Do I Have to Put my Handcuffs on Ya, Mama?
Title: Do I Have to Keep You Under Lock and Key?
Fandom: Hawaii Five-0
Pairing: Steve/Danny
Rating: NC-17 for sex and language
Word Count: 6.5k
Warnings: Consensual use of restraints feature in this story.
Summary: Not a lot of plot to this one. Let's just say Steve really doesn't handle the whole Danny moving out/handcuffing himself to someone that's not Steve thing too well. So he handcuffs Danny and they have sex about it.
The bulk of this story is set immediately after 2.12. It does gloss over the ending of that episode a bit so that the author can focus on what's really important. Steve and Danny getting it on with cuffs. Title is from the lyrics of Parliament's Handcuffs.
My many thanks to stephaniejane2 and mcdannomauloa for their beta services, comments and suggestions!
Chin's bachelor party is a stomach-tilting blur of beer, shots, and four joints they slipped out to enjoy in the back of Steve's truck out behind the bar. Steve does remember a lot of arms slung around shoulders and shouting "what the fuck, man?" into each other's face like it was a tender declaration of love. The few girls who strayed into their affectionate brawl for a dance or a drink left when they were forgotten during the aforementioned hugging and cursing. Steve wakes up to a headache that leaves him feeling around his skull for possible fractures and a desperate, desperate need for water. His entire body feels as if it's been wrung out, and now even the faint, but not-quite-forgotten memory of moisture is gone.
Stumbling down the steps toward the kitchen with a dry mouth, sticky eyes, and chapped lips, Steve drinks two tall glasses of water straight from the tap. Relief and nausea wash over him at the same time, leaving him bent over the sink, breathing deeply and waiting for the water to do its magic; to rehydrate his poor desiccated cells and convince his stomach that he meant no disrespect. He promises his body he'll go back to bed and not ask it to do or think about anything else for another six hours at least if it will just let him get through the next five minutes without vomiting. He has to repeat the oath a few times before the acid rising in his throat, finally mollified, decides to settle. True to his word, he sets the glass in the sink and immediately heads back for the stairs.
Stepping into the living room, Steve discovers that Danny apparently crashed with him last night. Danny is sleeping silently and sprawled out on Steve’s couch like he fell straight through the ceiling and landed on his back onto the cushions. He's wearing nothing but his boxers and one sock. Steve stares at him for a long time; at the square, capable looking hand placed over his belly, the cut of muscle disappearing into the waistband of his shorts, the thick and surprisingly appealing spread of body hair from Danny's shoulders to his ankles. Steve blinks, thinks okay about a dozen times, and returns to the kitchen. He refills the glass, takes it into the living room, and sets it down on the coffee table where Danny's hand is the most likely to find it.
Steve's stomach is insisting that he fulfill his promise now and do absolutely nothing more but return to bed. He dutifully obeys, falls asleep almost instantly and thankfully doesn’t waste any of his glorious reprieve of unconsciousness on dreams. When he next wakes up his first thought is still about Danny though, specifically Danny’s hand sliding down his stomach toward his boxers. Steve shuts his eyes again, takes a deep breath and says, "okay," aloud this time. It’s really more an acknowledgment of defeat than a prompt to move on.
He showers, dresses and makes his way down to the living room. Danny is awake, wearing jeans he hasn't bothered to button and a miserable expression. The glass of water is drained but Danny still looks like he genuinely regrets ever being born. By the time two slices of dry toast are sitting precariously in Steve's still quite suspicious stomach it's easy to act like the only thing on his mind is the hangover. Danny, for his part, is incapable of talking about anything except for how much he wants to die. He stays on Steve's couch until three in the afternoon doing just that, game on mute on the TV as he dozes and complains, before finally finding the strength to put sunglasses on and put himself behind the wheel of his Camaro.
Twenty-four hours later, Danny gets stuck in a pair of handcuffs with Lori for reasons that will never make sense to anyone, and Steve kind of loses his mind about it.
He steals the key from Lori and puts his hand over the cuff on Danny's wrist only to have his gut twists in a way that has nothing to do with alcohol. Okay, Steve thinks, and in his head it sounds a lot more like permission than anything else. He clicks the cuff even tighter and throws away the key.
"Why would you do that?" Danny asks, staring out the window after it.
Steve spreads his arms wide, brash and uncaring, but after he walks by Danny, he has to clench his fists tightly by his side and count to ten. It's a process he repeats several times throughout the day, watching Danny move around with the bracelets hanging off his wrist. Steve is willing to admit that he may have a slight problem on his hands. A massive, unavoidable, slight problem.
It's with both relief and disappointment that Steve watches Kamekona take the cuffs off Danny.
~~~
The reception for Chin's wedding starts off as quite a classy, family affair. By midnight though, all the polite aunts and uncles go home, and the young cousins go off in search of parties or clubs filled with people their own age. Malia's parents leave with a kiss for their daughter and a warm hug for their son-in-law. Jackets are shed, collars pulled open and shoes are kicked off. A thirty year old bottle of scotch makes it fashionably late debut and Five-0 sits around a table steadily working their way through both the bottle and their best stories.
Malia sits on Chin's lap, bouquet long since thrown, hair released from her bun, and a tumbler of scotch and water dangling from her fingertips. She listens to their war stories with a brow arched not in disbelief but pragmatism. When they talk about the close shots they’ve dodged, she just taps Chin's ring meaningfully with hers. Chin smiles, sheepish, because everyone knows this wedding hardly means the end of close shots, just a new accountability for them. Chin folds his arm a little tighter around her waist in silent promise and apology.
There's a pink tone to the bride and groom's cheeks that Steve takes to mean the party won't last much longer. Kono's half asleep, and Danny's got the third button of his shirt open, too much throat and chest and swirls of hair showing to be decent. The handcuff is back, too, slapped on by Kono at some point during the festivities and left to dangle from his wrist for everyone's amusement.
The metal keeps glinting in the light and Steve hasn't been able to stop tracking the movement every single time it catches his eye.
In deference to Hawaii's DWI laws, the team has reserved rooms at the hotel being used for the reception. All that stands between them and a bed is a treacherous walk through the lobby and managing to press the right button on the elevator. Steve stands up and slips his blazer back on, and Danny sits back in his chair arms spread wide in outrage. "What is this? You turning in?"
"Think it's about that time," Steve says, nodding to Malia and Chin. Neither acknowledges him, and that's no surprise what with Chin's nose pressed to the nape of his wife's neck and her leaning forward to let him.
"Oh I'm sorry, excuse me, I thought this was a celebration, not a German train." Kono wakes up just enough to laugh. "My mistake!"
Steve raises an eyebrow, "You resisting Danny?"
Danny looks up, fond and confrontational in that way that only Danny can be. "Resisting? Am I resisting?" He looks around the table like he's looking for help, and gets nothing. His gaze returns to Steve and begs the silent question, You wanna start this?
And the thing is, Steve really does. He and Danny have been fighting pretty much the moment they met each other and it’s always taken him too long to recognize the impulse, to figure out whether the desire to go three rounds with Danny because Steve had something to prove or because he just likes to see Danny with his blood up. This thing between them slips back and forth between the posturing of two men used to getting their way, to the stubborn affection of two brothers playing king of the hill, to something much hotter and rougher, and Steve is usually a step behind it.
"They're doing it again," Kono mumbles into the crook of her elbow and Steve's got an idea of what she's talking about. Trying to put a finger on it makes him stare just a little too long at Danny. Danny always stares right back, unafraid.
But tonight Steve's got several shots of good scotch leeching all the fight out of his inhibitions, along with the knowledge that Danny just sized him up, eyebrows to belt buckle and back up. He doesn't want to put Danny in a headlock and make him say uncle. Tonight he knows without even having to think about it that he wants to pin Danny to the goddamn floor, and he wants Danny to make him do it.
