff. He’s marrying his boyfriend Bill. The wedding’s in DC, in November.”
“Right. Okay. And this is freaking you out because?”
“It’s a gay wedding, Danny,” Steve says. Danny runs his hands through his hair like Steve is getting on his last nerve. He probably is - Danny doesn’t fuck with his hair all that often.
“Yes, thank you, please walk me through this slowly, so I can decide when I’m supposed to punch you,” Danny grits out.
Steve curls up on his side, fingers wrapped around the edge of the blanket. “I don’t know many people outside the Navy. I’ve never been to a gay wedding.”
“Steve,” Danny starts, and Steve presses the heel of his hand to his eyes.
“We’ve never been able to have a gay wedding. We’ve never been able to have... a lot of things,” he finishes. It’s the understatement of the year, but the way his heart is pounding right now, Steve’s not sure he could elaborate. How do you elaborate on a group of people who made you who you are, who gave you everything when you had nothing, but who forced this one, huge part of you into a box and then threw away the key? And what do you say about how fucked up that part of you is when they finally unlock it?
Danny’s quiet for a long minute, but Steve won’t look at him. Can’t look at him. “So,” Danny finally says, a rough edge to his voice. “Is this your melodramatic coming out, McGarrett, because I really thought there’d be more crying and/or gunplay.” Steve’s eyes fly open and Danny’s just looking at him, half-smiling and shaking his head. “You are, without a doubt, the most fucked up person I have ever met, babe, and that is including a serial killer I tracked in Jersey. I am not even kidding you.”
“Danny,” Steve rasps, and Danny is suddenly closer, leaning over and pushing at Steve’s shoulder.
“Move, jesus, are you made of actual stone?” Steve moves out of sheer confusion as Danny flops down on the bed next to him, one arm tucked under his head, legs crossed at the ankle. “You know,” he says, looking at the ceiling and not at Steve, who is close enough that he can feel Danny’s body heat now, can smell the sharp tang of his cologne, “none of us are going to care, so long as you don’t go crazy about this. Or, more crazy. You are already certifiable, so it might be hard to tell, but I know you, McGarrett. You think you can hide your crazy from me, but you are wrong, my friend.”
“I don’t think I’m crazy,” Steve says seriously, because he’s not. He’s angry and frustrated and horny, but he’s wasn’t crazy last week, and he’s not crazy now. He might end up that way if Danny stays so close, though.
“I know,” Danny turns and grins at him. “It’s kind of cute, actually. When you’re not almost getting me killed.” Steve sighs heavily. “So, do you want to talk about this?” Danny asks quietly. “What else did the Navy not let you do, huh?”
“Nothing, that’s not -,” but Danny is shifting closer, reaching out and grabbing his wrist.
“C’mere,” he says, and tugs until Steve finally relaxes a fraction and lets Danny pull his arm over, rolling Steve until he’s pressed against Danny’s side, his arm draped over Danny’s chest. They’re... Jesus fuck, they’re cuddling. Steve buries his face in Danny’s shoulder in mortification. Danny just laughs. “I bet there wasn’t an actual rule about this, but probably it wasn’t encouraged?” Danny’s hand rubs a comforting line up and down Steve’s arm, and he can’t help the way his fingers curl into Danny’s shirt.
“This is a really bad idea, Danno,” Steve whispers, even though he really, really doesn’t want to move, ever.
“Why?”
“Because,” Steve says, gasping as Danny shifts impossibly closer, turning a little so Steve’s face is pressed to his throat, the soft line of his dress shirt under Steve’s chin. “Fuck, Danny, I can’t -”
“You can, though,” Danny says evenly, but when Steve moves, the stubble on his chin catching on Danny’s smooth skin, Steve can feel a sharp breath, a sound cut off before Steve can hear it. Steve really wanted to hear it.
He doesn’t kiss Danny’s neck, that would be too much, too far, but he puts his lips too close when he speaks, so he can feel the stutter of Danny’s pulse. “Danny, please.” He’s already hard, and Danny has to know; Steve’s throwing off so much heat right now, and Danny’s touching him everywhere.
“You can,” Danny says again and he tugs at the hair on the nape of Steve’s neck. Steve blinks his eyes open and Danny is right there, blue eyes huge, his pupils blown wide. “You can, Steve, come on,” he says and fuck. It feels like Danny’s just reached inside his chest and turned that valve all the way on, and everything comes rushing at him at once, hard and fast and hot. He pushes Danny back into the mattress with his forearm and kisses him without finesse, desperate and greedy. Danny hooks his arm around Steve’s neck and just rolls with it until Steve is on top of him and their hips snap together.
