Post 3.01 - The McGarrett Family Home

[gonna_owe_me]

It doesn't come as any kind of surprise to her that she hasn't been able to stop thinking about Steve.

Neither does the fact that those thoughts come with a hefty side-helping of guilt. She should have known those trees were too close to the window. She should have been faster, more alert. Maybe they could have caught him, if she'd been doing the damn job Steve told her to do, if she'd done it the way he thought she could.

No surprise there: like she told him, she's not a bodyguard. She's a long way from basic, or doing anything that isn't in a gym or in front of a computer, and he doesn't blame her, but in some ways that just makes it worse.

So she puts in her request for leave right away, requests the weekend, and it's granted without too many hoops to jump through, but she's got to give up her Friday night and part of Saturday morning, which is fine, too. All she needs is to change, find a pair of shorts and a breezy, teal-colored top that hangs loose off her shoulders. Slides a pair of sandals on, brushes out her hair, washes her face, puts on a little makeup. She skips the gym, but throws running shoes, shorts, and a sports bra into the little bag she packs, along with a swimsuit, before slinging it over a shoulder and hitting the pavement.

The sun is high and hot, and she stops at a food truck, first, grabs two cardboard boxes, steaming with a scent that makes her stomach rumble and curl in on itself, before hailing a cab and sliding into the too-warm, hot polyester scented backseat, and giving the address.

It's been a while since she's been here. Cab rolling off in a faint crunch of gravel, leaving her with the tote over her arm, the food in her hand, looking up at the house with eyes squinting in the sun.

Doris left last night. Right? That gives Steve last evening, all night, and this morning to do his thing, be alone, brood if he wants to, deal with the admittedly ridiculous hand he's been given, and she'd have respected that, even if she didn't have to work, which is why she didn't call or text, just let him be, but it's daylight now, and it's gorgeous out, and there's only so much alone time Steve can really take. No matter what he might think.

Leading her up the path to the door, to knock, adjusting the slippery straps of her shirt, brushing hair out of her eyes as she waits. Rearranging her expression just like she does her makeup, or her clothes, so that when the door opens, she's got nothing there but a smile and the usual pleased light at seeing him.

Comments

[haole_cop]

"Yeah, there's that, too."

The badge he wears, the things he's not supposed to do. People he isn't supposed to want. Not because Steve is a guy. Because Steve is his partner. Because Steve is, in all the ways that matter in a situation like this, his boss.

Steve's fingers, leaving his hair, allowing Danny to shift. Not missing them, exactly. Glad for the ability to move, because now that the first words are out and they're actually, sort of, talking about this, he wants to leave the warm curve of Steve's neck and prop himself up enough to look down and see Steve's face, meet his eyes. The hardest part is done, starting. Now it's a conversation. Kind of.

Sure. It has Steve rubbing at his eyes, talking in a tone that's less dejected and more resigned, knowing what's coming and not looking forward to it, but not avoiding it, either, and Danny's sort of relieved that Steve picked that part to continue with, and not the others. Isn't telling him you're crazy, Danny, or lifting his eyebrows incredulously at the bizarre leaps of non-logic Danny can take with such perfect ease.

All of that is awful, alright. But it's awful in a time that hasn't happened yet, whereas this part -- Cath, knowing. Them knowing. Because they do. They know this shouldn't be happening, and not for any subjective personal reason, alright. Because it is actually against the rules. The Book. The one Danny loves and clings to with an iron grip, because the things that happen when he doesn't scare the crap out of him. To be frank.

Not that he wants Steve shaking his head or rubbing at his forehead, but as reactions go, it's not terrible. The room is quiet and his head is calming down and they're still here, with everything to acknowledge, if not talk about. Rules. Definitions. Who knows. Who should know. What they'll say when people keep asking about the girlfriend Kono thinks he has, or when the others assume Cath is staying with Steve. "There are plenty of people who will definitely agree with her if they find out."

If. Because who knows if they'll end up telling anyone. The idea starts a cold wash skating over his heart -- it's one more step, a serious step. Telling people. Making it real, outside this house. Bringing it into work, into the few parts of their lives that are separate.

Like telling Grace.

Like telling Rachel.

Like having it show up in one of his court appearances, or being used as ammunition by one of Rachel's attorneys. Because it will. It's too good for them to not use. Upstanding cop? You mean this guy? The one sleeping with his boss?

Yeah. He can't wait for that to get added to the reasons why he's unfit to parent his daughter.

[thebesteverseen]

He know's Danny's moving, it's more than half the reason he cracks his eyes open, again. To see where to and how far away. Even if it just brings him even further up short on the whole need to breathe in or out at all. Watching Danny settle. Not away, just a little more upright. Propped so he has to see Danny's face now. That cautious, worried, uncertain expression that tries to just unfoot the hell out of Steve.

Because it looks like it's waiting on him. Probably is with those words. And what does he even have?

They both know where that goes. That there aren't any good path's past the words he just used. There are capital 'R' rules for a reason. So the line don't get blurred. So you don't over or under react, and you don't jeopardize the job for unprofessional reasons. The whole reason cops recuse themselves from cases with friends or family. Because judgement is blown. Beyond recognition, beyond the ability to be objective.

"If they find out," Steve said, middle of the road, hand awkwardly settling somewhere not back in Danny's hair, against his raised shoulders. Aware it was the last thing that sounded at all good, or smart, or wise. For either of their lives. Any of their job. Cath might yell, but Cath, also, wouldn't take it any further. She wouldn't do anything about it. Wouldn't threaten him. Anger and disappointment would the highest price to bear there.

Because everything here is blown beyond objective. It's not just good clean fun. There's no understanding that they'll just get up, and shake hands, and call it good times. Walk away and just look back and say. What? That it was fun? When the words that kept coming out, the few of them their were, weren't those ones. Were as far from those as you could get

Still possible. I want to be with you.

I want you. Only you.

Could he even walk away now? Now that his mind couldn't forget. The feel of Danny's fingers, beyond his wrist or like a ward against his chest stopping him. Danny's voice, turning the two syllables of his name into something to make the ground crumble. Did they even have a choice? When it was clear. Absolutely clear, there was only one path in front of them, and it wasn't the one they were on.

When he knows all that is in this face, and those words, and the, what, fear, Danny believes he has it in himself to hate Danny. When wanting Danny -- respecting him and working with him, seeing all that he was, went through, chose to do in spite of pain or past, feeling this thing fisting all of the inside of his chest -- is something that's defined him at least half as long as Five-0. When looking at this face makes him so aware. He's breaking every rule, and that's wrong. But this doesn't feel like that. Wrong.

Wanting Danny doesn't feel wrong any more. It did for so long. Every single thought worse than desperate and dirty. But not when Danny's hand is still on him, and he's staring at him. Even without a single helpful answer for every question in Danny's words unasked. To take it might be wrong to so many people, but wanting Danny more than anything he's wanted for himself in ages longer than he can remember. That doesn't feel wrong.

The last thing he wants to do is lose any part of his life. His job, his military career. But how's he supposed to consider that if the cost is Danny?

[haole_cop]

"You don't think they will eventually?"

He's dubious, but it's a real question. Because, well. These things come out. They always do. By accident, if not on purpose. They spend too much time together, interact with too many people to make it a safe bet that no one will notice.

Like Kono, and Chin. Who are two of the best detectives Danny's ever worked with. The only reason they haven't already worked it out is because they wouldn't have any reason to suspect that the marks on Danny's neck were from anyone other than Gabby or some other girl.

But, eventually. If this keeps happening. If it somehow, miraculously, doesn't stop. If Steve keeps meaning and believing those words. If he doesn't decide to say no thanks to Danny's.

He's not exactly advocating heading to Dennings' office tomorrow morning and filling out the required paperwork, or having that conversation that he feels, a little uncomfortably, should probably have been had a week ago, but the idea of telling people pings just as wrong as the idea of not. Like if they don't, he might somehow been seen as being ashamed of it. He's not. Could never. Blown away, yes. Overwhelmed, sure. Terrified, definitely.

But ashamed?

Never. Never. Not of Steve. Never of Steve. Who is so much better than he gives himself credit for, because he takes credit in all the things people already see: the talent, the skill, the fearless and absolute loyalty to his duty. He doesn't ever see the way his heart gets taken away from him on the cases where kids get hurt, or parents are killed. He doesn't notice how above and beyond his care of the team is. How generous he can be. Compassionate, even. How nothing touches any member of his team, any of his people, without Steve taking swift action against it, and doing everything he can, personally, to improve the situation.

"I'm not saying we ought to go have a chat with Dennings tomorrow, but I get the feeling that people finding out by accident might be worse than the alternative. At the very least, Kono would definitely hit at least one of us."

It's sort of meant to be light-hearted, but it comes out tense and contracting along with the sudden painful compression in his chest. He might not be ashamed, but he is, alright, afraid. Right now, this is just theirs. Only them. In this together. There's time to figure things out, steps that can be tripped over, and it only screws with them, and no one else.

Bringing other people into it raises the stakes instantly, terribly. And he's not sure he's anywhere near ready for that. The best he can do is deflect it, like he did in the car, with Doris. I'm seeing someone.

We're taking it slow.

Yeah. Slow like an avalanche.

[thebesteverseen]

It's not something you do. Have this conversation. Consider the idea there's a different way of looking at the box. The small space this room is, that feels like it's getting smaller, the more Danny stares him, the more Danny says. Like it's absolutely logical. Like this is anything at all like everything else he's done in his life. Like it all lines up and there won't be problems. Wouldn't be repercussions.

That some things are better not talked about, simply because that's the whole truth of the matter. That's how you handle them. Silently.

Steve's face isn't doing him any favors, turning over and over it all too fast, watching him, close, but further without even moving. The way Danny's talking about this like somehow this part is any more simple, and not epically worse to even consider, no less discuss, than whatever started this. Danny thinking Steve could hate him made more sense than considering announcing this.

To anyone. Especially to Dennings. He didn't even have a handle yet on what he was going to tell Cath, or when that was.

"Because you managed to figure any of this out so easily?" Which might be a little low, but it's a holding point, too. Danny didn't figure it out and he'd been at Steve's side nearly every time he wasn't sleeping, or with Grace. Didn't know. Sputtered at Steve like this was beyond impossible the first minute after being kissed. How. How was it even possible. That Steve would be interested. In him. In anything like this. Had ever looked at a man, no less his partner, in that way.

Hadn't figured out that it had been so long. Hadn't even known about other people Steve might have seen during the time they'd known each other.

It's not that he enjoyed lying to Danny. It's not that pressed to put it into words, he'd ever even agree he did lie to Danny. He didn't. He never once negated it wasn't there. It didn't come up. It didn't need to. He managed it. It wasn't like he wanted to lie to Chin or Kono, or well, he could give a rat's ass about Denning's opinion, so long as Denning's wasn't stripping Danny of his position, or dragging him from Five-0, for this, but sometimes people didn't need to know.

Hadn't Danny just been pointing it wasn't even two weeks and it beyond fast. What if it burned out in less than another two?
Cath. Cath was a badly timed accident. He hadn't known Danny would be coming. If he had, she wouldn't have still been here.

[haole_cop]

"Ouch."

He doesn't even not really mean it. Look. He gets that he probably should have noticed. Detective, paid to notice exactly these kind of things, and it was happening right under his nose. It's embarrassing, alright? "Okay, fine, I don't actually think that's a good idea, alright? I just thought I would point out that it is, occasionally, a hazard, and will probably show up at some point. You know, if."

Which is a sentence he doesn't want to finish, because there's no good way for it to go. If this doesn't go down in flames. If Steve doesn't change his mind.

If Danny doesn't get pulled away to Vegas.

Because that's there. It's possible. Maybe even probable. And that would shut all this down without having to tell anybody at all.

So it might never come to that, which is why it's best just to not continue with that train of thought. He hates secrets, but there are times when they need to be kept. He'd managed to keep things with Rachel under wraps even from Steve. He can do it again.

Even if he hates the idea of pretending. Like it might somehow make any of this less real, just because it isn't out in the world. Like it somehow devalues this. Which is the last damn thing he wants. When it's the only thing aside from Grace and the job keeping him sane. When it's so much to ask for, but somehow, is being given. Offered. Freely. Like someone just handing a starving man a loaf of bread and a check for thirty thousand dollars.

There's no stopping Cath knowing, now, but he's fairly sure Cath won't tell.

At least, he hopes not.

[thebesteverseen]

He won't apologize for the comment. He has no regret for it. It served him at the time. The rest of it being things he hadn't thought Danny needed or wanted to know. And if anything, he's closer to wondering if he hadn't would this have all started sooner. Could he have drawn this all out of Danny himself? Would it still have been like this, if it hadn't been Danny in his living, being so glaringly honest Danny would never even see it for the kind of bravery it was?

Or would it have all just ended that much sooner? Would he be on the other side of it, with his only knowledge of it looking back?

When Steve's not ready to be looking back. Not ready for however this whole thing ends. Or what it takes with it when it goes.

"If?" It stumbles out of his mouth, more frustrated challenge than resignation, before he can press it flat enough in his mouth. Make it slide down his throat and get caught in the fist that's presently holding all of his intestine. Somewhere under Danny's other arm, resting on him.

When he knows, has, holds, too many of those himself. Every single thing that is not Danny, right here in front of him feels like it fills up that words. Every option, that involves any step from this one where they are at this very second, that could slam a dead end at them without warning. Every single part of this house, looming everywhere, that could have had another life, almost thirty years ago.

[haole_cop]

"If it doesn't blow up in our faces."

It's almost matter-of-fact. The kind of thing he used to always say, bemoan to Steve, during the few times he actually talked about Gabby that weren't limited to she's fine or that things were okay. Which was always an exaggeration, right, because nothing about Gabby suggests that anything anywhere might be blowing up. She was sweet and pretty and smart and classy, but she was never a wrecking ball sort of person.

Steve is. If this goes down, it's going down in flames. There's no other way, because Danny already pointed out that casual really isn't his game and Steve is essentially a walking talking truck full of propane with a casually lit match headed its way.

He's honestly not sure which is worse, when it comes to dizzyingly stressful thoughts: the idea that this is going to end, and end badly, or that it won't.

But it's not just him. Something Steve had to remind him of, that he's conscious of this whole time, now. Especially when Steve's stomach tightens under Danny's, in a way that makes the hand that had traveled to his shoulder slide back to his side, thumb pressing gently into muscles that are clenching, giving him away even if his voice isn't. Even if his face weren't.

Except it is. It's painted right across him, again, that same look from earlier. Some heartwrenching mix of hopefulness and caution and frustration that dropkicks Danny's heart right through his ribs. Steve shouldn't be looking at him like this. Steve should never have. This shouldn't have happened, wasn't supposed to happen. Steve wasn't supposed to kiss him in the living room.

But he did. And is. And he's still here.

Danny doesn't want to jinx it. Feels like if he breathes too hard, talks too much, says the wrong things, he will. "Which is not something I want to think too hard about or look for in this particular moment."

[thebesteverseen]

Fingers skate down across his ribs and settle on his stomach, causing the muscles to flutter. Tenser where Danny stops again, and then slowly, marginally, looser against Danny rubbing his fingers in. He can't even say when that tensed up. And when did this flip. When did Danny start looking at him like he was the one having a problem with this that needed coaxing, instead of the other way around from Steve tugging at him until he gave.

Which is just a little more frustrating on top of all of it. Because it isn't. He knew. Right? When he kissed Danny. How short this road probably was. Long walk, short pier, and he hadn't cared. Didn't care. Didn't want to. Not when Danny is looking at him the way he is right now. This complex mess of caution and reassurance, resignation and will. Making Steve drag his hands up. From that loose awkward hold on Danny's shoulder, up his neck, wrapping there, two fingers up across his chin, looking at his face.

That was the problem wasn't it. With his face. Everything, everything that meant so much of anything here, was tangled up right here. In knowing Danny always had his back. That Danny would never let anything slide if it shouldn't. That he'd hold his ground, and get in Steve's face. That he was every stop gap and warning system and even every part of every good things Steve had here. Job, and what little of any 'real life' there might be.

"No?" Steve prompted a little, one side of his mouth tugging slightly, ruefully, upward. Almost sardonic.

He considered sliding his thumb against Danny's skin, but didn't move, except to tilt his own head and raise his eyebrows.

"I should get an award for that, shouldn't I?" Stupidly, light and trite, even if his face stays a little more serious than the words or tone should go with it. "That there's something you, and your five thousands words, don't actually want to take apart and talk about until the horse is dead." Until they pressed on the seams of this too hard, and they both had to admit they shouldn't be here. Right here. Naked and wrapped around each other. Closer than breathing.

But weren't going. Were courting a deep disaster than bad taste jokes. For a few more seconds. A few more minutes. Another night.

[haole_cop]

It's so stupid, but he can't help it. Smiling. Little and goofy and it's just this absurd, insane affection, this bizarre fondness for his partner and best friend, who has spent more hours dragging Danny out of his own head than he really wants to consider.

It's pulling at his mouth, tugging the corners up and out, lips together until they have to open because he's laughing low under his breath. Eyes creasing, tracking over Steve's face. "Hey, you're the one who opened the floor."

The one who said talk to me, Danny, when Danny would have been more than happy to just let it all go, try to forget it, buried there in Steve's skin and the curve of his neck. "From what I remember, I was pretty fine right where I was. And busy."

His free hand lifts to find the one Steve's got at his chin, and he ducks his head a little, eyes leaving Steve's briefly, while he concentrates, runs lips along one finger, pauses, takes the tip in his mouth between light teeth, and lets it go again after a second's focus. Every breath deliberate.

Because he's not going anywhere right now, and neither is Steve, and that's what he wants. To be right here. To get to kiss fingertips, and the thin skin just above Steve's pulse, and his mouth, and his shoulder.

Who would be in a hurry to leave any of this?

The rules can throw themselves out a window. He doesn't care. Doesn't give a shit what the Governor thinks, what the military thinks. Kono and Chin's opinions would matter, but he has enough respect for Kono and Chin to think they wouldn't argue. Anyone who would say this shouldn't, can't happen can die in a fire. Screw the rules. None of them mean anything compared to this. Compared to the way Steve is looking at him, heavy-lidded eyes and faint smiles, warm and wanting and still just this side of dubious.

It's Steve. They throw out all the rules anyway.

And rules can't hold a candle to the taste of Steve's skin when he leans down to find his collarbone, track it light with his mouth, before pushing back up, just far enough to kiss him. Still trying to keep his smile under check. Even now, even with all this, even with questions and no answers and rules and not knowing.

He can't help it. It's a stupid giddy bubble, and his lips are still tugging when he's leaning to kiss him again. "See, I knew I got interrupted from something."

[thebesteverseen]

There's that smile. The one that makes a bad joke utterly worth saying, utterly worth smacking seriousness a little upside the head crooked. Where Danny is literally calling him on it and laughing at him, like there's several hundred dozen screws loose wrong with his head, but somehow he's gotten used to it, gotten to like it. And Steve, Steve would love to touch that smile, taste it.

If it weren't for the fact his chest caves in surprise seconds later. Air unimportant. When there are lips and teeth against his finger, and the only movement he's doing at at all is shifting his wrist so it isn't twinging. Listening to his heart trip into a pounding hard. Just long enough to feel like something in his veins popped before Danny lets go. Cold air and released like a sudden secondary shock, surging through all of him.

Before Danny is leaning back down, lips and tongue on his collarbone when Steve's fingers are pushing back into his hair, holding on, and he might be biting down against his lip. Not because it's too much. But because how the hell. Seriously. How the hell would he ever make it. Getting up and walking away from this. From Danny. Maybe. If Danny came to his senses.

Danny, and that hand that ends up at his wrist or shoulder or flat on his chest. Holding him back better than any solid, cement wall. Telling him to cool the hell down and back the hell off. That they don't kill people and they have due process and rules. Danny, who keeps him straighter than he's ever needed to keep himself. