New: Once Upon a Place, Steve/Danny
Title: Once Upon a Place
Author: giddygeek
Pairing: Steve/Danny
Rating: Adult
Notes: ~6100 words, general spoilers; I did go with the idea that Danny's place is a one bedroom, though. It's more wallowy and less whompy than I intended; story of my fic-writing life, really. *g* Many thanks to misspamela for beta.
Warnings: ( skip) None applicable so far as I can judge; let me know if I'm off.
For esteefee. I hope you like it, miss! <3 and many, many thanks to you for your kindness and generosity.
"I am so angry right now," Danny says, calmly, dispassionately. "I would threaten to kill you, I would, but someone already has that covered, someone is working on that probably right as we speak, so I don't need to bother. But I want you to know this, Steven--I would."
Behind Steve, another part of his house collapses.
He doesn't take his eyes off Danny, doesn't even wince, although he does wonder if that was his room? Mary's room? The empty spare room that had been his mother's office, when she was alive? "That seems kind of unfair, at the moment," he says to Danny, instead of turning around to see what's gone.
"Did you set the alarm?" Danny asks. He holds up his hand, counting off on his fingers."Yes? Okay. When you heard a suspicious noise downstairs, did you check the system before you went all Rambo? You did? Very good, I am impressed. Here is the important, this is the good part that I'm getting to--did you call me, or Chin, or Kono, or the HPD, or 911, before you went to go check out the tripped alarm system?"
Steve hesitates.
"Did you call me?" Danny asks, poking Steve in the chest with his free hand, still holding the other one up, three fingers extended; three things Steve was supposed to do so he wouldn't get tazed again in the middle of the night.
Behind him, something else pops, crackles, and collapses.
"No," he admits. Danny throws both of his hands up at that, looks around like he's expecting someone to cheer his victory, and Steve says, "I can't keep Molotov cocktails from coming through my windows by calling you, Danny, okay? I heard the glass shatter while I was still upstairs, all right? I knew--"
"No no no, my friend," Danny says, that half-shouting tone he uses when he's losing it. He jabs Steve in the chest again, both hands this time, knocking him a little off-balance. Steve pushes back into it, then wraps his hands around Danny's wrists and holds on, which barely seems to slow Danny down.
He's full-on shouting now, he's pissed, and Steve can see worry written all over his face, in every line of his body. "You couldn't stop the fire, no, but you could have maybe gotten help here a little sooner, like maybe, you think, before you got God only knows how much smoke in your lungs trying to put this fire our yourself, and this cut on your face, this stupid cut, look at it."
His hands jerk like he's going to reach up, touch Steve's cheek, but he barely even seems to notice Steve's restraining grip on him. "You could have gotten help before this guy over here--thank you, sir--this awesome guy from the fire department came and pulled you out of your burning house before it collapsed on your head?"
Danny is practically panting, his eyes wide, his hands fisted. Steve holds onto his wrists and says, "Danny," helplessly, because he doesn't know what to do with this, all this caring. "I'm okay. Hey, Danny, I'm fine--" and he draws Danny closer, lets go of one of his wrists to wrap an arm over his shoulder. Danny's hand flattens on his chest. Steve leans down, says it again, "I'm fine," and then, "Come here," even though Danny is already there, warm against him.
"The fire department's resources are for rescuing kittens," Danny says after spending a minute visibly struggling to control his temper, catch his breath. Steve curls his arm more tightly over Danny's shoulders. "Kittens, Steve. Not SEALs. This, this was a waste, this was--and on my dime, too, I pay taxes so firefighters can rescue kittens--"
"I'm sorry," Steve says. "I will go find some kittens to rescue tomorrow, I promise. I'll make it up to you."
"It's not just me," Danny says, a little wild. "It's everyone, it's every taxpayer on the island; you're gonna need to deliver rescued kittens personally to each and every one of us to make up for this. In baskets, with, I want bows on their little necks, I want little bells and--"
"Danno."
"Yeah." Danny changes course abruptly, pulling back; Steve lets go of him, drops his arm, unwraps his hand from around Danny's wrist. Danny takes a deep breath, straightening his shoulders--getting himself together. Steve watches him, feels a little more with it himself when Danny runs his hand through his hair, smoothing it back in a familiar way. There's something about knowing Danny, knowing his quirks and tics and tones, that's unsettling and comforting all at once.
Danny reaches out and puts his hand on Steve's arm, a quick double pat. "Yeah. You're right, this is not the time." He looks over Steve's shoulder, winces when something else crashes to the ground. "And this is definitely not the place," he says, and he's walking away from the fire, from the mass of emergency personnel and rescue equipment swarming Steve's house, clearly expecting Steve to follow him. "Come on. You're done here. Let's go."
~~~
Steve was expecting a hotel. He was expecting to take a quick shower, a quick nap, and then head to HQ so he could get to work figuring out who firebombed his house, his house, with the loose handles on the kitchen drawers, and the creaky floorboards in the hallway, and the broken tile in the master bath that he'd been meaning to take care of, and his father's clothes in the attic, his mother's gardening tools.
Danny takes him to his apartment instead.
Steve sits in the passenger seat of the Camaro and stares at Danny's front door, waiting while Danny gets out of the car. He figures maybe Danny wants to grab something before they head to the hotel, wonders if Danny has anything he can borrow to wear, something that doesn't smell like smoke. Danny's too short for his pants to fit, but maybe Danny wouldn't mind if Steve cut something down to shorts. There's a part of him that latches onto the idea of wearing something old and worn out, something of Danny's that's ancient and comfortable and his; it would be kind of nice to--
Danny leans back in his open door and says, "Get out of the car. What, you think I trust you in a hotel tonight? I don't trust you. I don't. Get out." Danny's face is flushed and hard and his eyes are glittering crazily in the glow from the Camaro's instrument panel. That face, that expression of Danny's says that Steve gets out of the car or Danny gets him out. Steve might be confident of his ability to take Danny down most of the time, but not tonight; he gets out of the car.
~~~
"You're sleeping on the air mattress," Danny says, brisk and efficient, when Steve has washed his face and hands and comes back out into the living room. He hands Steve a glass of water, a cookie, the t-shirt from the shave ice stand. "It's a queen, I'll get the sheets and the pump, we'll set you up in Grace's room, you'll sleep like an angel or I'll kill you where you stand."
"Beer?" Steve asks, letting his eyes go wide and hopeful. Danny just takes one look at him and snorts, pokes him with a finger to the chest.
"Beer--like I'd offer you one if I had it? You look like you're about to fall over, you probably inhaled smoke directly to your brain, you think you're getting beer? Drink your water." With that, Danny hands him a straw, pink, twisty, small and chewed at the end. He folds his arms over his chest until Steve capitulates, drinks some of the water, and watches Danny dig the air mattress and pump out. Then Danny stands and holds his hand out, ushering Steve past him into the back room.
Danny had told him once that Grace got the bedroom in Danny's crappy little apartment and Danny slept on the fold-out in the living room because there wasn't a window or exterior door in the bedroom; fuck if Danny was going to let his little girl sleep with nothing between her and the world but a flimsy lock.
So when Danny hustles him into the bedroom, one hand low on his back, the other hand full of plastic and soft sheets and a pillow, Steve feels weirdly protected, like fuck if Danny is going to let him sleep in the living room with nothing between him and the world but that flimsy fucking lock. He's going to sleep with Danny between him and everything. It should be infuriating, it should get him fired up like he's going to kill someone, Danny, everyone, but somehow it...doesn't.
It makes him feel better.
He stands in the corner of Grace's room, drinks the water, eats the cookie, lets Danny set up the air mattress--grumbling the whole time, cursing Steve's name--and then, when Danny's done, he steps forward. He curves his hand over the hard muscle of Danny's shoulder.