Danny throws his head back with a groan and Steve gives in to temptation and yanks Danny’s shirt open hard enough that he loses a few buttons. “Fuck, fuck,” Danny says, and reaches down to, whoops, undo the tie that Steve just didn’t have the brain cells to deal with. “You’re a fucking menace, clearly, what are you - “ Danny stutters, but Steve is busy mapping every swell of muscle, the flat plain of Danny’s stomach with his mouth. “Whoa, hey, come up here, come on,” Danny pants, and he’s tugging on Steve’s hair just enough that it stings.
“What, Danny, fuck,” Steve bites out, but when he looks up, Danny is grinning at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling, his mouth red and bruised, and Steve feels the bubble burst on his rush of adrenaline. This is Danny, who is clearly right about Steve being totally insane if he thinks this is a good idea. Danny must see something shift on Steve’s face, because the next thing he knows he’s getting a slap to the side of his head, and Danny’s leaning up to kiss him again, and again.
“I really never want to see Aneurysm Face when we’re half-naked, stop thinking, seriously, just stop,” Danny mutters into his mouth, and Steve lets himself get pulled back down, lets Danny kiss him, slide his hands under Steve’s shirt, over his hip, through his hair. When Danny’s fingers fumble with the button on Steve’s pants, Steve just gives in, game over, he and Danny are going to do this because there is no way in hell Steve is going to say stop. He reaches between them, helps Danny shove his khakis over his hips, and when he palms Danny’s dick through his trousers, fuck, Danny actually bites him on the shoulder.
Steve almost comes from that alone.
“Do you want me to - “ he starts, and Danny manages to actually roll his eyes during sex, which Steve, okay, would have probably bet was possible, but is still endearing.
“Yeah, yes, are you seriously asking me this question?” he asks, and Steve can’t help but grin down at him, grunting as he wrestles with his pants.
“I didn’t want to skip too far ahead in the playbook,” Steve says.
Danny glares at him. “I’m not a fucking co-ed, McGarrett, get your hand on my fucking dick.”
Steve obliges happily, and oh, man, the feeling of hard, hot flesh against his palm is pretty intense, but nothing compares to the shiver of want that slides down Steve’s spine when Danny’s hand slides in next to his, when he lines them up and thumbs the head of Steve’s cock and bites his lip. “Think we can pull this off?” he pants, and Steve thinks he’s about twelve seconds from blacking out, but he’s a fucking SEAL and he’s never not completed a mission before, so yeah, sure, they’re going to pull this off. They’re going to pull this off so well Danny will be seeing stars.
Their height difference is a lot less comical from this angle, with their hands finding a rhythm, jerking them both off in quick, measured strokes. When Danny arches up, his mouth is perfectly placed at Steve’s throat. He’s wanted this so much, wanted Danny, yesterday, last week and last month and last year, when Danny Williams punched Steve in the face and then helped him catch his dad’s killers. Steve hunches over just a fraction, until he can press his forehead to Danny’s temple and just breathe. Danny’s other hand cups the back of his neck.
“I know, babe,” he says, and bites at Steve’s jaw. “I know, come on. Let go.”
Steve comes hard enough that he can’t hear anything but the blood rushing past his own ears, but he can feel Danny’s hand fall away from him, feel the quick movement of his arm, the way Danny tenses under him, holding his breath through his own orgasm long enough that Steve’s impressed. “You okay there?” Steve asks him when he finally exhales, long and shaky.
“Yeah, right. What?” Danny replies, and Steve manages a weak laugh.
“Did I actually render you speechless?” Steve asks, and he should be freaking out, he really should, but Danny punches him lightly in the shoulder and Steve is just too charmed by the fact that Danny is apparently non-verbal after sex. “Should I move?”
“Nuh-uh,” Danny manages and curls his arm tighter around Steve’s neck. They’re both still wearing most of their clothes - though “wearing” in the most loose definition - and Steve feels like he’s just run a marathon. He must say the last bit out loud because Danny’s fingers scratch through his hair and he hums.
“Did you win?” Danny asks and Steve blinks at him, the sheen of sweat over his forehead, the bulge of his bicep, the sleepy half-mast gaze over the lazy grin.
“Yeah, I think so,” Steve manages past the tight, hot feeling in his chest.
“Damn straight,” Danny replies. “Unlike you, you raging homosexual.”
Steve closes his eyes. “Danny - “
“I know,” Danny yawns, “you hate me so much right now. We’ll deal with it over lunch.”
FIN
Author: eleanor_lavish
Pairing: Danny/Steve (H50)
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 5864
Summary: Somewhere in the last year, while Steve was busy killing bad guys, Don’t Ask Don’t Tell has been erased from the books and guys like Jeff can marry whoever they damn well please.
Notes: Thanks to my awesome beta misspamela and to my awesome roommate schuyler. Dedicated to my awesome couch buddy danacias. Also, I can’t tell what it says about me that Danny’s voice is like pulling teeth, but I can crawl inside Steve McGarrett’s brain and feel right at home. Probably nothing good.