Steve raises an eyebrow at Danny, signaling the last chance to back down before this officially gets started. Danny crosses his arms, pit-bull-with-a-bone stubborn, as he stares Steve down. "I'm a grown fucking man, Steven. I get to choose when I call it a night."
It's a challenge, one that Steve is more than fucking happy to rise up and take.
"See," Steve says, taking Danny's shoulder not-so-gently in his hand, "that's where you're wrong." He pulls Danny out of the chair and in one smooth move gets both of Danny's arms behind his back and the bracelet around his free wrist. The click of the cuff is enough to finally get everyone's attention.
Danny turns to look back as Steve, so stunned that his mouth just opens and closes futilely a few times without making a sound. Steve makes himself stand up tall and still before slowly letting a smile break across his face. A smile that is apparently enough of an outrage that Danny finally finds something to say.
"Are you insane?" Danny hisses through his teeth, with enough conviction that Steve almost doubts himself. "Did you just cuff me for resisting bedtime."
Just like that, it's a joke that everyone is in on. Chin and Malia are politely hiding their smiles behind their hands, but Kono has her head back, letting out peals of pleased laughter, right from the diaphragm.
"Hey," Steve chides, slipping behind Danny and tugging down just enough on the cuffs that Danny's back bends and distracts him from his rant. "You want to make a scene?"
Steve's pushing it, but he's more than sure that if Danny decided he didn't like this, he'd just aim a knee cap bruising kick backward and tell Steve he could go to hell. Steve eases up before that can happen.
"A scene," Danny says right on that knife edge between indignation and hysteria that always makes Steve smile. "I'm the one turning this into a scene?"
Steve shushes him, and tips his head to Malia and Chin. "You two? Congratulations, and enjoy your night." Malia smiles at him, and Chin gives him a salute.
Danny tugs ineffectively at the grip Steve has on the cuffs. "You better have the keys, you crazy bastard."
Steve doesn't answer him though the master key is nestled on his key ring. Just like yesterday, he doesn't intend to use it until absolutely necessary. He just reaches down to grab Danny's tux jacket off the back of his chair and drapes it over Danny's shoulders. Danny just shakes his head like he's given up trying to figure out what wrong turn he took in the night to end up with this happening.
"You're all just going to let this psycho perp-walk me out of a perfectly lovely party?" he asks. "That's it, you're all going on the list. The list, got it? And it is not a list you want to be on." No one seems threatened in the slightest. Kono just waves her hand dismissively and starts working her feet back into her sandals. "Even so, congrats to you two," Danny says to Chin and Malia. "Love to you both."
"Sleep well, boys," Malia says, standing up. She pulls Chin up out of his seat, nice and slow, earning a hoot from Kono. Chin smiles, open and loose and happy, and takes his wife's hand to go and say goodbye to the rest of the guests.
Steve gives Danny's cuffs a little shake, "C'mon."
"You're really doing this," Danny says tone a mixture of incredulity and exasperation while Steve calmly marches them through the lobby to the elevator.
"Seems like." Steve's got one hand still wrapped around the little chain between the bracelets and his other palm braced between Danny's shoulder blades to steer him. At this hour there's not many people left in the lobby, but there are a few and they look at Danny curiously. Steve just smiles reassuringly like he's hotel security and this is all just routine. Certain parts of his anatomy though, are very, very aware that this is not routine.
He pushes the button to the elevator and is more than a little relieved that no one else is queued up for the same one. The doors open and Steve takes a deep breath before pushing Danny in. Danny stumbles slightly in surprise, turns around and leans his shoulders against the back of the elevator so he can glare up at Steve.
"Hey, what gives? You having flashbacks to all the times you tread the line on police brutality? You can't get guy in cuffs without roughing him up, huh?"
Steve jabs the button for their floor and then pushes his way into Danny's space, right past the point of comfort and to the point where the hair on the back of his neck raises. He sees an answering call in the goosebumps rising up on the skin under Danny's collarbone, fully exposed by the wide open collar of his shirt. Danny falls silent and looks Steve over, measures him, reads him, knows him. After a moment, Danny's shoulders relax against the wall, and his legs spread ever so slightly, wider at the knee, loose at the hips.
Danny cocks his head to the side and looks at Steve up under pale gold lashes and says what to Steve has recently become the most useful, beautiful word in the English language. "Okay."
Steve spreads his hand over Danny's sternum, puts his weight into it holds Danny to the wall. "Okay?" he repeats.
"Yeah," Danny says straining against him a little but not budging an inch. "Jesus, okay."
Steve leans in and Danny turns his face away. For a brief, terrifying moment Steve wonders if he just got things very, very wrong, but Danny looks back up at him, no reproach, no shock. "Cameras, you know." He flicks his eyes upward.
"Cameras?" Steve looks up at the ceiling. It's entirely and deceptively seamless.
"Cameras," Danny agrees. Steve looks back down at him in question. "I'm just saying, for all the hamming it up, I don't think there's anyone who didn't figure out there might be an ulterior motive for your little show back there, Captain Subtlety. Chin and Kono have a sick sense of a humor and the computer skills to back it up."
It's actually a very valid argument, one Steve considers just long enough for Danny to get nervous. Steve hauls Danny away from the wall, spins him around and wedges himself into the corner instead. Danny is flush against him, back pressed to his chest, Steve's got his hand closed around the bracelets, holding Danny there.
"So you don't want to be seen is that it?" he asks, his other hand is free to cup Danny's jaw and slide on down, brushing over his neck, chest, before coming to rest on his belt buckle.
He can't see Danny's face, but he can feel his body heat, hear his suddenly ragged breathing. Steve knows Danny well enough to know that this is not outside of his boundaries. When the working level of trust between two people knowing that the other will, without hesitation, take a bullet for the other, or happily put a bullet into anyone who so much as aims with intent, something like this is small potatoes. Danny doesn't tell him to slow down, take it easy. No, Danny just calls him an asshole, and between the two of them that's as sweet a pronouncement as sugar baby.
"What is it you don't want them to see?" Steve asks slipping his fingers under Danny's belt and pulling him flush against him. "You taking it, or you wanting it? Or are you just shy about your dick tenting up your pants?"
Steve's chin digs into Danny's shoulder as he looks down to see the truth in his words, the clear outline of Danny's stiff cock. His fingers curl tightly around Danny's belt buckle to stop himself from dragging the heel of his hand down that thick line. He can't trust himself to stop. The burn of the scotch and the fevered heat they’re both casting off have already reduced all the gates Steve tries to keep shut to cinders, every thought tumbling out of his mouth without encountering a single roadblock. But the numbers above the elevator door are ticking closer and closer to their floor and he’s got to pull up on the reins just a little.
"Well, Daniel? What is it you're trying to hide?" he asks instead, lips stop just shy of contact against the shell of Danny's ear.
Danny gasps out a breath held a little too long and pants out, "All of the above, frankly." He is spared further indignity by the ding of the elevator doors opening and the happy miracle that no one else is on the other side. Steve is almost disappointed.
He practically drags Danny down the hall, and nearly snaps off the plastic key card when it fails to register the first two swipes. Danny laughs at him, toe over the edge onto hysteria, pressed like he is between the door and a frustrated SEAL. When the stupid light finally does turns green, Steve is worried the door handle might snap off, he turns it so hard and clumsily.
It's dark in the room, no light except what's filtering in from the open curtains, faint neon and street lights from seventeen stories below. He presses Danny’s chest against the wall, brackets his shoulders with both hands and touches his lips to the thin, hot skin on the back of Danny's neck. Danny groans, drops his head to give Steve more access until he suddenly shoves back against him hard enough to get the space he needs to turn around and push his mouth up against Steve's. Danny tips up on his toes to get closer, overbalances with his arms pulled back like they are, stumbles and curses as the kiss breaks apart. Steve eases him back against the wall again, leans down far enough that all Danny has to do is tilt his head back and let him work their mouths together.
Steve cups the back of Danny's neck, kisses him deep and searching, waits until Danny is pliable under his hands before sliding abruptly down and tugging on the cuffs just hard enough to make Danny hiss.