"Danny. Hey, Danny, look at me," and he waits until Danny does, eyes dark and frowning, smelling a little like smoke; Steve knows he stinks of it himself, but he's abruptly too tired to care. He squeezes Danny's shoulder and says, "Thank you."
"Thank you, really, thank you for putting you up on my floor for a while after your house burns down?" Danny looks like he's getting ready to amp up again, but then he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, waves his other hand at Steve, dismissive. "Listen, okay, I'll take that once, this one time, that you're thanking me for not sending you to a motel or something like some kind of asshole who doesn't--this one time, I won't yell at you for thanking me," he says, opening his eyes to glare up at Steve, threatening. "But don't ever, ever mention it again, you got that?"
He looks tired and a little flushed. He's rumpled from coming to Steve's rescue in the middle of the night. He seems pissed off because Steve thanked him for doing something Danny probably didn't even think twice about, and now has to acknowledge as a nice thing to do, something someone else might not expect from him.
"Okay," Steve says, and they just stare at each other, quiet. It spins out longer than it should, the way looks between them sometimes do. Steve almost reaches out to Danny again, but checks the movement when Danny shakes his head a little, almost imperceptibly, and takes a step back.
Danny says, "You're welcome," slow and a little bit amused. Then he slips away into the living room, shutting the door only halfway behind him.
After a long, thoughtful moment, Steve puts on the shave ice t-shirt, turns off the light, and settles himself down on the air mattress on the floor. He puts his head on the pillow and folds his arms behind it and looks up at the ceiling, the sliver of light from the living room shifting as Danny paces, talking quietly to someone on his phone; Chin, Steve thinks in a quiet, distant kind of way, and then he's sleeping, dreaming, safe.
~~~
Steve wakes up thirsty and a little disoriented, coming out of a dream about the fire; it was Danny on the living room floor, unconscious, and Steve couldn't get to him no matter how hard he tried. But he knows where he is as soon as he opens his eyes--would know even without Barbie's Dream House at his eye level to remind him.
He gets out of bed carefully, trying not to make too much noise. It's hard to get off an air mattress without disturbing the neighbors, though. He's not exactly surprised to see Danny lying on his side, awake, when he pads into the living room.
Danny sighs at him and says, "McGarrett, hasn't anyone ever put you to bed before? Someone puts you to bed, you stay there. You sleep. No one sees your sorry ass again until breakfast, and only then because they go wake you up."
"I need a drink of water," Steve says, smiling a little and coming to stand beside the sofa bed. Danny rolls onto his back, sheets rustling as he moves. Steve can make him out in the light coming into the room, thinks it must be almost dawn. He can see Danny's eyes glittering, the pale gleam of his chest, the definition in his arms.
"I'll tell you what I tell Gracie when she pulls that trick," Danny says, smirking up at him. "Get your drink and go back to sleep, babe. Being up all hours like this, it'll stunt your growth; go ahead and make a short joke at me, I can take it."
"Nah," Steve says. Danny might not be a tall guy, but pound for pound he's as brawny as Steve is. Short jokes are fun, but they seem a little out of place when a guy is shirtless in bed, strong, solid, and so fucking huge with personality that height doesn't even matter. "Too easy."
Danny snorts at him and threatens, "I'll show you easy," except the way he's sprawling out there in his bed, looking up at Steve, seems almost like an invitation. Steve forces a grin, then makes himself turn around and pad into the kitchen. He gets himself a glass of water, stares at the cupboards while he drinks it, aware of Danny's gaze on him the entire time.
He doesn't want to go back to the air mattress in Grace's room. He'd slept well there, appreciated Danny's gesture and the comfort he was offering. But now he wants something more, a different kind of comfort. He needs something demanding, physical, intense; he'd run, or swim, or find something to blow up, except for how he knows none of that would really help, that what he really wants is Danny.
When he's done with the water, he puts his glass in the sink, walks out of the kitchen, and climbs into Danny's bed.
He doesn't pay attention when Danny tries to complain, because Danny is moving over, making room. He doesn't object when Steve comes to rest against him, half over him, feeling the warmth of Danny's skin through the borrowed t-shirt he's wearing, feeling the strength of him, feeling the thickness of Danny's cock against his hip. He ignores Danny's grumbling, because Danny slips an arm behind him, hand on his side under his shirt, and holds him; Danny's bitching, but he doesn't mean a word of it.
"This is not good timing," Danny says, one hand clenching on Steve's side. "I know that, but you scared--getting the call tonight, seeing you with that mask on, with this," and his fingers are lightly tracing the cut on Steve's cheek, before carding through his hair to barely brush over the back of his head, the tender spot where he'd been hit by a piece of falling wood, "Seeing this--Steve, you've gotta know--"
"I'm not here for good timing." Steve searches Danny's eyes; from this close, even in the darkness, they're a crisp, bright blue like Steve's never seen on anyone else. Steve's not sure he's ever seen the look in them on anyone else, either. It's strange, and almost too much, and exactly what he knew he'd see one day, when they finally crossed the line from aggressive flirting and showing off to pushing against each other, naked and wanting.
Steve looks down at Danny in the darkness for a long moment, touching him, feeling Danny impatient and worried and ready to go all at once. He says, "I'm here for this, Danny," and finally leans down to kiss him.
~~~
There's a moment where Steve thinks he waited too long, that he waited so long he's desperate for it in a way that's going to get him tossed out of the bed and the apartment and Danny's life. He's got Danny on top of him, pushing against his hip, and he's got an arm wrapped around Danny's back, a hand fisted in his hair, his mouth on Danny's; as much contact as he can get, and it's not enough.
"Fuck me," he says, pulling back just enough to get the words out. "Come on, come on, do it."
Danny's hips stutter to a halt. He looks down at Steve with his hair wrecked and wild, his lips gleaming wetly, eyes shadowed. Steve feels it like a punch to the gut, how bad he needs this. He should've asked for it months ago, the first time he noticed the gleam of sweat in the hollow of Danny's throat above his loosened tie, really seen him. As it is, now he's so far gone that he probably won't last through the first shallow push of Danny's cock inside him. He thinks it will be too much, and still not enough.
He waited too long for a meaningless, friendly fuck and now he wants more, wants everything, and wants it all at once; Danny inside him, over him, under him. He wants to push his fingers into Danny's mouth and feel Danny lick them, then wants to open Danny up with them, with just that. He wants to kiss Danny for another hour, until the sun comes up, and maybe until it's gone back down again.
"You're a mess, you know that?" Danny says, but he's smiling a little, soft. "Do it, he says, like I wouldn't--but you gotta," and he's pushing back against the hold Steve has on him, his thighs moving, his hips against Steve's shifting, "I gotta get up, I need lube, I need a condom--don't even give me that face, we're not doing anything without them. I know you, McGarrett, I'd be setting myself up for a lifetime of lube-free barebacking that I'm just not equipped to handle. Let me up."
Steve can't argue that, and lets him up.
Danny leans down to kiss him before he gets out of the bed, slick and hot and too slow. Steve fists himself, makes it obvious and showy, so that Danny laughs and says, "Yeah, I'm hurrying," before he heads for the bathroom, his bare back and ass gleaming in the low morning light.
He does hurry, makes a lot of noise in the medicine cabinet before he comes back to stand beside the bed, watching Steve watch him. Steve rubs the palm of his hand against the cut of his own hipbone, jacks himself off slowly with the other hand, just to see what it'll get him; Danny licks his lips and then bites the bottom one a little, shaking his head.