It’s not like he didn’t know it was happening. Steve tried to keep up with current events, or at least as much as possible when he’s spending most of his time in car chases and shootouts and shouting matches with Danny over unnecessary police procedure. He’d voted for Obama, like every good Hawaiian, and he remembers a headline a year ago, a picture of the President sitting at his desk, smiling wide. But he knew from experience that the Navy didn’t turn on a dime - it could, that was the whole point of chain-of-command - but the bureaucracy of Washington made it so the military could always takes its own sweet time adjusting to policies.
Maybe that’s why, over a year after he took a leave from the Navy to head the 5-0, Steve finds himself completely unprepared for the embossed invitation sitting in the pile of mail on his kitchen table. Jeff Taymor, the most badass former member of Steve’s aquatic team, was getting married in D.C. This was surprising enough - Jeff was a hulk of a guy, with the sickest sense of humor Steve had ever run into, even for the Navy - but the back of the invite has a handwritten message that makes Steve’s whole system run cold.
I hope you’ll be able to get your hot ass to DC for the wedding, just so that Bill will stop thinking I photoshopped a model into all my pictures. Stag party theme is The Navy Goes Commando, if that’s any incentive. Best, J
Steve’s pulse is racing. Sure enough, when he turns it back over, the invite warmly welcomes him to witness the union of Jeffrey Allen Taymor and William Michael Fontaine. His first thought is stupid, stupid, how could he be so stupid, along with a knee-jerk reaction to crank his gas stove and burn the evidence right there. It takes a full twenty seconds for the realization to kick in.
Oh,, Steve thinks, right. It’s all straightened out then. Somewhere in the last year, while Steve was busy killing bad guys, Don’t Ask Don’t Tell has been erased from the books and guys like Jeff can marry whoever they damn well please.
Steve sits down hard on one of his kitchen chairs and doesn’t move again until his phone buzzes with an urgent where r u? gun runners spotted off diamond head from Danny. It’s lucky he spent ten years learning how to do things without thinking, or Steve would wonder later how he managed to drive his car from his house to 5-0 headquarters.
*
“Boss?” Kono pokes him as Danny’s fingers snap in front of his face.
“Sorry,” Steve says, blinking. “What was that?”
Danny sighs heavily beside him and Steve manages to shoot him a glare. “Some of us are, you know, working today?” Danny says, his arms crossing over his chest. “I mean, I’m sure there are a million ninja SEAL tactical maneuvers you’re working out in that massive head of yours right now, but the rest of the team could benefit from, I don’t know, hearing them out loud.”
“Right,” Steve says, thinking fast, because hey, they’re in the park, and there are seven heavily armed guys loading a small boat with what is possibly heroin as well as guns, and Steve hadn’t been thinking tactically at all. He’d been thinking about Jeff’s wedding, and how he could probably even go, and what that might mean, and if maybe Jeff knew about him. “Right, okay,” Steve shakes his head to clear the fog. “Chin - you and Danny circle around that way. Kono - hold this area, and make sure you take down any of them that come this way.”
“Let me guess, Rambo. You’re going down the middle.” Danny raises his eyebrows and Steve grins at him.
“Danno, I love how well you know me,” he says with genuine affection, because he knows that Danny’s response will be another heavy sigh, and a nod to Chin to do just what Steve told him to do. It’s been a year, and Danny actually trusts Steve’s calls now, at least on most things. Usually.
Chin blows a hole in the bottom of the boat with his shotgun, Kono takes out two runners with three shots, Danny gets to say “come on, do you think this is a cartoon?” to a bad guy who tries to blind him with sand, and Steve gets to rabbit punch a guy in the kidneys. All in all, it’s a damn fine day of work.
“You’re a psycho,” Danny tells Steve when he says so, and Steve slings an arm around his shoulder.
“You love me Danny, admit it,” he says without thinking.
“I love my daughter, thin crust pizza, the Jets and my car. You, my friend, scare the shit out of me on a daily basis.” He lets Steve drive his precious car back to the station, though, so Steve doesn’t stop smiling.
“Hey, pod person,” Danny says as they’re stopped at a light. “What’re you so happy about?”
“I don’t know,” Steve says, but then Danny tugs his necktie open and tips his head back against the seat and Steve’s eyes are drawn to his throat and he has the wild, impossible thought that he can, he could just reach out and feel that warm skin under his fingers, could pull off the road and lean in and bite Danny’s shoulder, he could...
“Whoa, whoa, eyes on the road, what the fuck!” Danny yells, and Steve has to swerve hard to avoid sideswiping a minivan.