"Jesus H. Christ, you do everything backwards don't you?" Danny gripes as Steve hauls him away from the wall and back toward the pristine king size bed behind them. "You're supposed to wine and dine me, get us set up with some nice routine fucking and then spring the cuffs and rough sex. You know that, right?"
"Danny." Steve has the other man backed up against the bed, puts two fingers against his shoulder and pushes him hard enough the Danny tips back, bouncing as he falls onto the covers. "You have the right to remain silent."
Danny laughs, hitching his hips further back on the bed. "Exactly my point. You don't slap cuffs on the perp, rough him up and then start mentioning his Miranda rights. Due fucking process, you hear?"
Steve's jacket hits the floor, and he pulls his shirt tails free from his waist and starts on his cuff links. He pins Danny with a gaze, "So you want me to stop and let you out of those and take you to dinner. Is that what you're saying?"
His slips his shirt off and Danny makes a frustrated noise. "No, I'm not saying that. I'm just saying I want you to recognize you have a fucked up order of things."
"I recognize it," Steve says, eyes on Danny's face while he undoes his belt buckle. "So long as you recognize that you get off on it."
Danny's breath shudders its way past his lips as Steve pulls his belt free. "I'm not, technically, you know, getting off. Right now." Steve undoes the button to his slacks and Danny pulls against the cuffs like he forgot they were there. "Jesus, can you-"
"You in a hurry?" Steve drawls, ignoring his own answering spike of adrenaline at Danny's desperation.
"In a hurry?" Danny awkwardly works himself onto his elbows and after a few tries he manages to get into a sitting position so he can glare up at Steve more easily. "No. No, not at all. I mean, my best friend and subject of many a secret masturbatory fantasy just decided to remove any lingering doubts about the vibe between us by fucking handcuffing me and shoving me onto a bed and I'm roughly seventy-five percent sure I'm going to find out this is just a freaking wet dream and wake up tragically alone in my hotel room, but no. By all means, take your fucking time."
At the end of all that bluster and fast talking Danny still makes a soft, hurt noise when Steve pushes his slacks down over his hips. It's training, blessed training, that keeps Steve from showing right away what that noise does to him, how much he wants to cover Danny and hold him down and kiss him blind after he's just admitted wanting this for a long time like an accusation. Like he's the only one feeling that way. When things are overwhelming, the training helpfully tells him, you just need to break them into smaller and smaller steps, make each part of the problem a more attainable goal.
Steve works his feet out of his shoes and steps out of them towards the bed in nothing but his tattoos. Danny pulls his knees up on the bed, spreads them, and his hips hitch like he isn't even aware he's doing it, nudging at empty air in frustration.
"You're checking out of the Hilton tomorrow," Steve announces as he picks up Danny's left foot and starts pulling at the laces. He tugs at Danny’s ankle just hard enough to send him sprawling back against the bed. Attainable goal number one, get Danny out- out of his clothes and out of the fucking Hilton.
"Okay," Danny says.
Steve tosses Danny's dress shoe over his shoulder and starts on the next. "And you're taking all your ties and your button downs and your patent fucking leather shoes and you're putting them in my closet."
"Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir. Can we get on with the fucking show, please, sir?" Danny gripes, toes curling as each of his socks are tugged off.
Steve climbs onto the bed, straddling Danny who moans happily and thrusts up, grinding his dick desperately up against Steve's thigh. Steve shakes his head no and grabs the collar of Danny's shirt and hauls him up until Danny's sitting up and without any leverage.
"And you're going to learn to love the sound of the ocean," Steve says as he pulls Danny’s shirt buttons open one by one. "Cause you're gonna sleep like a baby every fucking night in my bed."
Steve's getting too far ahead of himself, breathing hard as he pushes Danny's shirt down his shoulders to tangle around the cuffs. Doing so brings his face even closer to Danny's and Danny's smile is so razor sharp it cuts right into Steve. Steve orders himself to stick to the plan as he confronts the heat in Danny's gaze, but then Danny's saying, in a voice deep and husky, "Make me," and there is no plan. None at all.
He just grabs Danny's neck and crashes their mouths together, bites and sucks while Danny groans like he's dying, pushing his hips against Steve. Steve puts one palm against Danny's stomach, meaning to push him down and take back control but all he does is follow Danny down to the bed, surrendering the contact he'd been withholding. Danny is furnace hot; a contradiction of a brick wall of solid muscle wrapped in the softness of malasadas nearly every morning and an exercise regimen that could generously be described as haphazard. Arms bound, Danny uses his legs to keep Steve close. Just locks them tight around Steve's waist and Steve's got the hand-to-hand experience to know he couldn't get up if he wanted to, center of balance tipped and realigned right where Danny wants him.
Steve struggles to find the threads of his plan and put his baby steps in back order as he rolls his hips eagerly down to meet Danny's, lets their kiss get dangerously deep. Danny is still wearing his trousers, buckle digging into painfully Steve's stomach but every attempt to pull back and regroup winds up in him getting lost again, spun around in the dark with no frame of reference except the nip of Danny's teeth into his lip.
"Fuck" Danny says, throwing his head back. The taught cords of his neck are suddenly under Steve's mouth, and Steve is just fine with that. "Not that I- shit-" Danny cuts off on a curse as Steve starts sucking a mark on the new skin exposed to him. "Not that I'm not really fucking enjoying this, but we gotta move or risk dislocating my shoulder."
Steve sits up, slips his hands under the small of Danny's back and pulls him upright, taking the pressure off his arms. Danny rolls his shoulders to work out the cramp, and Steve finally has a chance to take in enough air to start thinking again.
"You wanna bring your hands around to the front?" he asks, making short work of Danny's belt and zipper.
"No," Danny says lifting his hips enough for Steve to pull his slacks down. Danny's dick pops free of his boxers, and his stomach pulls in sensitively at the cold rush of air over it. "Nah, I'm good."
The first mini-goal seems pretty well taken care of, Danny is stark naked and perfectly agreeable. Steve starts on the next one: convincing his idiot partner he's not the only one who wants this. Luckily, Steve's got a good idea of just how to prove that.
Steve puts his hands on Danny’s thighs, bending down, and Danny curses, mumbles "shit" softly and sucks in his breath like Steve's about to give him a shot to the kidneys or something, not take his cock in his mouth and start blowing him in earnest. Still, it doesn't take Danny too long to get with the program, to push out the same breath on a whispered, "Fuck, fuck." Danny shifts for him, bends his knees and slowly tucks his legs back, resting his ass on his heels with his toes digging into the bedspread- offering himself up to Steve as much as he can.
Steve shuts his eyes and tries to think as much about breathing as he does about the way Danny tastes, the stretch of his lips over the stiff shaft, the easy slide of soft skin. It's halfway to bliss, all of Danny's attention, every single part of him is tuned on Steve. It would be perfect if not for the nagging problem that the position isn't quite ideal. Danny can’t quite brace himself, has to tip and shift to keep his balance, sometimes rocking back so Steve can't slip down quite as deep as he wants to or loses his rhythm. He can tell it's not a hundred percent for Danny either, and "good enough" is not part of the plan.
He pulls off, lips not numb but not entirely cooperating, wet and swollen, as he says "Danny." It comes out sounding like a plea, and Danny makes a desperate noise in reply.
"Jesus, you-" Danny groans, shoving himself back on the bed so he can fix this for both of them. He trips a little on the tail of his dress shirt, still hanging from the cuffs. Danny curses at it and gathers the fabric in his hands, letting him move up and rest his shoulders against the plush headboard attached to the wall, supporting himself with hands splayed out on the pillows under him, hips lifted at an angle. "Okay?" he asks, and it is. It's pretty fucking fantastic actually, because now Steve can kneel in front of Danny, hold his cock steady with one hand while the other gets full access, cupping his balls and slipping behind even further to tease.