"Is this some kind of mating display?" he asks, voice shot. "Did you learn this at SEAL school or something? I'm just saying, it seems kind of dangerous. I'm not sure I want to distract you--"
"I'm not exactly defusing a bomb down here." Steve shifts lazily on the thin mattress of Danny's bed. He fingers the head of his cock and Danny licks his lips again, kneels on the mattress, watching with intense focus.
Danny's hand joins his, bumping against his fingers on the downstroke, tangling with them and stilling them. Danny looks up at him and raises his eyebrows, teasing. His grip is tight, but he looks like he's barely holding himself back. Steve finds himself grinning, squeezing his fingers, as Danny hovers there beside him and says, "Maybe not, but you are taking up most of the bed, there isn't a lot of space left for me. How's that going to work, huh?"
"I saved you a spot," Steve says, and spreads his legs.
Danny stares at him, then laughs a little, shaky and breathless. "Forget SEAL school, forget everything I said about it, because I refuse to believe you didn't get that line from gay porn," he says, but he's finally, finally moving.
He settles against Steve with his weight on one hip, leaving himself room between Steve's thighs. He pops the cap on the lube and dribbles some out onto Steve's stomach; Steve hisses as his abs twitch. "Sorry, babe," Danny says, but he isn't. He's grinning a little, surprisingly sweet. He's rubbing Steve's belly with three fingers, though, getting them wet and pushing down in a way that makes Steve's hips push back up instinctively.
Then one of those slick fingers is inside him, and another; the third one slides in more slowly, careful, working him open while Steve watches Danny's face and listens to him talk, a long stream of words and a soft grunt when Steve clenches down on him.
"You know, if I'd wanted this to take a year--" Steve complains, almost surprised by how wrecked his own voice is, but not at all surprised by how he feels when Danny looks back into his eyes and then moves, his fingers sliding out of Steve as he kneels up and lubes his cock, slick shining on the condom, on his hands.
"It did take a year," Danny says, and then he's pushing inside Steve, a long, steady push that isn't at all what Steve had expected, is more than he expected, is almost, almost--
Danny kisses him again as he bottoms out. He puts a hand on the side of Steve's face and holds himself there with trembling muscles while Steve just pants against his mouth for a second before kissing him back. There it goes, that's it; Steve wouldn't have guessed that was all he needed, but it's exactly what he wanted.
He hadn't waited too long after all.
~~~
Steve wakes up a little more slowly the next time around, a little more pleasurably. Danny's sofa bed isn't the most comfortable thing on the planet--the air mattress was better--and the light coming in his windows is too bright, harsh. He smells like smoke and sweat, and it isn't exactly unpleasant, but it isn't great either.
The way they're all tangled up together, though, it's good. It's nothing but good. He shifts, enjoying the press and slide of his skin across Danny's where they're touching, and turns his head to find Danny watching him.
"That is how you do being put to bed, babe," Danny murmurs when Steve catches his eye. He reaches out, presses his thumb against the corner of Steve's eye, tracing the fine lines there that crease up when Steve smiles, slides his hand down to cup Steve's cheek.
Steve considers him, considers everything that's happened and what he has to get up and do. He should already be at their headquarters, leaning over the computer table and watching Chin work it like a crystal ball. He should be getting out of bed, getting into the shower; he should be leaving this behind.
He rolls over instead, gets on top of Danny and settles between his thighs, comfortable and easy like they've done this a hundred times before. He turns his head to bite lightly at the base of Danny's thumb.
"I'll show you how I do it," he says, and kisses his way down Danny's body. He chases the smoke smells and sleep smells and biting lightly at the places where he finds them until Danny is straining against him and groaning his name, and they don't get out of bed, not for a long, long while.
~~~
"You'll never believe it," Chin says when they finally hit headquarters a little after ten in the morning, hours later than Steve had planned. He looks up from the table with wide eyes, takes them in quickly and smirks a little; Steve can't guess what he sees, but isn't surprised he sees it.
He quirks an eyebrow at Chin, a silent question while he heads for his ammo locker, nods approvingly at Kono strapping on her ankle holster on the way. Chin huffs out a disbelieving breath and crosses his arms over his chest, cocks his hip, says, "We got prints."
Everyone stops and looks at him; Kono with her second ankle holster ready to be strapped on, Steve with a hand grenade in his pocket, Danny with his hands on his hips and a rant about ordnance ready to go. "Prints?" Kono says, bemused. "Like, actual fingerprints?"
Chin nods. "Actual fingerprints."
Danny licks his lips, bites his tongue for a second the way he does when he's about to say something he can't believe he's saying. "Usable fingerprints?"
"Usable fingerprints."
Everyone looks at each other, bewildered. "Do they...belong to some guy who's been dead for 15 years?" Steve asks, wondering where the trick is, the deeper conspiracy; they can't have actual, usable fingerprints for the assholes who burned down his house, it can't be that easy unless it's like, opposites day, or the end of the world.
Except Chin is shaking his head, no. "They belong to two guys who are alive, well, and in custody right now," he says. He goes to the table and with another look at each other, the rest of the team gathers around it. They watch as Chin pulls up a couple photographs, mug shots; two thick-necked, beefy guys who look like they couldn't plan a liquor store robbery, let alone an attack on a Navy SEAL who happens to be the OIC of a task force like 5-0.
"Meet the Clark brothers," Chin says, sighing. "Well-known to the HPD for being the masterminds behind such activities as hunting without a license, drinking too much, having a lot of junk cars on their property, and generally being, I quote, rednecks. They were aiming for Mrs. O'Brien's house." Chin looks up at the rest of the team, meets Steve's confused gaze, shrugs. "Seriously. Mrs. O'Brien's house. Because she won't give their mother the recipe for her famous Irish soda bread."
Danny crosses his arms over his chest. "This was about Irish soda bread?"
"Famous Irish soda bread," Chin repeats, and pulls up a report; there it is in black and white; the Clark brothers state their belief that everyone knows about Mrs. O'Brien's famous Irish soda bread, and they wanted to give their mother the recipe for her birthday, and Mrs. O'Brien wouldn't share.
Danny is biting his tongue again, his arms crossed so tightly over his chest that it can't be comfortable. Steve takes a step closer to him, and Danny warns him off with a glare, snaps, "They couldn't get a recipe so they fire-bombed her house?"
"So they fire-bombed her house," Chin confirms, and pulls up a photo of the wreckage that is Steve's place. "Except it wasn't her house. It was the house of US Naval Commander McGarrett, SEAL, head of Hawaii Five-0--"
"And general bad-ass," Kono says.
"And general bad-ass." Chin looks at Steve impassively. "They had no idea. They're really sorry."
"They don't even know sorry," Danny says, and he stalks out the door.
~~~
Danny is already in the interrogation room when the team reaches the holding cells. Steve goes to follow him in, and Chin touches his arm, says, "Wait. Danny needs this." Steve looks at the door of the interrogation room, thinks about the loss of his house, about poor Mrs. O'Brien and what could have happened to her, thinks about Danny in there with those assholes, alone. Then he nods, and leads Chin and Kono into the observation room.
Danny is pacing back and forth. "Because of you morons, I've had this goof sleeping on my floor," he says. "The guy whose house you burned down. Him. Do you assholes know how much floor he takes up? A lot. He also uses a lot of hot water, eats a lot of food, drinks a lot of beer, and snores. He has been a major disruption to my life. So before you apologize to him for burning down his house, when what you meant to do was burn down the house of his nice old-lady neighbor, you should apologize to me for the inconvenience. Do you understand me?
Bob Clark blinks at him.
Chin says, "By all reports, Bob is the smart one," and Steve can believe it, but thinks that's still not saying much, since Joshie looks like a guy who makes an L with his hands to tell left from right, and still gets it wrong.
Danny crosses his arms over his chest and raises his eyebrows, waiting.