“Sorry,” Steve says, suddenly awake and aware and mortified, because just because he won’t get tossed from the Navy for wanting to taste every fucking inch of Danny Williams, that doesn’t mean that Danny wouldn’t punch him in the face. That doesn’t mean that Danny has any idea Steve’s ever even thought about him like that, or that Danny would want him back, or even care.
Steve’s been so careful, for so long, that now he’s pretty sure he might explode from all the shit he hasn’t done in the name of his career. The shrinks Danny keeps threatening him with would be thrilled.
*
Steve remembers a guy in Afghanistan - a tough soldier, wiry and smart and quiet. They all called him Jax, short for Jackson. The night before a potential suicide mission to take a small village, Jax wrote a three line email to his boyfriend saying he was afraid, but he was going to stand tall and fight and die proudly for his country. He signed it “I love you, always remember that”. Steve remembers that Jax made it back from that one only to be frog-marched to the General’s office a week later, with orders home.
It was so stupid, Steve remembers thinking. They all knew the Navy read their emails, they all knew anything could be a red flag. Jax was a moron. A total fucking moron who couldn’t keep his shit together and now they were down a munitions expert. It was unforgivable to let down the unit like that. Steve almost put his fist down Jax’s throat when he told them, called him a fucking traitor; the unit had to hold him back from a fight. Come to think of it, Jeff’s the one who twisted Steve’s arm behind his back and walked him out into the hot desert air. “Cool off,” Jeff said tersely. “It’s all fucked to hell, and I know you didn’t mean that shit.”
But he did. Steve held his unit to the same high standard he held himself, and Steve McGarrett was never going to risk the safety of his unit or his position in the Navy for a quick fuck, no matter how much he wanted it. He wasn’t going to buy twink porn and try to hide it in his kit. He wasn’t going to be seen hanging out at gay bars or let some eager recruit suck him off before a mission or get a damn boyfriend and send him fucking emails the night before a firefight. He was going to do what he had to do to get through every day without facing that demon inside him, and he really fucking expected the rest of his men to do the same.
Somehow, Steve never thought to blame the policy itself.
*
Three days later, he parks his truck across the street and down half a block from Fusion and watches guys slip past the ropes and in the door - tall, short, bald, young, whatever, in shirts that cling in all the right places, skin glowing in the neon lights. He could go in now - get a drink, find a guy, take him home, work out eighteen years of pent-up frustration with some out-of-towner who he’d never have to see again.
He sits in his truck for a long time, knuckles white on the steering wheel, and he’s irrationally relieved when he manages to witness a kid breaking into a BMW, and gets to work out some frustration in other ways.
*
“Hey, Steve,” Chin smiles at him when he walks in to HQ the next day. “Heard you had a late night.”
“Is it just me, or are criminals getting dumber,” he asks with a grin. Chin laughs.
“I don’t know, man. The neighborhood around Kuhio isn’t known for being a criminal mainstay. Maybe the good ones know not to jack a car in front of a cop.”
“I’m not a cop,” Steve says reflexively, but inside he’s running on high alert. Chin knows this town better than anyone, he could put the pieces together in a few easy steps. The club, Steve there by himself after midnight...
“Yeah, yeah, so the paperwork Danny and I have to correct on a daily basis keeps telling me,” Chin answers, with a friendly pat on Steve’s shoulder as he walks back to his office.
Stand down, Steve tells himself, but his skin is prickling hot and cold.
*
“Hey Cath,” he says, and it’s a testament to how long she’s known him when her first question is “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Steve grits out. He’s puttering in the garage, looking through long-abandoned drawers full of nails and screws, trying to find one that will fix his coffee table. “Can’t a guy just call to hear his girl’s voice?”
“One,” Catherine says, amusement obvious in her voice, “I am not your girl. Two, you have a habit of calling me for favors, so excuse me for asking.”
“I might, um,” Steve starts, and why is he suddenly finding this hard? “Do you know where you’ll be in November?” he asks, trying for nonchalant and failing miserably.
“The Med, I think,” she replies, “Why?”
“Nothing, I just have a wedding thing - ”
“Who?” she cuts in, and Steve bites his lip.
“No one, just a guy from my old team. Haven’t seen him in a while.”
“Okay, so, tell me why you aren’t just employing your usual ‘go alone and pick up a hot bridesmaid’ tactic for this one? And don’t act surprised that I figured that one out, Commander.”
Steve smiles in spite of himself. “It’s, um. Not that kind of crowd? I don’t think?” She hums patiently, waiting for him to explain. He should have known he wouldn’t get off that easy. “I don’t know, Cath. I just never thought I’d be wearing my dress whites to some big gay wedding in DC,” and jesus, could he sound like any more of a homophobic jackass? “Fuck, I didn’t mean - “
“Ah,” Cath says, “I was wondering when the hammer would fall on this one.”