Danny seems to love it, too, whimpering when Steve's fingers stray back. He keeps up a constant stream of oddly sweet profanity to accompany the obscene slick sound of Steve's mouth. "Fucking beautiful. God, babe, yes. Goddamned amazing cocksucker, of course you are. Asshole. Hate you if I wasn't about to fucking die from your mouth. You're so. So. Sweetheart, yes."
Steve happily pushes the limits of his gag reflex, ignores the way his eyes are watering and pushes deep, then deeper. Danny's close, thighs trembling from where they're bracketed around Steve's shoulders, but the biggest clue is when his mouth stops running. For a few moments, Danny manages nothing more than a hushed "oh" every time he slides home into Steve's throat.
"Babe," Danny says, whether as a warning or request, Steve doesn't care. He grabs Danny's hip, fingertips dimpling and gripping Danny's ass, and quickens his pace.
Danny comes with a shout, hitting his head against the wall, arches into Steve's mouth as he fills it, hot and bittersweet. Steve keeps his lips tightly sealed, pulls up as cleanly as possible. Danny convulses in a final, oversensitive shudder and collapses in an ungainly tumble against the headboard as Steve swallows.
Danny shrugs a shoulder up to scratch his cheek against and makes a face. "Ow, God-" he rolls his shoulders, but apparently that doesn't help. "Jeez. You know, somehow I knew that sex with you would be just this side of a really good beating."
Danny folds his legs up against his torso and slips his cuffs to the front, rolling his wrists within the bracelets to see how bad he's strained them. It’s not too bad evidently, because he stops griping and hooks his bound wrists over Steve's neck to pull him down for a kiss. Danny practically sucks the breath from Steve’s lungs, chasing the taste of himself on the back of Steve's tongue. Steve groans and tips Danny back against the bed, rocks his hips, fucking into the groove of muscle. The crystal clear image of that cut of muscle has been appearing unbidden in his thoughts since the morning after the bachelor party, and Steve pushes up on his elbows so he can look down, can't stop the whine that comes from high in his throat as he watches himself dragging over Danny's skin.
"God, if I could fuck you," he moans. He could probably manage it with time, patience, and the little bottle of complimentary hand lotion from the bathroom - but time and patience are things he's running short on right now. "You'd want me to, yeah?"
"Babe, I will actually punch you in the face if it's not the first thing you do when we get home." Danny laughs breathlessly, squeezing his knees into Steve's sides, "And I mean that in the nicest possible way."
"Will," Steve promises. "I will. We're gonna fuck so much, Danny." And it's a stupid thing to say, Danny has every right to throw his head back and laugh because apparently Steve's dick has taken over his mouth, but thing is, Steve sincerely means it.
Steve shoves his hips against Danny's one more time, and pulls away intent on fulfilling that promise just as much as he can manage right now. He slips his head free from under Danny's cuffs, tugs and pulls until Danny is hands and knees. Steve kneels in front of him, cock brushing Danny’s cheek and jaw until he grabs a handful of Danny’s hair to guide him. It’s just the right length to stay gripped in his fingers, but the best thing is that Danny just goes with it. He gets himself braced and lets Steve tip his head up right where he needs him, lets his mouth fall open and wet so that Steve can just slide right in.
Steve's eyes keep reflexively falling shut, but every time he shakes his head and forces them open again, makes himself look down at Danny. Danny's mouth is amazing, but it’s watching him that does Steve in.
"Oh God," he grunts, because it's even hotter than he thought it would be. So much, we’re going to do this so much,, he swears again and his orgasm hits him right then like a down payment on that promise. Steve pushes out a breath like he's been punched to the gut and pulls Danny off by his hair so he can watch himself streak across Danny's collarbone and throat, up all the way onto his cheek.
He wants to tip over and collapse, but there's a plan. A plan with a few things that still need taking care of. Steve's dizzy, but he's also no stranger to oxygen deprivation. He bullies his limbs into cooperating, insisting that they walk him into the bathroom with a minimum amount of banging into walls or furniture. He comes back out with two washcloths, one damp and one dry. He tosses the damp one to Danny and bends down to the floor search his pants pockets for his keys. When he starts to come up out of his crouch, the blood rushes from his head and he nearly topples back and falls on his ass.
Steve touches his hand to temple, blinking away the stars in his vision.
"Hey, hey," Danny says sitting up, looking concerned. "Get back on the bed before you pass out."
Steve's knees happily give way and return him to the bed. A couple of deep breaths are all it takes to get through the worst of it.
He looks up at Danny, who grins down at him. "You don't do nothing by halves, do you, Steven?"
Steve smiles back and pants, "Pot. Kettle."
Danny laughs, "Yeah, maybe. Now," he says, pointedly holding up his wrists, "you mind?"
"I don't know," Steve says, considering the keys in his hands, and then cuffs on Danny's wrists. "I'm kind of getting used to them."
Danny doesn't look a bit impressed. "I don't give a shit if you're getting used to them. There's consent and then there's consent. Or do we need to go over the finer points of unlawful imprisonment again?"
Steve laughs as he turns the key in one bracelet and then the other. Danny goads him on, "Yeah, laugh. You better sleep with one eye open, jerk, or you gonna wake up one day and find out what it's like on the other side."
"I'm a very light sleeper," Steve says, not so much to warn Danny away but rather to let him know that he better bring his A-game when he tries it.
It takes a bit of untangling to get Danny's shirt free and tossed away. Danny winces at the sight of the stretched and wrinkled fabric, "The best man takes responsibility for losing a deposit on the rental, right? At least in this particular case, I thinking. "
Steve only smirks and takes Danny's wrists in his hands, runs a clean, wet corner of the damp wash cloth over the red skin, pats it dry and rubs his thumb over it. The skin is shiny and hot, but unbroken. He gets up again, retrieves the little bottle of lotion and dabs it over the marks, mostly to be on the safe side. Danny patiently allows him his first aid but once the bottle is capped he launches himself at Steve, and pins him to the bed.
Steve's impulse is to try and struggle but Danny pins him with a knee on his thigh and hand planted firmly on his sternum. "Stay there," he growls and Steve goes still without even realizing it.
Danny keeps his weight on Steve until he's completely satisfied that Steve’s not just waiting for the opportunity to counter attack. He spreads both palms over Steve's chest and slides them down with a bone deep sigh. "God, not that I didn't come my fucking brains out about it, but it was hell not getting to just..." Danny's fingers trace lightly over Steve's ink. "Yeah."
Danny touches him everywhere he can reach, cups his throat lightly, thumb scraping over the shadow of stubble on his jaw, over his lips. He slides his hands down Steve's stomach, and Steve flexes obligingly, so that Danny palms bump down the ridges of his abs. He fits Steve's hipbones in his hands, smiles when Steve flinches ticklishly as Danny drags his fingers up his sides. Danny tracks the movement of his own hands over Steve's skin, eyes heavy lidded as they follow them up and then down again. Finally he measures the width of Steve's biceps with his thumb and forefinger and keeps moving down until he can tangle their fingers together. Steve squeezes them tight.
"You meant it, right?" Danny asks out of nowhere.
"Yes," Steve says. There wasn't a thing he said or did tonight they he didn't feel all the way down to his toes. "Meant what?" he asks, just to find out what it is that Danny's doubting.
"About the moving in?"
Steve rolls his eyes. "Danny," he says. He doesn't like the way Danny tenses like he expects bad news, but they can deal with that in time. He tugs at their clasped hands, "I never wanted you to move out. Why the hell did you move out? I didn’t ask you to."
Danny laughs, reaches back to rub his hand over the embarrassed flush creeping up his neck. "Honestly?" Steve nods. "Blue balls, if you believe it."
Steve blinks up at Danny. "Blue-" he starts, but he just throws up his hands in defeat in the face of a pointless conversation. Danny’s moving back in and he’s never leaving again if Steve has anything to say about it. He flips them over so he's got Danny pinned. "Well problem solved, okay?"