"Uh, sorry?" Bob offers.
"For?"
Bob and Joshie look at each other. "For the...inconvenience?"
"And?"
"...the beer?"
"Thank you," Danny says, seriously. "Now I am going to let Commander McGarrett into the room. I am pretty sure that he has gotten over the more violent part of his rage, but do not fuck with him, because I don't want to arrange for a cleaning service to come in here and mop you off the walls if he hasn't. He keeps grenades in my car, his car, his pants, and his beer cooler, okay, so just--don't fuck with him."
The Clark brothers are looking a little pale. Danny leans over the table, gets right in their faces. "And apologize," he says, with strained, heavy patience. "Beg him to forgive you, boys. Beg, plead, promise that you will come out of jail better men; men who will mow Mrs. O'Brien's lawn and paint her fence and rake her beach from the day you're released until the end of time. Promise him that, and he might forgive you, okay. Okay? Good."
He leans a little closer, says, "Very good, because let me tell you this, let me make you a promise in return. If Commander McGarrett decides to forgive you, I might let you live. Might. I mean, you took years off my life with this little stunt, years, and I will remember that for a very long time. I will remember that, and where you live, and where your mother lives, and where your mother's dog lives, but I won't do anything with what I'm remembering--you understand?"
The Clark brothers don't look like they understand.
Steve, standing in the observation room, probably doesn't look like he understands, either. No one who's listening to Danny's threats should be smiling, but he's grinning from ear to ear, beaming like an idiot. Beaming like a lovesick idiot, and he knows it. He's going to have to keep his hands in his pockets when he passes Danny on his way into the interrogation room; otherwise, how is he going to keep them off him?
The Clark brothers, they might not understand what they're hearing in there, might think they're hearing threats all out of proportion with the seriousness of their crime, threats Danny would never make good on, because although Danny is ferocious and angry, he's also a cop. But what Steve is hearing is a fucking declaration, a statement of intent, an oath to protect and defend and remember damage done, and it's the nicest thing anyone has ever promised him in his life.
Bob Clark says, slowly, "We're...really sorry? We swear?" and Danny stands straight, looks up at the ceiling, sighs.
"I wish you were smart enough to be pissing your pants," he says, sadly, like he really feels bad for the Clark brothers that they're too dumb for the right amount of terror.
And then he's done.
Danny leaves the interrogation room and Steve hears him in the hall, turns toward the door. Danny opens it and looks at him. His color is up, cheeks flushed, eyes glittering pale, clear blue in contrast. Steve looks back and knows that everything he's feeling is showing on his face, that everything he thinks about Danny is right there. He lets it happen, because he can't help it, because Danny deserves to know, and he can tell that Danny gets it; he takes a long, slow breath, and smiles.
"Hey," he says, voice soft, and Steve takes a step toward him, says, "Hey," back, hopeless, fond.
"I, uh, I softened them up for you," Danny says, jerking his thumb towards the interrogation room. "Not that they were all that tough to start with, but, you know, I thought maybe I'd help you out."
"Thank you," Steve says.
"You're welcome," Danny says, and then he looks at Steve's hands in his pockets, Steve feet away from him and not moving closer, not moving, and his face breaks out into a broad, joyful smile. He says, "You goof," and comes into the observation room, slams the door behind him. He stalks over to Steve, and pulls him down to kiss him with a hand warm and strong on the back of his neck.
Steve smiles into the kiss, takes his hands out of his pockets and fills them up with Danny, one on his hip, holding tight, and one on the small of his back, keeping him close.
"Uh," Kono says. "Bosses?"
"Yeah," Steve says, pulling back. He doesn't look away from Danny, who is still smiling at him, a little more flushed now but a lot less nuclear-option. "Why don't you handle this, Kono?" he says. "I got more important things to do."
And then he hauls Danny out of the observation room by his tie, Danny grinning and griping at him, not even hesitating to come with him, no hesitation at all. They go, they're gone, while Kono laughs like a hyena, Chin tips his head down to hide his smile, all quiet amusement and affection, and the Clark brothers nervously sweat away, waiting for the opportunity to be forgiven.
~~~
"You lied to the Clark brothers," Steve says, crowding up behind Danny while waiting impatiently for him to open the door of his apartment. The complex is half-abandoned at this time of day, most everyone at work. The early afternoon sun is beating down on the back of Steve's neck, too hot; it reminds him a little of standing outside his house in the middle of the night and feeling the heat of the flames baking behind him.
"I didn't even." Danny seems to be taking his own sweet time with the door. "I don't lie to petty criminals, Steve. I meant every word of it."
"Not about what you'd do to them." Fed up with waiting, Steve puts his hand on the door frame, leans down to nuzzle behind Danny's ear, kiss the soft skin of the corner of his jaw. Danny smells good, like soap and cologne and a bit like sweat. It makes Steve crazy with the need to get more of that smell, to get it up close and personal, soon, now, ASAP. He bites at Danny's skin, just a little, a nip that won't even leave a mark, and Danny makes a soft sound like it hurt, but he tilts his head like he'd let Steve do it again.
Steve does, careful, experimenting with pressure and the scrape of his teeth, and Danny finally unlocks the door, smooth and easy; he was totally messing with Steve before, with all the fumbling and "Oh not this key." He's just that kind of a jerk--and it's one of his best qualities.
They hustle inside. It's cooler and dark inside Danny's tiny little apartment. The sheets are still tangled on the sofa bed.
"You lied about me," Steve says. "I mean, I haven't taken up all that much of your floor, or eaten your food, or drunk all your beer. I haven't had the time."
"That's true," Danny murmurs, looking up at him with watchful eyes.
"But I would," Steve says, tightening his grip, trying to convey everything with his hands, with his voice, with the look in his own eyes. "If you'd let me."
"Babe, I'd let you do a lot worse than that," Danny says, quirking a smile at him, and Steve drags him down onto the bed so he can prove it.
~~~
Steve's worst is pretty good; long, slow thrusts that have Danny half-crazy under him, making insane demands and trying to egg Steve on with insults, breathless and critical commentary about his style, his technique, the size of his dick. Steve just keeps grinning down at him, remembering him leaning toward the Clark brothers, incandescent with anger and fucking beautiful while he reamed them out for causing him aggravation and worry.
"I'll go faster, if you ask me to stay with you while I build a new house," Steve says. He traps Danny's hips in his hands, holds them tight, his palms cupped over the sharp bones and strong muscles.
"Maybe I will, maybe I won't," Danny says. He licks his lips and pants as Steve nudges deeper, deeper inside him. "Depends--oh--depends on what you're gonna ask me to do after it's done."
Steve pauses, tilts his head. Danny's looking up at him all glazed eyes and challenge; Steve slides his hands higher up Danny's sweat-slick body, feels him pulling in deep, quick breaths. "Ask me to stay with you, and afterwards I'll return the favor," Steve bargains, and then says something even he doesn't understand when Danny lifts his hips, pushes back at him.
"Oh, so you're saying you'll let me stay with you if my place gets firebombed by morons? Generous, McGarrett--"
"Rebuild the place with me, and then come stay," Steve says, a little frustrated; is Danny deliberately being obtuse, or does he need words Steve can't say yet? Steve shakes his head, resettles himself, takes a deep breath and tries again. "What I'm asking you here is to come home with me."
Danny looks up at him, studies him for a long time. Long enough that Steve gets nervous, shifts against him, afraid of what he's going to say, afraid enough that his next worry is about losing his goddamned erection; Danny would never let him live down that indignity.
Before it can become a problem, Danny smiles, tightens the grip of his thighs against Steve's hips to pull him even closer. "Absolutely," he says, then pulls Steve down to kiss him, mouth hot and panting against his. "But you're buying your own damn beer."
~~~
Author: giddygeek
Pairing: Steve/Danny
Rating: Adult
Notes: ~6100 words, general spoilers; I did go with the idea that Danny's place is a one bedroom, though. It's more wallowy and less whompy than I intended; story of my fic-writing life, really. *g* Many thanks to misspamela for beta.
Warnings: ( skip) None applicable so far as I can judge; let me know if I'm off.
For esteefee. I hope you like it, miss! <3 and many, many thanks to you for your kindness and generosity.
"I am so angry right now," Danny says, calmly, dispassionately. "I would threaten to kill you, I would, but someone already has that covered, someone is working on that probably right as we speak, so I don't need to bother. But I want you to know this, Steven--I would."
Behind Steve, another part of his house collapses.
He doesn't take his eyes off Danny, doesn't even wince, although he does wonder if that was his room? Mary's room? The empty spare room that had been his mother's office, when she was alive? "That seems kind of unfair, at the moment," he says to Danny, instead of turning around to see what's gone.
"Did you set the alarm?" Danny asks. He holds up his hand, counting off on his fingers."Yes? Okay. When you heard a suspicious noise downstairs, did you check the system before you went all Rambo? You did? Very good, I am impressed. Here is the important, this is the good part that I'm getting to--did you call me, or Chin, or Kono, or the HPD, or 911, before you went to go check out the tripped alarm system?"
Steve hesitates.
"Did you call me?" Danny asks, poking Steve in the chest with his free hand, still holding the other one up, three fingers extended; three things Steve was supposed to do so he wouldn't get tazed again in the middle of the night.
Behind him, something else pops, crackles, and collapses.
"No," he admits. Danny throws both of his hands up at that, looks around like he's expecting someone to cheer his victory, and Steve says, "I can't keep Molotov cocktails from coming through my windows by calling you, Danny, okay? I heard the glass shatter while I was still upstairs, all right? I knew--"
"No no no, my friend," Danny says, that half-shouting tone he uses when he's losing it. He jabs Steve in the chest again, both hands this time, knocking him a little off-balance. Steve pushes back into it, then wraps his hands around Danny's wrists and holds on, which barely seems to slow Danny down.
He's full-on shouting now, he's pissed, and Steve can see worry written all over his face, in every line of his body. "You couldn't stop the fire, no, but you could have maybe gotten help here a little sooner, like maybe, you think, before you got God only knows how much smoke in your lungs trying to put this fire our yourself, and this cut on your face, this stupid cut, look at it."
His hands jerk like he's going to reach up, touch Steve's cheek, but he barely even seems to notice Steve's restraining grip on him. "You could have gotten help before this guy over here--thank you, sir--this awesome guy from the fire department came and pulled you out of your burning house before it collapsed on your head?"
Danny is practically panting, his eyes wide, his hands fisted. Steve holds onto his wrists and says, "Danny," helplessly, because he doesn't know what to do with this, all this caring. "I'm okay. Hey, Danny, I'm fine--" and he draws Danny closer, lets go of one of his wrists to wrap an arm over his shoulder. Danny's hand flattens on his chest. Steve leans down, says it again, "I'm fine," and then, "Come here," even though Danny is already there, warm against him.
"The fire department's resources are for rescuing kittens," Danny says after spending a minute visibly struggling to control his temper, catch his breath. Steve curls his arm more tightly over Danny's shoulders. "Kittens, Steve. Not SEALs. This, this was a waste, this was--and on my dime, too, I pay taxes so firefighters can rescue kittens--"
"I'm sorry," Steve says. "I will go find some kittens to rescue tomorrow, I promise. I'll make it up to you."
"It's not just me," Danny says, a little wild. "It's everyone, it's every taxpayer on the island; you're gonna need to deliver rescued kittens personally to each and every one of us to make up for this. In baskets, with, I want bows on their little necks, I want little bells and--"
"Danno."
"Yeah." Danny changes course abruptly, pulling back; Steve lets go of him, drops his arm, unwraps his hand from around Danny's wrist. Danny takes a deep breath, straightening his shoulders--getting himself together. Steve watches him, feels a little more with it himself when Danny runs his hand through his hair, smoothing it back in a familiar way. There's something about knowing Danny, knowing his quirks and tics and tones, that's unsettling and comforting all at once.
Danny reaches out and puts his hand on Steve's arm, a quick double pat. "Yeah. You're right, this is not the time." He looks over Steve's shoulder, winces when something else crashes to the ground. "And this is definitely not the place," he says, and he's walking away from the fire, from the mass of emergency personnel and rescue equipment swarming Steve's house, clearly expecting Steve to follow him. "Come on. You're done here. Let's go."
~~~
Steve was expecting a hotel. He was expecting to take a quick shower, a quick nap, and then head to HQ so he could get to work figuring out who firebombed his house, his house, with the loose handles on the kitchen drawers, and the creaky floorboards in the hallway, and the broken tile in the master bath that he'd been meaning to take care of, and his father's clothes in the attic, his mother's gardening tools.
Danny takes him to his apartment instead.
Steve sits in the passenger seat of the Camaro and stares at Danny's front door, waiting while Danny gets out of the car. He figures maybe Danny wants to grab something before they head to the hotel, wonders if Danny has anything he can borrow to wear, something that doesn't smell like smoke. Danny's too short for his pants to fit, but maybe Danny wouldn't mind if Steve cut something down to shorts. There's a part of him that latches onto the idea of wearing something old and worn out, something of Danny's that's ancient and comfortable and his; it would be kind of nice to--
Danny leans back in his open door and says, "Get out of the car. What, you think I trust you in a hotel tonight? I don't trust you. I don't. Get out." Danny's face is flushed and hard and his eyes are glittering crazily in the glow from the Camaro's instrument panel. That face, that expression of Danny's says that Steve gets out of the car or Danny gets him out. Steve might be confident of his ability to take Danny down most of the time, but not tonight; he gets out of the car.
~~~
"You're sleeping on the air mattress," Danny says, brisk and efficient, when Steve has washed his face and hands and comes back out into the living room. He hands Steve a glass of water, a cookie, the t-shirt from the shave ice stand. "It's a queen, I'll get the sheets and the pump, we'll set you up in Grace's room, you'll sleep like an angel or I'll kill you where you stand."
"Beer?" Steve asks, letting his eyes go wide and hopeful. Danny just takes one look at him and snorts, pokes him with a finger to the chest.
"Beer--like I'd offer you one if I had it? You look like you're about to fall over, you probably inhaled smoke directly to your brain, you think you're getting beer? Drink your water." With that, Danny hands him a straw, pink, twisty, small and chewed at the end. He folds his arms over his chest until Steve capitulates, drinks some of the water, and watches Danny dig the air mattress and pump out. Then Danny stands and holds his hand out, ushering Steve past him into the back room.
Danny had told him once that Grace got the bedroom in Danny's crappy little apartment and Danny slept on the fold-out in the living room because there wasn't a window or exterior door in the bedroom; fuck if Danny was going to let his little girl sleep with nothing between her and the world but a flimsy lock.
So when Danny hustles him into the bedroom, one hand low on his back, the other hand full of plastic and soft sheets and a pillow, Steve feels weirdly protected, like fuck if Danny is going to let him sleep in the living room with nothing between him and the world but that flimsy fucking lock. He's going to sleep with Danny between him and everything. It should be infuriating, it should get him fired up like he's going to kill someone, Danny, everyone, but somehow it...doesn't.
It makes him feel better.
He stands in the corner of Grace's room, drinks the water, eats the cookie, lets Danny set up the air mattress--grumbling the whole time, cursing Steve's name--and then, when Danny's done, he steps forward. He curves his hand over the hard muscle of Danny's shoulder.
"Danny. Hey, Danny, look at me," and he waits until Danny does, eyes dark and frowning, smelling a little like smoke; Steve knows he stinks of it himself, but he's abruptly too tired to care. He squeezes Danny's shoulder and says, "Thank you."
"Thank you, really, thank you for putting you up on my floor for a while after your house burns down?" Danny looks like he's getting ready to amp up again, but then he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, waves his other hand at Steve, dismissive. "Listen, okay, I'll take that once, this one time, that you're thanking me for not sending you to a motel or something like some kind of asshole who doesn't--this one time, I won't yell at you for thanking me," he says, opening his eyes to glare up at Steve, threatening. "But don't ever, ever mention it again, you got that?"
He looks tired and a little flushed. He's rumpled from coming to Steve's rescue in the middle of the night. He seems pissed off because Steve thanked him for doing something Danny probably didn't even think twice about, and now has to acknowledge as a nice thing to do, something someone else might not expect from him.
"Okay," Steve says, and they just stare at each other, quiet. It spins out longer than it should, the way looks between them sometimes do. Steve almost reaches out to Danny again, but checks the movement when Danny shakes his head a little, almost imperceptibly, and takes a step back.
Danny says, "You're welcome," slow and a little bit amused. Then he slips away into the living room, shutting the door only halfway behind him.
After a long, thoughtful moment, Steve puts on the shave ice t-shirt, turns off the light, and settles himself down on the air mattress on the floor. He puts his head on the pillow and folds his arms behind it and looks up at the ceiling, the sliver of light from the living room shifting as Danny paces, talking quietly to someone on his phone; Chin, Steve thinks in a quiet, distant kind of way, and then he's sleeping, dreaming, safe.
~~~
Steve wakes up thirsty and a little disoriented, coming out of a dream about the fire; it was Danny on the living room floor, unconscious, and Steve couldn't get to him no matter how hard he tried. But he knows where he is as soon as he opens his eyes--would know even without Barbie's Dream House at his eye level to remind him.
He gets out of bed carefully, trying not to make too much noise. It's hard to get off an air mattress without disturbing the neighbors, though. He's not exactly surprised to see Danny lying on his side, awake, when he pads into the living room.
Danny sighs at him and says, "McGarrett, hasn't anyone ever put you to bed before? Someone puts you to bed, you stay there. You sleep. No one sees your sorry ass again until breakfast, and only then because they go wake you up."
"I need a drink of water," Steve says, smiling a little and coming to stand beside the sofa bed. Danny rolls onto his back, sheets rustling as he moves. Steve can make him out in the light coming into the room, thinks it must be almost dawn. He can see Danny's eyes glittering, the pale gleam of his chest, the definition in his arms.
"I'll tell you what I tell Gracie when she pulls that trick," Danny says, smirking up at him. "Get your drink and go back to sleep, babe. Being up all hours like this, it'll stunt your growth; go ahead and make a short joke at me, I can take it."
"Nah," Steve says. Danny might not be a tall guy, but pound for pound he's as brawny as Steve is. Short jokes are fun, but they seem a little out of place when a guy is shirtless in bed, strong, solid, and so fucking huge with personality that height doesn't even matter. "Too easy."
Danny snorts at him and threatens, "I'll show you easy," except the way he's sprawling out there in his bed, looking up at Steve, seems almost like an invitation. Steve forces a grin, then makes himself turn around and pad into the kitchen. He gets himself a glass of water, stares at the cupboards while he drinks it, aware of Danny's gaze on him the entire time.
He doesn't want to go back to the air mattress in Grace's room. He'd slept well there, appreciated Danny's gesture and the comfort he was offering. But now he wants something more, a different kind of comfort. He needs something demanding, physical, intense; he'd run, or swim, or find something to blow up, except for how he knows none of that would really help, that what he really wants is Danny.
When he's done with the water, he puts his glass in the sink, walks out of the kitchen, and climbs into Danny's bed.
He doesn't pay attention when Danny tries to complain, because Danny is moving over, making room. He doesn't object when Steve comes to rest against him, half over him, feeling the warmth of Danny's skin through the borrowed t-shirt he's wearing, feeling the strength of him, feeling the thickness of Danny's cock against his hip. He ignores Danny's grumbling, because Danny slips an arm behind him, hand on his side under his shirt, and holds him; Danny's bitching, but he doesn't mean a word of it.
"This is not good timing," Danny says, one hand clenching on Steve's side. "I know that, but you scared--getting the call tonight, seeing you with that mask on, with this," and his fingers are lightly tracing the cut on Steve's cheek, before carding through his hair to barely brush over the back of his head, the tender spot where he'd been hit by a piece of falling wood, "Seeing this--Steve, you've gotta know--"
"I'm not here for good timing." Steve searches Danny's eyes; from this close, even in the darkness, they're a crisp, bright blue like Steve's never seen on anyone else. Steve's not sure he's ever seen the look in them on anyone else, either. It's strange, and almost too much, and exactly what he knew he'd see one day, when they finally crossed the line from aggressive flirting and showing off to pushing against each other, naked and wanting.
Steve looks down at Danny in the darkness for a long moment, touching him, feeling Danny impatient and worried and ready to go all at once. He says, "I'm here for this, Danny," and finally leans down to kiss him.
~~~
There's a moment where Steve thinks he waited too long, that he waited so long he's desperate for it in a way that's going to get him tossed out of the bed and the apartment and Danny's life. He's got Danny on top of him, pushing against his hip, and he's got an arm wrapped around Danny's back, a hand fisted in his hair, his mouth on Danny's; as much contact as he can get, and it's not enough.
"Fuck me," he says, pulling back just enough to get the words out. "Come on, come on, do it."
Danny's hips stutter to a halt. He looks down at Steve with his hair wrecked and wild, his lips gleaming wetly, eyes shadowed. Steve feels it like a punch to the gut, how bad he needs this. He should've asked for it months ago, the first time he noticed the gleam of sweat in the hollow of Danny's throat above his loosened tie, really seen him. As it is, now he's so far gone that he probably won't last through the first shallow push of Danny's cock inside him. He thinks it will be too much, and still not enough.
He waited too long for a meaningless, friendly fuck and now he wants more, wants everything, and wants it all at once; Danny inside him, over him, under him. He wants to push his fingers into Danny's mouth and feel Danny lick them, then wants to open Danny up with them, with just that. He wants to kiss Danny for another hour, until the sun comes up, and maybe until it's gone back down again.
"You're a mess, you know that?" Danny says, but he's smiling a little, soft. "Do it, he says, like I wouldn't--but you gotta," and he's pushing back against the hold Steve has on him, his thighs moving, his hips against Steve's shifting, "I gotta get up, I need lube, I need a condom--don't even give me that face, we're not doing anything without them. I know you, McGarrett, I'd be setting myself up for a lifetime of lube-free barebacking that I'm just not equipped to handle. Let me up."
Steve can't argue that, and lets him up.
Danny leans down to kiss him before he gets out of the bed, slick and hot and too slow. Steve fists himself, makes it obvious and showy, so that Danny laughs and says, "Yeah, I'm hurrying," before he heads for the bathroom, his bare back and ass gleaming in the low morning light.
He does hurry, makes a lot of noise in the medicine cabinet before he comes back to stand beside the bed, watching Steve watch him. Steve rubs the palm of his hand against the cut of his own hipbone, jacks himself off slowly with the other hand, just to see what it'll get him; Danny licks his lips and then bites the bottom one a little, shaking his head.
"Is this some kind of mating display?" he asks, voice shot. "Did you learn this at SEAL school or something? I'm just saying, it seems kind of dangerous. I'm not sure I want to distract you--"
"I'm not exactly defusing a bomb down here." Steve shifts lazily on the thin mattress of Danny's bed. He fingers the head of his cock and Danny licks his lips again, kneels on the mattress, watching with intense focus.
Danny's hand joins his, bumping against his fingers on the downstroke, tangling with them and stilling them. Danny looks up at him and raises his eyebrows, teasing. His grip is tight, but he looks like he's barely holding himself back. Steve finds himself grinning, squeezing his fingers, as Danny hovers there beside him and says, "Maybe not, but you are taking up most of the bed, there isn't a lot of space left for me. How's that going to work, huh?"
"I saved you a spot," Steve says, and spreads his legs.
Danny stares at him, then laughs a little, shaky and breathless. "Forget SEAL school, forget everything I said about it, because I refuse to believe you didn't get that line from gay porn," he says, but he's finally, finally moving.
He settles against Steve with his weight on one hip, leaving himself room between Steve's thighs. He pops the cap on the lube and dribbles some out onto Steve's stomach; Steve hisses as his abs twitch. "Sorry, babe," Danny says, but he isn't. He's grinning a little, surprisingly sweet. He's rubbing Steve's belly with three fingers, though, getting them wet and pushing down in a way that makes Steve's hips push back up instinctively.
Then one of those slick fingers is inside him, and another; the third one slides in more slowly, careful, working him open while Steve watches Danny's face and listens to him talk, a long stream of words and a soft grunt when Steve clenches down on him.
"You know, if I'd wanted this to take a year--" Steve complains, almost surprised by how wrecked his own voice is, but not at all surprised by how he feels when Danny looks back into his eyes and then moves, his fingers sliding out of Steve as he kneels up and lubes his cock, slick shining on the condom, on his hands.
"It did take a year," Danny says, and then he's pushing inside Steve, a long, steady push that isn't at all what Steve had expected, is more than he expected, is almost, almost--
Danny kisses him again as he bottoms out. He puts a hand on the side of Steve's face and holds himself there with trembling muscles while Steve just pants against his mouth for a second before kissing him back. There it goes, that's it; Steve wouldn't have guessed that was all he needed, but it's exactly what he wanted.
He hadn't waited too long after all.
~~~
Steve wakes up a little more slowly the next time around, a little more pleasurably. Danny's sofa bed isn't the most comfortable thing on the planet--the air mattress was better--and the light coming in his windows is too bright, harsh. He smells like smoke and sweat, and it isn't exactly unpleasant, but it isn't great either.
The way they're all tangled up together, though, it's good. It's nothing but good. He shifts, enjoying the press and slide of his skin across Danny's where they're touching, and turns his head to find Danny watching him.
"That is how you do being put to bed, babe," Danny murmurs when Steve catches his eye. He reaches out, presses his thumb against the corner of Steve's eye, tracing the fine lines there that crease up when Steve smiles, slides his hand down to cup Steve's cheek.
Steve considers him, considers everything that's happened and what he has to get up and do. He should already be at their headquarters, leaning over the computer table and watching Chin work it like a crystal ball. He should be getting out of bed, getting into the shower; he should be leaving this behind.
He rolls over instead, gets on top of Danny and settles between his thighs, comfortable and easy like they've done this a hundred times before. He turns his head to bite lightly at the base of Danny's thumb.
"I'll show you how I do it," he says, and kisses his way down Danny's body. He chases the smoke smells and sleep smells and biting lightly at the places where he finds them until Danny is straining against him and groaning his name, and they don't get out of bed, not for a long, long while.
~~~
"You'll never believe it," Chin says when they finally hit headquarters a little after ten in the morning, hours later than Steve had planned. He looks up from the table with wide eyes, takes them in quickly and smirks a little; Steve can't guess what he sees, but isn't surprised he sees it.
He quirks an eyebrow at Chin, a silent question while he heads for his ammo locker, nods approvingly at Kono strapping on her ankle holster on the way. Chin huffs out a disbelieving breath and crosses his arms over his chest, cocks his hip, says, "We got prints."
Everyone stops and looks at him; Kono with her second ankle holster ready to be strapped on, Steve with a hand grenade in his pocket, Danny with his hands on his hips and a rant about ordnance ready to go. "Prints?" Kono says, bemused. "Like, actual fingerprints?"
Chin nods. "Actual fingerprints."
Danny licks his lips, bites his tongue for a second the way he does when he's about to say something he can't believe he's saying. "Usable fingerprints?"
"Usable fingerprints."
Everyone looks at each other, bewildered. "Do they...belong to some guy who's been dead for 15 years?" Steve asks, wondering where the trick is, the deeper conspiracy; they can't have actual, usable fingerprints for the assholes who burned down his house, it can't be that easy unless it's like, opposites day, or the end of the world.
Except Chin is shaking his head, no. "They belong to two guys who are alive, well, and in custody right now," he says. He goes to the table and with another look at each other, the rest of the team gathers around it. They watch as Chin pulls up a couple photographs, mug shots; two thick-necked, beefy guys who look like they couldn't plan a liquor store robbery, let alone an attack on a Navy SEAL who happens to be the OIC of a task force like 5-0.
"Meet the Clark brothers," Chin says, sighing. "Well-known to the HPD for being the masterminds behind such activities as hunting without a license, drinking too much, having a lot of junk cars on their property, and generally being, I quote, rednecks. They were aiming for Mrs. O'Brien's house." Chin looks up at the rest of the team, meets Steve's confused gaze, shrugs. "Seriously. Mrs. O'Brien's house. Because she won't give their mother the recipe for her famous Irish soda bread."
Danny crosses his arms over his chest. "This was about Irish soda bread?"
"Famous Irish soda bread," Chin repeats, and pulls up a report; there it is in black and white; the Clark brothers state their belief that everyone knows about Mrs. O'Brien's famous Irish soda bread, and they wanted to give their mother the recipe for her birthday, and Mrs. O'Brien wouldn't share.
Danny is biting his tongue again, his arms crossed so tightly over his chest that it can't be comfortable. Steve takes a step closer to him, and Danny warns him off with a glare, snaps, "They couldn't get a recipe so they fire-bombed her house?"
"So they fire-bombed her house," Chin confirms, and pulls up a photo of the wreckage that is Steve's place. "Except it wasn't her house. It was the house of US Naval Commander McGarrett, SEAL, head of Hawaii Five-0--"
"And general bad-ass," Kono says.
"And general bad-ass." Chin looks at Steve impassively. "They had no idea. They're really sorry."
"They don't even know sorry," Danny says, and he stalks out the door.
~~~
Danny is already in the interrogation room when the team reaches the holding cells. Steve goes to follow him in, and Chin touches his arm, says, "Wait. Danny needs this." Steve looks at the door of the interrogation room, thinks about the loss of his house, about poor Mrs. O'Brien and what could have happened to her, thinks about Danny in there with those assholes, alone. Then he nods, and leads Chin and Kono into the observation room.
Danny is pacing back and forth. "Because of you morons, I've had this goof sleeping on my floor," he says. "The guy whose house you burned down. Him. Do you assholes know how much floor he takes up? A lot. He also uses a lot of hot water, eats a lot of food, drinks a lot of beer, and snores. He has been a major disruption to my life. So before you apologize to him for burning down his house, when what you meant to do was burn down the house of his nice old-lady neighbor, you should apologize to me for the inconvenience. Do you understand me?
Bob Clark blinks at him.
Chin says, "By all reports, Bob is the smart one," and Steve can believe it, but thinks that's still not saying much, since Joshie looks like a guy who makes an L with his hands to tell left from right, and still gets it wrong.
Danny crosses his arms over his chest and raises his eyebrows, waiting.
"Uh, sorry?" Bob offers.
"For?"
Bob and Joshie look at each other. "For the...inconvenience?"
"And?"
"...the beer?"
"Thank you," Danny says, seriously. "Now I am going to let Commander McGarrett into the room. I am pretty sure that he has gotten over the more violent part of his rage, but do not fuck with him, because I don't want to arrange for a cleaning service to come in here and mop you off the walls if he hasn't. He keeps grenades in my car, his car, his pants, and his beer cooler, okay, so just--don't fuck with him."
The Clark brothers are looking a little pale. Danny leans over the table, gets right in their faces. "And apologize," he says, with strained, heavy patience. "Beg him to forgive you, boys. Beg, plead, promise that you will come out of jail better men; men who will mow Mrs. O'Brien's lawn and paint her fence and rake her beach from the day you're released until the end of time. Promise him that, and he might forgive you, okay. Okay? Good."
He leans a little closer, says, "Very good, because let me tell you this, let me make you a promise in return. If Commander McGarrett decides to forgive you, I might let you live. Might. I mean, you took years off my life with this little stunt, years, and I will remember that for a very long time. I will remember that, and where you live, and where your mother lives, and where your mother's dog lives, but I won't do anything with what I'm remembering--you understand?"
The Clark brothers don't look like they understand.
Steve, standing in the observation room, probably doesn't look like he understands, either. No one who's listening to Danny's threats should be smiling, but he's grinning from ear to ear, beaming like an idiot. Beaming like a lovesick idiot, and he knows it. He's going to have to keep his hands in his pockets when he passes Danny on his way into the interrogation room; otherwise, how is he going to keep them off him?
The Clark brothers, they might not understand what they're hearing in there, might think they're hearing threats all out of proportion with the seriousness of their crime, threats Danny would never make good on, because although Danny is ferocious and angry, he's also a cop. But what Steve is hearing is a fucking declaration, a statement of intent, an oath to protect and defend and remember damage done, and it's the nicest thing anyone has ever promised him in his life.
Bob Clark says, slowly, "We're...really sorry? We swear?" and Danny stands straight, looks up at the ceiling, sighs.
"I wish you were smart enough to be pissing your pants," he says, sadly, like he really feels bad for the Clark brothers that they're too dumb for the right amount of terror.
And then he's done.
Danny leaves the interrogation room and Steve hears him in the hall, turns toward the door. Danny opens it and looks at him. His color is up, cheeks flushed, eyes glittering pale, clear blue in contrast. Steve looks back and knows that everything he's feeling is showing on his face, that everything he thinks about Danny is right there. He lets it happen, because he can't help it, because Danny deserves to know, and he can tell that Danny gets it; he takes a long, slow breath, and smiles.
"Hey," he says, voice soft, and Steve takes a step toward him, says, "Hey," back, hopeless, fond.
"I, uh, I softened them up for you," Danny says, jerking his thumb towards the interrogation room. "Not that they were all that tough to start with, but, you know, I thought maybe I'd help you out."
"Thank you," Steve says.
"You're welcome," Danny says, and then he looks at Steve's hands in his pockets, Steve feet away from him and not moving closer, not moving, and his face breaks out into a broad, joyful smile. He says, "You goof," and comes into the observation room, slams the door behind him. He stalks over to Steve, and pulls him down to kiss him with a hand warm and strong on the back of his neck.
Steve smiles into the kiss, takes his hands out of his pockets and fills them up with Danny, one on his hip, holding tight, and one on the small of his back, keeping him close.
"Uh," Kono says. "Bosses?"
"Yeah," Steve says, pulling back. He doesn't look away from Danny, who is still smiling at him, a little more flushed now but a lot less nuclear-option. "Why don't you handle this, Kono?" he says. "I got more important things to do."
And then he hauls Danny out of the observation room by his tie, Danny grinning and griping at him, not even hesitating to come with him, no hesitation at all. They go, they're gone, while Kono laughs like a hyena, Chin tips his head down to hide his smile, all quiet amusement and affection, and the Clark brothers nervously sweat away, waiting for the opportunity to be forgiven.
~~~
"You lied to the Clark brothers," Steve says, crowding up behind Danny while waiting impatiently for him to open the door of his apartment. The complex is half-abandoned at this time of day, most everyone at work. The early afternoon sun is beating down on the back of Steve's neck, too hot; it reminds him a little of standing outside his house in the middle of the night and feeling the heat of the flames baking behind him.
"I didn't even." Danny seems to be taking his own sweet time with the door. "I don't lie to petty criminals, Steve. I meant every word of it."
"Not about what you'd do to them." Fed up with waiting, Steve puts his hand on the door frame, leans down to nuzzle behind Danny's ear, kiss the soft skin of the corner of his jaw. Danny smells good, like soap and cologne and a bit like sweat. It makes Steve crazy with the need to get more of that smell, to get it up close and personal, soon, now, ASAP. He bites at Danny's skin, just a little, a nip that won't even leave a mark, and Danny makes a soft sound like it hurt, but he tilts his head like he'd let Steve do it again.
Steve does, careful, experimenting with pressure and the scrape of his teeth, and Danny finally unlocks the door, smooth and easy; he was totally messing with Steve before, with all the fumbling and "Oh not this key." He's just that kind of a jerk--and it's one of his best qualities.
They hustle inside. It's cooler and dark inside Danny's tiny little apartment. The sheets are still tangled on the sofa bed.
"You lied about me," Steve says. "I mean, I haven't taken up all that much of your floor, or eaten your food, or drunk all your beer. I haven't had the time."
"That's true," Danny murmurs, looking up at him with watchful eyes.
"But I would," Steve says, tightening his grip, trying to convey everything with his hands, with his voice, with the look in his own eyes. "If you'd let me."
"Babe, I'd let you do a lot worse than that," Danny says, quirking a smile at him, and Steve drags him down onto the bed so he can prove it.
~~~
Steve's worst is pretty good; long, slow thrusts that have Danny half-crazy under him, making insane demands and trying to egg Steve on with insults, breathless and critical commentary about his style, his technique, the size of his dick. Steve just keeps grinning down at him, remembering him leaning toward the Clark brothers, incandescent with anger and fucking beautiful while he reamed them out for causing him aggravation and worry.
"I'll go faster, if you ask me to stay with you while I build a new house," Steve says. He traps Danny's hips in his hands, holds them tight, his palms cupped over the sharp bones and strong muscles.
"Maybe I will, maybe I won't," Danny says. He licks his lips and pants as Steve nudges deeper, deeper inside him. "Depends--oh--depends on what you're gonna ask me to do after it's done."
Steve pauses, tilts his head. Danny's looking up at him all glazed eyes and challenge; Steve slides his hands higher up Danny's sweat-slick body, feels him pulling in deep, quick breaths. "Ask me to stay with you, and afterwards I'll return the favor," Steve bargains, and then says something even he doesn't understand when Danny lifts his hips, pushes back at him.
"Oh, so you're saying you'll let me stay with you if my place gets firebombed by morons? Generous, McGarrett--"
"Rebuild the place with me, and then come stay," Steve says, a little frustrated; is Danny deliberately being obtuse, or does he need words Steve can't say yet? Steve shakes his head, resettles himself, takes a deep breath and tries again. "What I'm asking you here is to come home with me."
Danny looks up at him, studies him for a long time. Long enough that Steve gets nervous, shifts against him, afraid of what he's going to say, afraid enough that his next worry is about losing his goddamned erection; Danny would never let him live down that indignity.
Before it can become a problem, Danny smiles, tightens the grip of his thighs against Steve's hips to pull him even closer. "Absolutely," he says, then pulls Steve down to kiss him, mouth hot and panting against his. "But you're buying your own damn beer."
~~~