“What?” he asks, mystified.
“Steve.” She says his name gently, like he’s a skittish colt. “it’s okay to feel off-kilter when the rules change.”
“I know,” he snaps. “What - “
“For all your rule bending, you like the world pretty black and white. But really? I am a fan of any ruling that promotes honesty within the unit. Secrets are hard, and they put wedges between people.”
“I know,” he repeats, wondering at the irony of being trapped in a lecture about how secrets are hard.
“All I’m saying, Commander, is that I know you haven’t gotten your sea legs on this one, but maybe you’re better off just jumping in the water. You always did better that way.” Her voice is light and teasing.
“Cath,” he whispers.
“Just go to the wedding and pick up a hot groomsman and fucking enjoy yourself, McGarrett.”
Steve leans back on his dad’s car and slides down until he’s sitting on the cold concrete. He tips his head back and closes his eyes. “I have no idea what I’m doing, Cath,” he says.
“I know,” she says kindly. “You know, you rarely actually do? Go with your gut, it serves you well.” Steve manages a weak laugh. “Speaking of,” she adds, “I knew I should have bought that strap-on in Majorca.”
“I hate you so much,” Steve intones, dropping his head to his knees. She’s laughing as he hangs up on her.
*
When you’re sixteen and your mom has just died and your dad ships you off to the mainland with zero explanation and you spend your senior year of high school trying to shut off every emotional valve in your body so that you don’t go postal on the really nice elderly second-cousins who took you in, you don’t really have the energy to deal with a sexuality crisis on top of everything else. In 1994, Steve didn’t give a goddamn about the passing of DADT. He just wanted to stop feeling everything.
Steve joined the Navy because he loved the water and missed it intensely, and because his grandfather was an awesome war hero, and because he wanted to get as far away from his fucking life as possible and maybe shoot some people in the face while he was there.
It’s the most cliche set of reasons ever for a fucked up teenager to enter Annapolis, and Steve would hate himself for it if the Navy hadn’t turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to him. He loved the training and the discipline and the fact that no one asked him about his feelings ever. And he was good at it. He was strong and fast and smart and calm under pressure and even during SEAL training he woke up intensely glad that he picked this life and not some boring, shitty normal one.
Steve didn’t have a sexual identity crisis. If the options were ‘sleep with guys and maybe lose everything’ or ‘don’t sleep with guys and do this forever’, there was no actual decision to be made. He took the confusing, arousing, terrifying feelings that he’d refused to put a name to and slowly, steadily turned that valve off too. He didn’t think about guys the same way he didn’t think about his parents, or about Mary and if she was okay. He just turned it off.
Problem was, he didn’t have a game plan for how to turn it back on.
Everything’s different now. These days, Steve has expanses of time that are spent wading through the boring parts of cases, drinking coffee with his team, listening to Danny tell insane stories about his days in Newark, watching surf competitions with Kono, having a beer with Chin. He doesn’t mind them, though, as long as they are punctuated with the excitement of catching the bad guy, of hanging guys off of roofs and flying helicopters and watching Danny’s hair get more and more unruly during a car chase. They’re his unit - Danny and Kono and Chin - but they’re his equals in ways that the Navy would never understand or allow, and Steve likes it, he likes the challenge of having to fight with Danny about cases, about everything, pushing buttons and having his pushed back.
They’re partners, and his brain knows that means one thing, but Steve’s libido has recently had a hard time not thinking it means something else entirely.
*
Steve hasn’t masturbated this much since he was in high school.
Seriously, he knows the internet is mostly pornography, but he’s never really explored its depths before, and wow. There are twinks and bears and leather daddies and fake military men who piss Steve off with their non-regulation facial hair. There is hardcore, and then there is REALLY hardcore, and stuff that involves sex toys Steve is completely unfamiliar with, and high production videos with all-American boys and amateur channels of nothing but guys jerking off. For four solid days, Steve watches it all.
“Band of Brothers marathon last night?” Danny asks him over the coffee pot at HQ. It’s almost eleven in the morning and Steve’s just managed to roll in to work. They haven’t had a major case since the gun runner thing last week, which is partly why Steve feels... okay, maybe not justified, but less guilty for his recent all-night habits.
“Hmm?” Steve manages blearily.
“You look like my Uncle Frank after three days straight at Belmont,” he answers, and Steve is too tired to even try and parse that sentence. He takes a sip of his coffee and shuffles toward his office. He manages to make it halfway to his desk before giving up and flopping down on the couch. “Hey,” Danny says, from the doorway. “Have you slept at all this week?”
Steve thinks about what he’s been doing instead of sleep and he can feel himself start to blush. “Too warm out, I guess,” he lies, and Danny frowns at him. He’s wearing a stupid tie, the blue one that Steve likes because it makes Danny’s eyes seem brighter, and his shirtsleeves are already rolled up, a bright white that stands out starkly against the now-constant Hawaiian tan on Danny’s forearms and fuck, Steve really needs some sleep.
“I know you think you’re made of titanium, or whatever,” Danny says, taking short, clipped steps until he’s standing in front of Steve. “But human beings can, in fact, get sick once in a while.” Steve should see this coming, but he’s not really on his game today, so when Danny’s hand curls around the back of his neck, Steve flinches. “Whoa, hey,” Danny says, quiet and soothing, moving his hand so that the back of his knuckles brush over Steve’s cheek. Steve can feel the blood rushing through his body, and he almost laughs at how confused it is, split between his creeping blush and his dick. “I don’t think it’s fever, but you’re a little warm, man.”
“I’m fine,” Steve manages, leaning back out of Danny’s reach. When he looks up, Danny is standing between his thighs, eyebrows bunched with worry, but all Steve can do slide his hands under his thighs to keep from reaching out and yanking Danny’s belt open. “Or, maybe I should go home,” he says weakly, pushing himself up and grabbing his keys.
*
A year. A solid year of pretending that what he felt for Danny was just friendship. He hasn’t deluded himself this well since his Annapolis days when he fell for his Combat Tactics instructor and managed to shut his libido down completely with a regimen of daily three-hour workouts.
Steve thinks about pulling his heavy boxing bag out of storage and seeing if he could do that again, but there’s a difference between stupid and scared and twenty, and stupid and scared and thirty-three. At thirty-three, Steve’s pretty sure he’s too smart to believe his own lies anymore. At thirty-three, Steve’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to.
He climbs the stairs and falls face-first into bed, not bothering to do much more than kick off his boots and unholster his gun.
When he closes his eyes, though, all he can see is Danny, pulling off that damn tie and stalking toward Steve, biting his neck, pulling his hair, blue eyes blazing as Steve drops to his knees. It’s not fair, Steve thinks, not to himself or to Danny or their friendship, but Danny’s under his skin, twisting that valve, opening it up every damn day for the last year. And he doesn’t have to ignore it anymore, but the steady drip-drip-drip is driving him crazy.
He’s a big, gay SEAL with a big, stupid crush on his tiny, angry best friend, and after eighteen years of DADT, Steve has earned a wallow. He manages to text Chin that he’s taking the day off, and tomorrow too, why the fuck not, before passing out.
*
“You know you’re a jackass,” Steve hears Danny yell.
“And I don’t know why I gave you a key to my house, asshole,” Steve yells back as Danny’s footsteps echo up the stairs. “Go back to work.”
“Is that an order, Commander? Because you don’t look like you’re in any shape to be giving me orders today.” Danny smirks from the doorway, and Steve buries his head under his pillow. “Seriously, what the fuck is up with you?”
“Nothing,” Steve says, his words muffled. “Sick.”
“Bullshit.”
“Fuck off.”
“You’re still in your clothes from yesterday,” Danny says conversationally, and Steve finally sneaks a peek at him. He’s dressed like Danny, half-formal and half-disheveled, like he takes all his clothing cues from old episodes of Law & Order. It’s completely ridiculous, especially since it has got to be 85 degrees out today, and Steve doesn’t know why his stomach hurts just looking at him.
“Danny, please go away,” Steve says, as evenly as he can.
“Please?” Danny’s voice is closer now. “You’re wearing yesterday’s clothes, you missed work in what is probably the first time in, what? Twenty years? And you just used the word ‘please’ without a hint of sarcasm.” Steve can feel the bed dip when Danny sits down. “I am not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell happened last week.”
“Last week?” Steve asks, confused.
“Yes, last week, when this pod person showed up and started with the wild mood swings and the brooding and the not-sleeping.” Steve’s not looking, but he can picture Danny’s hands moving as he speaks. “It was something big, right? A phone call from beyond the grave? Or they finally told you that all that close-range shooting was making you go deaf? And your partner too, I might add. That shit is not okay, especially not that time in the cargo container? Seriously, I had a ringing in my ears for a week after that.”
Steve closes his eyes. He’s silent for long enough that Danny takes a breath, like he’s about to start up again, and Steve’s just. He’s too old for this shit. He’s too tired and too old and too angry that he never dealt with any of this before. “I got invited to a wedding,” he says plainly, and Danny almost laughs.
“You... okay? Was this the long lost love, the one that got away?”
“No, just a guy a know. A friend.”
“Oh my god, you are so shitty at this,” Danny sighs and Steve manages half a smile into his pillow. At least he’s annoying Danny. “Did no one ever teach you have to share? Because it doesn’t make you less of a badass to admit you have a feeling every now and then.”
“Like you?” Steve goads.
“Yes, you fucking caveman, like me. I have a multitude of feelings right now, ranging from frustration to concern to general annoyance that I am always the one who has to have these damn conversations with you in the first place. Many shrinks, McGarrett, I can get you the numbers of many shrinks.”
Steve’s smiling now, and he can’t fucking help it; it’s like Danny being here and annoyed and waving his hands around like some Italian grandmother is exactly what he needed to feel like the world wasn’t so out-of-control after all. “My friend Jeff. He’s marrying his boyfriend Bill. The wedding’s in DC, in November.”
“Right. Okay. And this is freaking you out because?”
“It’s a gay wedding, Danny,” Steve says. Danny runs his hands through his hair like Steve is getting on his last nerve. He probably is - Danny doesn’t fuck with his hair all that often.
“Yes, thank you, please walk me through this slowly, so I can decide when I’m supposed to punch you,” Danny grits out.
Steve curls up on his side, fingers wrapped around the edge of the blanket. “I don’t know many people outside the Navy. I’ve never been to a gay wedding.”
“Steve,” Danny starts, and Steve presses the heel of his hand to his eyes.
“We’ve never been able to have a gay wedding. We’ve never been able to have... a lot of things,” he finishes. It’s the understatement of the year, but the way his heart is pounding right now, Steve’s not sure he could elaborate. How do you elaborate on a group of people who made you who you are, who gave you everything when you had nothing, but who forced this one, huge part of you into a box and then threw away the key? And what do you say about how fucked up that part of you is when they finally unlock it?
Danny’s quiet for a long minute, but Steve won’t look at him. Can’t look at him. “So,” Danny finally says, a rough edge to his voice. “Is this your melodramatic coming out, McGarrett, because I really thought there’d be more crying and/or gunplay.” Steve’s eyes fly open and Danny’s just looking at him, half-smiling and shaking his head. “You are, without a doubt, the most fucked up person I have ever met, babe, and that is including a serial killer I tracked in Jersey. I am not even kidding you.”
“Danny,” Steve rasps, and Danny is suddenly closer, leaning over and pushing at Steve’s shoulder.
“Move, jesus, are you made of actual stone?” Steve moves out of sheer confusion as Danny flops down on the bed next to him, one arm tucked under his head, legs crossed at the ankle. “You know,” he says, looking at the ceiling and not at Steve, who is close enough that he can feel Danny’s body heat now, can smell the sharp tang of his cologne, “none of us are going to care, so long as you don’t go crazy about this. Or, more crazy. You are already certifiable, so it might be hard to tell, but I know you, McGarrett. You think you can hide your crazy from me, but you are wrong, my friend.”
“I don’t think I’m crazy,” Steve says seriously, because he’s not. He’s angry and frustrated and horny, but he’s wasn’t crazy last week, and he’s not crazy now. He might end up that way if Danny stays so close, though.
“I know,” Danny turns and grins at him. “It’s kind of cute, actually. When you’re not almost getting me killed.” Steve sighs heavily. “So, do you want to talk about this?” Danny asks quietly. “What else did the Navy not let you do, huh?”
“Nothing, that’s not -,” but Danny is shifting closer, reaching out and grabbing his wrist.
“C’mere,” he says, and tugs until Steve finally relaxes a fraction and lets Danny pull his arm over, rolling Steve until he’s pressed against Danny’s side, his arm draped over Danny’s chest. They’re... Jesus fuck, they’re cuddling. Steve buries his face in Danny’s shoulder in mortification. Danny just laughs. “I bet there wasn’t an actual rule about this, but probably it wasn’t encouraged?” Danny’s hand rubs a comforting line up and down Steve’s arm, and he can’t help the way his fingers curl into Danny’s shirt.
“This is a really bad idea, Danno,” Steve whispers, even though he really, really doesn’t want to move, ever.
“Why?”
“Because,” Steve says, gasping as Danny shifts impossibly closer, turning a little so Steve’s face is pressed to his throat, the soft line of his dress shirt under Steve’s chin. “Fuck, Danny, I can’t -”
“You can, though,” Danny says evenly, but when Steve moves, the stubble on his chin catching on Danny’s smooth skin, Steve can feel a sharp breath, a sound cut off before Steve can hear it. Steve really wanted to hear it.
He doesn’t kiss Danny’s neck, that would be too much, too far, but he puts his lips too close when he speaks, so he can feel the stutter of Danny’s pulse. “Danny, please.” He’s already hard, and Danny has to know; Steve’s throwing off so much heat right now, and Danny’s touching him everywhere.
“You can,” Danny says again and he tugs at the hair on the nape of Steve’s neck. Steve blinks his eyes open and Danny is right there, blue eyes huge, his pupils blown wide. “You can, Steve, come on,” he says and fuck. It feels like Danny’s just reached inside his chest and turned that valve all the way on, and everything comes rushing at him at once, hard and fast and hot. He pushes Danny back into the mattress with his forearm and kisses him without finesse, desperate and greedy. Danny hooks his arm around Steve’s neck and just rolls with it until Steve is on top of him and their hips snap together.
Danny throws his head back with a groan and Steve gives in to temptation and yanks Danny’s shirt open hard enough that he loses a few buttons. “Fuck, fuck,” Danny says, and reaches down to, whoops, undo the tie that Steve just didn’t have the brain cells to deal with. “You’re a fucking menace, clearly, what are you - “ Danny stutters, but Steve is busy mapping every swell of muscle, the flat plain of Danny’s stomach with his mouth. “Whoa, hey, come up here, come on,” Danny pants, and he’s tugging on Steve’s hair just enough that it stings.
“What, Danny, fuck,” Steve bites out, but when he looks up, Danny is grinning at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling, his mouth red and bruised, and Steve feels the bubble burst on his rush of adrenaline. This is Danny, who is clearly right about Steve being totally insane if he thinks this is a good idea. Danny must see something shift on Steve’s face, because the next thing he knows he’s getting a slap to the side of his head, and Danny’s leaning up to kiss him again, and again.
“I really never want to see Aneurysm Face when we’re half-naked, stop thinking, seriously, just stop,” Danny mutters into his mouth, and Steve lets himself get pulled back down, lets Danny kiss him, slide his hands under Steve’s shirt, over his hip, through his hair. When Danny’s fingers fumble with the button on Steve’s pants, Steve just gives in, game over, he and Danny are going to do this because there is no way in hell Steve is going to say stop. He reaches between them, helps Danny shove his khakis over his hips, and when he palms Danny’s dick through his trousers, fuck, Danny actually bites him on the shoulder.
Steve almost comes from that alone.
“Do you want me to - “ he starts, and Danny manages to actually roll his eyes during sex, which Steve, okay, would have probably bet was possible, but is still endearing.
“Yeah, yes, are you seriously asking me this question?” he asks, and Steve can’t help but grin down at him, grunting as he wrestles with his pants.
“I didn’t want to skip too far ahead in the playbook,” Steve says.
Danny glares at him. “I’m not a fucking co-ed, McGarrett, get your hand on my fucking dick.”
Steve obliges happily, and oh, man, the feeling of hard, hot flesh against his palm is pretty intense, but nothing compares to the shiver of want that slides down Steve’s spine when Danny’s hand slides in next to his, when he lines them up and thumbs the head of Steve’s cock and bites his lip. “Think we can pull this off?” he pants, and Steve thinks he’s about twelve seconds from blacking out, but he’s a fucking SEAL and he’s never not completed a mission before, so yeah, sure, they’re going to pull this off. They’re going to pull this off so well Danny will be seeing stars.
Their height difference is a lot less comical from this angle, with their hands finding a rhythm, jerking them both off in quick, measured strokes. When Danny arches up, his mouth is perfectly placed at Steve’s throat. He’s wanted this so much, wanted Danny, yesterday, last week and last month and last year, when Danny Williams punched Steve in the face and then helped him catch his dad’s killers. Steve hunches over just a fraction, until he can press his forehead to Danny’s temple and just breathe. Danny’s other hand cups the back of his neck.
“I know, babe,” he says, and bites at Steve’s jaw. “I know, come on. Let go.”
Steve comes hard enough that he can’t hear anything but the blood rushing past his own ears, but he can feel Danny’s hand fall away from him, feel the quick movement of his arm, the way Danny tenses under him, holding his breath through his own orgasm long enough that Steve’s impressed. “You okay there?” Steve asks him when he finally exhales, long and shaky.
“Yeah, right. What?” Danny replies, and Steve manages a weak laugh.
“Did I actually render you speechless?” Steve asks, and he should be freaking out, he really should, but Danny punches him lightly in the shoulder and Steve is just too charmed by the fact that Danny is apparently non-verbal after sex. “Should I move?”
“Nuh-uh,” Danny manages and curls his arm tighter around Steve’s neck. They’re both still wearing most of their clothes - though “wearing” in the most loose definition - and Steve feels like he’s just run a marathon. He must say the last bit out loud because Danny’s fingers scratch through his hair and he hums.
“Did you win?” Danny asks and Steve blinks at him, the sheen of sweat over his forehead, the bulge of his bicep, the sleepy half-mast gaze over the lazy grin.
“Yeah, I think so,” Steve manages past the tight, hot feeling in his chest.
“Damn straight,” Danny replies. “Unlike you, you raging homosexual.”
Steve closes his eyes. “Danny - “
“I know,” Danny yawns, “you hate me so much right now. We’ll deal with it over lunch.”
FIN