Danny nods. "Yeah," he slips his hands into Steve's hair and kisses him. "Okay."
Fandom: Hawaii Five-0
Pairing: Steve/Danny
Rating: NC-17 for sex and language
Word Count: 6.5k
Warnings: Consensual use of restraints feature in this story.
Summary: Not a lot of plot to this one. Let's just say Steve really doesn't handle the whole Danny moving out/handcuffing himself to someone that's not Steve thing too well. So he handcuffs Danny and they have sex about it.
The bulk of this story is set immediately after 2.12. It does gloss over the ending of that episode a bit so that the author can focus on what's really important. Steve and Danny getting it on with cuffs. Title is from the lyrics of Parliament's Handcuffs.
My many thanks to stephaniejane2 and mcdannomauloa for their beta services, comments and suggestions!
Chin's bachelor party is a stomach-tilting blur of beer, shots, and four joints they slipped out to enjoy in the back of Steve's truck out behind the bar. Steve does remember a lot of arms slung around shoulders and shouting "what the fuck, man?" into each other's face like it was a tender declaration of love. The few girls who strayed into their affectionate brawl for a dance or a drink left when they were forgotten during the aforementioned hugging and cursing. Steve wakes up to a headache that leaves him feeling around his skull for possible fractures and a desperate, desperate need for water. His entire body feels as if it's been wrung out, and now even the faint, but not-quite-forgotten memory of moisture is gone.
Stumbling down the steps toward the kitchen with a dry mouth, sticky eyes, and chapped lips, Steve drinks two tall glasses of water straight from the tap. Relief and nausea wash over him at the same time, leaving him bent over the sink, breathing deeply and waiting for the water to do its magic; to rehydrate his poor desiccated cells and convince his stomach that he meant no disrespect. He promises his body he'll go back to bed and not ask it to do or think about anything else for another six hours at least if it will just let him get through the next five minutes without vomiting. He has to repeat the oath a few times before the acid rising in his throat, finally mollified, decides to settle. True to his word, he sets the glass in the sink and immediately heads back for the stairs.
Stepping into the living room, Steve discovers that Danny apparently crashed with him last night. Danny is sleeping silently and sprawled out on Steve’s couch like he fell straight through the ceiling and landed on his back onto the cushions. He's wearing nothing but his boxers and one sock. Steve stares at him for a long time; at the square, capable looking hand placed over his belly, the cut of muscle disappearing into the waistband of his shorts, the thick and surprisingly appealing spread of body hair from Danny's shoulders to his ankles. Steve blinks, thinks okay about a dozen times, and returns to the kitchen. He refills the glass, takes it into the living room, and sets it down on the coffee table where Danny's hand is the most likely to find it.
Steve's stomach is insisting that he fulfill his promise now and do absolutely nothing more but return to bed. He dutifully obeys, falls asleep almost instantly and thankfully doesn’t waste any of his glorious reprieve of unconsciousness on dreams. When he next wakes up his first thought is still about Danny though, specifically Danny’s hand sliding down his stomach toward his boxers. Steve shuts his eyes again, takes a deep breath and says, "okay," aloud this time. It’s really more an acknowledgment of defeat than a prompt to move on.
He showers, dresses and makes his way down to the living room. Danny is awake, wearing jeans he hasn't bothered to button and a miserable expression. The glass of water is drained but Danny still looks like he genuinely regrets ever being born. By the time two slices of dry toast are sitting precariously in Steve's still quite suspicious stomach it's easy to act like the only thing on his mind is the hangover. Danny, for his part, is incapable of talking about anything except for how much he wants to die. He stays on Steve's couch until three in the afternoon doing just that, game on mute on the TV as he dozes and complains, before finally finding the strength to put sunglasses on and put himself behind the wheel of his Camaro.
Twenty-four hours later, Danny gets stuck in a pair of handcuffs with Lori for reasons that will never make sense to anyone, and Steve kind of loses his mind about it.
He steals the key from Lori and puts his hand over the cuff on Danny's wrist only to have his gut twists in a way that has nothing to do with alcohol. Okay, Steve thinks, and in his head it sounds a lot more like permission than anything else. He clicks the cuff even tighter and throws away the key.
"Why would you do that?" Danny asks, staring out the window after it.
Steve spreads his arms wide, brash and uncaring, but after he walks by Danny, he has to clench his fists tightly by his side and count to ten. It's a process he repeats several times throughout the day, watching Danny move around with the bracelets hanging off his wrist. Steve is willing to admit that he may have a slight problem on his hands. A massive, unavoidable, slight problem.
It's with both relief and disappointment that Steve watches Kamekona take the cuffs off Danny.
~~~
The reception for Chin's wedding starts off as quite a classy, family affair. By midnight though, all the polite aunts and uncles go home, and the young cousins go off in search of parties or clubs filled with people their own age. Malia's parents leave with a kiss for their daughter and a warm hug for their son-in-law. Jackets are shed, collars pulled open and shoes are kicked off. A thirty year old bottle of scotch makes it fashionably late debut and Five-0 sits around a table steadily working their way through both the bottle and their best stories.
Malia sits on Chin's lap, bouquet long since thrown, hair released from her bun, and a tumbler of scotch and water dangling from her fingertips. She listens to their war stories with a brow arched not in disbelief but pragmatism. When they talk about the close shots they’ve dodged, she just taps Chin's ring meaningfully with hers. Chin smiles, sheepish, because everyone knows this wedding hardly means the end of close shots, just a new accountability for them. Chin folds his arm a little tighter around her waist in silent promise and apology.
There's a pink tone to the bride and groom's cheeks that Steve takes to mean the party won't last much longer. Kono's half asleep, and Danny's got the third button of his shirt open, too much throat and chest and swirls of hair showing to be decent. The handcuff is back, too, slapped on by Kono at some point during the festivities and left to dangle from his wrist for everyone's amusement.
The metal keeps glinting in the light and Steve hasn't been able to stop tracking the movement every single time it catches his eye.
In deference to Hawaii's DWI laws, the team has reserved rooms at the hotel being used for the reception. All that stands between them and a bed is a treacherous walk through the lobby and managing to press the right button on the elevator. Steve stands up and slips his blazer back on, and Danny sits back in his chair arms spread wide in outrage. "What is this? You turning in?"
"Think it's about that time," Steve says, nodding to Malia and Chin. Neither acknowledges him, and that's no surprise what with Chin's nose pressed to the nape of his wife's neck and her leaning forward to let him.
"Oh I'm sorry, excuse me, I thought this was a celebration, not a German train." Kono wakes up just enough to laugh. "My mistake!"
Steve raises an eyebrow, "You resisting Danny?"
Danny looks up, fond and confrontational in that way that only Danny can be. "Resisting? Am I resisting?" He looks around the table like he's looking for help, and gets nothing. His gaze returns to Steve and begs the silent question, You wanna start this?
And the thing is, Steve really does. He and Danny have been fighting pretty much the moment they met each other and it’s always taken him too long to recognize the impulse, to figure out whether the desire to go three rounds with Danny because Steve had something to prove or because he just likes to see Danny with his blood up. This thing between them slips back and forth between the posturing of two men used to getting their way, to the stubborn affection of two brothers playing king of the hill, to something much hotter and rougher, and Steve is usually a step behind it.
"They're doing it again," Kono mumbles into the crook of her elbow and Steve's got an idea of what she's talking about. Trying to put a finger on it makes him stare just a little too long at Danny. Danny always stares right back, unafraid.
But tonight Steve's got several shots of good scotch leeching all the fight out of his inhibitions, along with the knowledge that Danny just sized him up, eyebrows to belt buckle and back up. He doesn't want to put Danny in a headlock and make him say uncle. Tonight he knows without even having to think about it that he wants to pin Danny to the goddamn floor, and he wants Danny to make him do it.
Steve raises an eyebrow at Danny, signaling the last chance to back down before this officially gets started. Danny crosses his arms, pit-bull-with-a-bone stubborn, as he stares Steve down. "I'm a grown fucking man, Steven. I get to choose when I call it a night."
It's a challenge, one that Steve is more than fucking happy to rise up and take.
"See," Steve says, taking Danny's shoulder not-so-gently in his hand, "that's where you're wrong." He pulls Danny out of the chair and in one smooth move gets both of Danny's arms behind his back and the bracelet around his free wrist. The click of the cuff is enough to finally get everyone's attention.
Danny turns to look back as Steve, so stunned that his mouth just opens and closes futilely a few times without making a sound. Steve makes himself stand up tall and still before slowly letting a smile break across his face. A smile that is apparently enough of an outrage that Danny finally finds something to say.
"Are you insane?" Danny hisses through his teeth, with enough conviction that Steve almost doubts himself. "Did you just cuff me for resisting bedtime."
Just like that, it's a joke that everyone is in on. Chin and Malia are politely hiding their smiles behind their hands, but Kono has her head back, letting out peals of pleased laughter, right from the diaphragm.
"Hey," Steve chides, slipping behind Danny and tugging down just enough on the cuffs that Danny's back bends and distracts him from his rant. "You want to make a scene?"
Steve's pushing it, but he's more than sure that if Danny decided he didn't like this, he'd just aim a knee cap bruising kick backward and tell Steve he could go to hell. Steve eases up before that can happen.
"A scene," Danny says right on that knife edge between indignation and hysteria that always makes Steve smile. "I'm the one turning this into a scene?"
Steve shushes him, and tips his head to Malia and Chin. "You two? Congratulations, and enjoy your night." Malia smiles at him, and Chin gives him a salute.
Danny tugs ineffectively at the grip Steve has on the cuffs. "You better have the keys, you crazy bastard."
Steve doesn't answer him though the master key is nestled on his key ring. Just like yesterday, he doesn't intend to use it until absolutely necessary. He just reaches down to grab Danny's tux jacket off the back of his chair and drapes it over Danny's shoulders. Danny just shakes his head like he's given up trying to figure out what wrong turn he took in the night to end up with this happening.
"You're all just going to let this psycho perp-walk me out of a perfectly lovely party?" he asks. "That's it, you're all going on the list. The list, got it? And it is not a list you want to be on." No one seems threatened in the slightest. Kono just waves her hand dismissively and starts working her feet back into her sandals. "Even so, congrats to you two," Danny says to Chin and Malia. "Love to you both."
"Sleep well, boys," Malia says, standing up. She pulls Chin up out of his seat, nice and slow, earning a hoot from Kono. Chin smiles, open and loose and happy, and takes his wife's hand to go and say goodbye to the rest of the guests.
Steve gives Danny's cuffs a little shake, "C'mon."
"You're really doing this," Danny says tone a mixture of incredulity and exasperation while Steve calmly marches them through the lobby to the elevator.
"Seems like." Steve's got one hand still wrapped around the little chain between the bracelets and his other palm braced between Danny's shoulder blades to steer him. At this hour there's not many people left in the lobby, but there are a few and they look at Danny curiously. Steve just smiles reassuringly like he's hotel security and this is all just routine. Certain parts of his anatomy though, are very, very aware that this is not routine.
He pushes the button to the elevator and is more than a little relieved that no one else is queued up for the same one. The doors open and Steve takes a deep breath before pushing Danny in. Danny stumbles slightly in surprise, turns around and leans his shoulders against the back of the elevator so he can glare up at Steve.
"Hey, what gives? You having flashbacks to all the times you tread the line on police brutality? You can't get guy in cuffs without roughing him up, huh?"
Steve jabs the button for their floor and then pushes his way into Danny's space, right past the point of comfort and to the point where the hair on the back of his neck raises. He sees an answering call in the goosebumps rising up on the skin under Danny's collarbone, fully exposed by the wide open collar of his shirt. Danny falls silent and looks Steve over, measures him, reads him, knows him. After a moment, Danny's shoulders relax against the wall, and his legs spread ever so slightly, wider at the knee, loose at the hips.
Danny cocks his head to the side and looks at Steve up under pale gold lashes and says what to Steve has recently become the most useful, beautiful word in the English language. "Okay."
Steve spreads his hand over Danny's sternum, puts his weight into it holds Danny to the wall. "Okay?" he repeats.
"Yeah," Danny says straining against him a little but not budging an inch. "Jesus, okay."
Steve leans in and Danny turns his face away. For a brief, terrifying moment Steve wonders if he just got things very, very wrong, but Danny looks back up at him, no reproach, no shock. "Cameras, you know." He flicks his eyes upward.
"Cameras?" Steve looks up at the ceiling. It's entirely and deceptively seamless.
"Cameras," Danny agrees. Steve looks back down at him in question. "I'm just saying, for all the hamming it up, I don't think there's anyone who didn't figure out there might be an ulterior motive for your little show back there, Captain Subtlety. Chin and Kono have a sick sense of a humor and the computer skills to back it up."
It's actually a very valid argument, one Steve considers just long enough for Danny to get nervous. Steve hauls Danny away from the wall, spins him around and wedges himself into the corner instead. Danny is flush against him, back pressed to his chest, Steve's got his hand closed around the bracelets, holding Danny there.
"So you don't want to be seen is that it?" he asks, his other hand is free to cup Danny's jaw and slide on down, brushing over his neck, chest, before coming to rest on his belt buckle.
He can't see Danny's face, but he can feel his body heat, hear his suddenly ragged breathing. Steve knows Danny well enough to know that this is not outside of his boundaries. When the working level of trust between two people knowing that the other will, without hesitation, take a bullet for the other, or happily put a bullet into anyone who so much as aims with intent, something like this is small potatoes. Danny doesn't tell him to slow down, take it easy. No, Danny just calls him an asshole, and between the two of them that's as sweet a pronouncement as sugar baby.
"What is it you don't want them to see?" Steve asks slipping his fingers under Danny's belt and pulling him flush against him. "You taking it, or you wanting it? Or are you just shy about your dick tenting up your pants?"
Steve's chin digs into Danny's shoulder as he looks down to see the truth in his words, the clear outline of Danny's stiff cock. His fingers curl tightly around Danny's belt buckle to stop himself from dragging the heel of his hand down that thick line. He can't trust himself to stop. The burn of the scotch and the fevered heat they’re both casting off have already reduced all the gates Steve tries to keep shut to cinders, every thought tumbling out of his mouth without encountering a single roadblock. But the numbers above the elevator door are ticking closer and closer to their floor and he’s got to pull up on the reins just a little.
"Well, Daniel? What is it you're trying to hide?" he asks instead, lips stop just shy of contact against the shell of Danny's ear.
Danny gasps out a breath held a little too long and pants out, "All of the above, frankly." He is spared further indignity by the ding of the elevator doors opening and the happy miracle that no one else is on the other side. Steve is almost disappointed.
He practically drags Danny down the hall, and nearly snaps off the plastic key card when it fails to register the first two swipes. Danny laughs at him, toe over the edge onto hysteria, pressed like he is between the door and a frustrated SEAL. When the stupid light finally does turns green, Steve is worried the door handle might snap off, he turns it so hard and clumsily.
It's dark in the room, no light except what's filtering in from the open curtains, faint neon and street lights from seventeen stories below. He presses Danny’s chest against the wall, brackets his shoulders with both hands and touches his lips to the thin, hot skin on the back of Danny's neck. Danny groans, drops his head to give Steve more access until he suddenly shoves back against him hard enough to get the space he needs to turn around and push his mouth up against Steve's. Danny tips up on his toes to get closer, overbalances with his arms pulled back like they are, stumbles and curses as the kiss breaks apart. Steve eases him back against the wall again, leans down far enough that all Danny has to do is tilt his head back and let him work their mouths together.
Steve cups the back of Danny's neck, kisses him deep and searching, waits until Danny is pliable under his hands before sliding abruptly down and tugging on the cuffs just hard enough to make Danny hiss.
"Jesus H. Christ, you do everything backwards don't you?" Danny gripes as Steve hauls him away from the wall and back toward the pristine king size bed behind them. "You're supposed to wine and dine me, get us set up with some nice routine fucking and then spring the cuffs and rough sex. You know that, right?"
"Danny." Steve has the other man backed up against the bed, puts two fingers against his shoulder and pushes him hard enough the Danny tips back, bouncing as he falls onto the covers. "You have the right to remain silent."
Danny laughs, hitching his hips further back on the bed. "Exactly my point. You don't slap cuffs on the perp, rough him up and then start mentioning his Miranda rights. Due fucking process, you hear?"
Steve's jacket hits the floor, and he pulls his shirt tails free from his waist and starts on his cuff links. He pins Danny with a gaze, "So you want me to stop and let you out of those and take you to dinner. Is that what you're saying?"
His slips his shirt off and Danny makes a frustrated noise. "No, I'm not saying that. I'm just saying I want you to recognize you have a fucked up order of things."
"I recognize it," Steve says, eyes on Danny's face while he undoes his belt buckle. "So long as you recognize that you get off on it."
Danny's breath shudders its way past his lips as Steve pulls his belt free. "I'm not, technically, you know, getting off. Right now." Steve undoes the button to his slacks and Danny pulls against the cuffs like he forgot they were there. "Jesus, can you-"
"You in a hurry?" Steve drawls, ignoring his own answering spike of adrenaline at Danny's desperation.
"In a hurry?" Danny awkwardly works himself onto his elbows and after a few tries he manages to get into a sitting position so he can glare up at Steve more easily. "No. No, not at all. I mean, my best friend and subject of many a secret masturbatory fantasy just decided to remove any lingering doubts about the vibe between us by fucking handcuffing me and shoving me onto a bed and I'm roughly seventy-five percent sure I'm going to find out this is just a freaking wet dream and wake up tragically alone in my hotel room, but no. By all means, take your fucking time."
At the end of all that bluster and fast talking Danny still makes a soft, hurt noise when Steve pushes his slacks down over his hips. It's training, blessed training, that keeps Steve from showing right away what that noise does to him, how much he wants to cover Danny and hold him down and kiss him blind after he's just admitted wanting this for a long time like an accusation. Like he's the only one feeling that way. When things are overwhelming, the training helpfully tells him, you just need to break them into smaller and smaller steps, make each part of the problem a more attainable goal.
Steve works his feet out of his shoes and steps out of them towards the bed in nothing but his tattoos. Danny pulls his knees up on the bed, spreads them, and his hips hitch like he isn't even aware he's doing it, nudging at empty air in frustration.
"You're checking out of the Hilton tomorrow," Steve announces as he picks up Danny's left foot and starts pulling at the laces. He tugs at Danny’s ankle just hard enough to send him sprawling back against the bed. Attainable goal number one, get Danny out- out of his clothes and out of the fucking Hilton.
"Okay," Danny says.
Steve tosses Danny's dress shoe over his shoulder and starts on the next. "And you're taking all your ties and your button downs and your patent fucking leather shoes and you're putting them in my closet."
"Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir. Can we get on with the fucking show, please, sir?" Danny gripes, toes curling as each of his socks are tugged off.
Steve climbs onto the bed, straddling Danny who moans happily and thrusts up, grinding his dick desperately up against Steve's thigh. Steve shakes his head no and grabs the collar of Danny's shirt and hauls him up until Danny's sitting up and without any leverage.
"And you're going to learn to love the sound of the ocean," Steve says as he pulls Danny’s shirt buttons open one by one. "Cause you're gonna sleep like a baby every fucking night in my bed."
Steve's getting too far ahead of himself, breathing hard as he pushes Danny's shirt down his shoulders to tangle around the cuffs. Doing so brings his face even closer to Danny's and Danny's smile is so razor sharp it cuts right into Steve. Steve orders himself to stick to the plan as he confronts the heat in Danny's gaze, but then Danny's saying, in a voice deep and husky, "Make me," and there is no plan. None at all.
He just grabs Danny's neck and crashes their mouths together, bites and sucks while Danny groans like he's dying, pushing his hips against Steve. Steve puts one palm against Danny's stomach, meaning to push him down and take back control but all he does is follow Danny down to the bed, surrendering the contact he'd been withholding. Danny is furnace hot; a contradiction of a brick wall of solid muscle wrapped in the softness of malasadas nearly every morning and an exercise regimen that could generously be described as haphazard. Arms bound, Danny uses his legs to keep Steve close. Just locks them tight around Steve's waist and Steve's got the hand-to-hand experience to know he couldn't get up if he wanted to, center of balance tipped and realigned right where Danny wants him.
Steve struggles to find the threads of his plan and put his baby steps in back order as he rolls his hips eagerly down to meet Danny's, lets their kiss get dangerously deep. Danny is still wearing his trousers, buckle digging into painfully Steve's stomach but every attempt to pull back and regroup winds up in him getting lost again, spun around in the dark with no frame of reference except the nip of Danny's teeth into his lip.
"Fuck" Danny says, throwing his head back. The taught cords of his neck are suddenly under Steve's mouth, and Steve is just fine with that. "Not that I- shit-" Danny cuts off on a curse as Steve starts sucking a mark on the new skin exposed to him. "Not that I'm not really fucking enjoying this, but we gotta move or risk dislocating my shoulder."
Steve sits up, slips his hands under the small of Danny's back and pulls him upright, taking the pressure off his arms. Danny rolls his shoulders to work out the cramp, and Steve finally has a chance to take in enough air to start thinking again.
"You wanna bring your hands around to the front?" he asks, making short work of Danny's belt and zipper.
"No," Danny says lifting his hips enough for Steve to pull his slacks down. Danny's dick pops free of his boxers, and his stomach pulls in sensitively at the cold rush of air over it. "Nah, I'm good."
The first mini-goal seems pretty well taken care of, Danny is stark naked and perfectly agreeable. Steve starts on the next one: convincing his idiot partner he's not the only one who wants this. Luckily, Steve's got a good idea of just how to prove that.
Steve puts his hands on Danny’s thighs, bending down, and Danny curses, mumbles "shit" softly and sucks in his breath like Steve's about to give him a shot to the kidneys or something, not take his cock in his mouth and start blowing him in earnest. Still, it doesn't take Danny too long to get with the program, to push out the same breath on a whispered, "Fuck, fuck." Danny shifts for him, bends his knees and slowly tucks his legs back, resting his ass on his heels with his toes digging into the bedspread- offering himself up to Steve as much as he can.
Steve shuts his eyes and tries to think as much about breathing as he does about the way Danny tastes, the stretch of his lips over the stiff shaft, the easy slide of soft skin. It's halfway to bliss, all of Danny's attention, every single part of him is tuned on Steve. It would be perfect if not for the nagging problem that the position isn't quite ideal. Danny can’t quite brace himself, has to tip and shift to keep his balance, sometimes rocking back so Steve can't slip down quite as deep as he wants to or loses his rhythm. He can tell it's not a hundred percent for Danny either, and "good enough" is not part of the plan.
He pulls off, lips not numb but not entirely cooperating, wet and swollen, as he says "Danny." It comes out sounding like a plea, and Danny makes a desperate noise in reply.
"Jesus, you-" Danny groans, shoving himself back on the bed so he can fix this for both of them. He trips a little on the tail of his dress shirt, still hanging from the cuffs. Danny curses at it and gathers the fabric in his hands, letting him move up and rest his shoulders against the plush headboard attached to the wall, supporting himself with hands splayed out on the pillows under him, hips lifted at an angle. "Okay?" he asks, and it is. It's pretty fucking fantastic actually, because now Steve can kneel in front of Danny, hold his cock steady with one hand while the other gets full access, cupping his balls and slipping behind even further to tease.
Danny seems to love it, too, whimpering when Steve's fingers stray back. He keeps up a constant stream of oddly sweet profanity to accompany the obscene slick sound of Steve's mouth. "Fucking beautiful. God, babe, yes. Goddamned amazing cocksucker, of course you are. Asshole. Hate you if I wasn't about to fucking die from your mouth. You're so. So. Sweetheart, yes."
Steve happily pushes the limits of his gag reflex, ignores the way his eyes are watering and pushes deep, then deeper. Danny's close, thighs trembling from where they're bracketed around Steve's shoulders, but the biggest clue is when his mouth stops running. For a few moments, Danny manages nothing more than a hushed "oh" every time he slides home into Steve's throat.
"Babe," Danny says, whether as a warning or request, Steve doesn't care. He grabs Danny's hip, fingertips dimpling and gripping Danny's ass, and quickens his pace.
Danny comes with a shout, hitting his head against the wall, arches into Steve's mouth as he fills it, hot and bittersweet. Steve keeps his lips tightly sealed, pulls up as cleanly as possible. Danny convulses in a final, oversensitive shudder and collapses in an ungainly tumble against the headboard as Steve swallows.
Danny shrugs a shoulder up to scratch his cheek against and makes a face. "Ow, God-" he rolls his shoulders, but apparently that doesn't help. "Jeez. You know, somehow I knew that sex with you would be just this side of a really good beating."
Danny folds his legs up against his torso and slips his cuffs to the front, rolling his wrists within the bracelets to see how bad he's strained them. It’s not too bad evidently, because he stops griping and hooks his bound wrists over Steve's neck to pull him down for a kiss. Danny practically sucks the breath from Steve’s lungs, chasing the taste of himself on the back of Steve's tongue. Steve groans and tips Danny back against the bed, rocks his hips, fucking into the groove of muscle. The crystal clear image of that cut of muscle has been appearing unbidden in his thoughts since the morning after the bachelor party, and Steve pushes up on his elbows so he can look down, can't stop the whine that comes from high in his throat as he watches himself dragging over Danny's skin.
"God, if I could fuck you," he moans. He could probably manage it with time, patience, and the little bottle of complimentary hand lotion from the bathroom - but time and patience are things he's running short on right now. "You'd want me to, yeah?"
"Babe, I will actually punch you in the face if it's not the first thing you do when we get home." Danny laughs breathlessly, squeezing his knees into Steve's sides, "And I mean that in the nicest possible way."
"Will," Steve promises. "I will. We're gonna fuck so much, Danny." And it's a stupid thing to say, Danny has every right to throw his head back and laugh because apparently Steve's dick has taken over his mouth, but thing is, Steve sincerely means it.
Steve shoves his hips against Danny's one more time, and pulls away intent on fulfilling that promise just as much as he can manage right now. He slips his head free from under Danny's cuffs, tugs and pulls until Danny is hands and knees. Steve kneels in front of him, cock brushing Danny’s cheek and jaw until he grabs a handful of Danny’s hair to guide him. It’s just the right length to stay gripped in his fingers, but the best thing is that Danny just goes with it. He gets himself braced and lets Steve tip his head up right where he needs him, lets his mouth fall open and wet so that Steve can just slide right in.
Steve's eyes keep reflexively falling shut, but every time he shakes his head and forces them open again, makes himself look down at Danny. Danny's mouth is amazing, but it’s watching him that does Steve in.
"Oh God," he grunts, because it's even hotter than he thought it would be. So much, we’re going to do this so much,, he swears again and his orgasm hits him right then like a down payment on that promise. Steve pushes out a breath like he's been punched to the gut and pulls Danny off by his hair so he can watch himself streak across Danny's collarbone and throat, up all the way onto his cheek.
He wants to tip over and collapse, but there's a plan. A plan with a few things that still need taking care of. Steve's dizzy, but he's also no stranger to oxygen deprivation. He bullies his limbs into cooperating, insisting that they walk him into the bathroom with a minimum amount of banging into walls or furniture. He comes back out with two washcloths, one damp and one dry. He tosses the damp one to Danny and bends down to the floor search his pants pockets for his keys. When he starts to come up out of his crouch, the blood rushes from his head and he nearly topples back and falls on his ass.
Steve touches his hand to temple, blinking away the stars in his vision.
"Hey, hey," Danny says sitting up, looking concerned. "Get back on the bed before you pass out."
Steve's knees happily give way and return him to the bed. A couple of deep breaths are all it takes to get through the worst of it.
He looks up at Danny, who grins down at him. "You don't do nothing by halves, do you, Steven?"
Steve smiles back and pants, "Pot. Kettle."
Danny laughs, "Yeah, maybe. Now," he says, pointedly holding up his wrists, "you mind?"
"I don't know," Steve says, considering the keys in his hands, and then cuffs on Danny's wrists. "I'm kind of getting used to them."
Danny doesn't look a bit impressed. "I don't give a shit if you're getting used to them. There's consent and then there's consent. Or do we need to go over the finer points of unlawful imprisonment again?"
Steve laughs as he turns the key in one bracelet and then the other. Danny goads him on, "Yeah, laugh. You better sleep with one eye open, jerk, or you gonna wake up one day and find out what it's like on the other side."
"I'm a very light sleeper," Steve says, not so much to warn Danny away but rather to let him know that he better bring his A-game when he tries it.
It takes a bit of untangling to get Danny's shirt free and tossed away. Danny winces at the sight of the stretched and wrinkled fabric, "The best man takes responsibility for losing a deposit on the rental, right? At least in this particular case, I thinking. "
Steve only smirks and takes Danny's wrists in his hands, runs a clean, wet corner of the damp wash cloth over the red skin, pats it dry and rubs his thumb over it. The skin is shiny and hot, but unbroken. He gets up again, retrieves the little bottle of lotion and dabs it over the marks, mostly to be on the safe side. Danny patiently allows him his first aid but once the bottle is capped he launches himself at Steve, and pins him to the bed.
Steve's impulse is to try and struggle but Danny pins him with a knee on his thigh and hand planted firmly on his sternum. "Stay there," he growls and Steve goes still without even realizing it.
Danny keeps his weight on Steve until he's completely satisfied that Steve’s not just waiting for the opportunity to counter attack. He spreads both palms over Steve's chest and slides them down with a bone deep sigh. "God, not that I didn't come my fucking brains out about it, but it was hell not getting to just..." Danny's fingers trace lightly over Steve's ink. "Yeah."
Danny touches him everywhere he can reach, cups his throat lightly, thumb scraping over the shadow of stubble on his jaw, over his lips. He slides his hands down Steve's stomach, and Steve flexes obligingly, so that Danny palms bump down the ridges of his abs. He fits Steve's hipbones in his hands, smiles when Steve flinches ticklishly as Danny drags his fingers up his sides. Danny tracks the movement of his own hands over Steve's skin, eyes heavy lidded as they follow them up and then down again. Finally he measures the width of Steve's biceps with his thumb and forefinger and keeps moving down until he can tangle their fingers together. Steve squeezes them tight.
"You meant it, right?" Danny asks out of nowhere.
"Yes," Steve says. There wasn't a thing he said or did tonight they he didn't feel all the way down to his toes. "Meant what?" he asks, just to find out what it is that Danny's doubting.
"About the moving in?"
Steve rolls his eyes. "Danny," he says. He doesn't like the way Danny tenses like he expects bad news, but they can deal with that in time. He tugs at their clasped hands, "I never wanted you to move out. Why the hell did you move out? I didn’t ask you to."
Danny laughs, reaches back to rub his hand over the embarrassed flush creeping up his neck. "Honestly?" Steve nods. "Blue balls, if you believe it."
Steve blinks up at Danny. "Blue-" he starts, but he just throws up his hands in defeat in the face of a pointless conversation. Danny’s moving back in and he’s never leaving again if Steve has anything to say about it. He flips them over so he's got Danny pinned. "Well problem solved, okay?"
Danny nods. "Yeah," he slips his hands into Steve's hair and kisses him. "Okay."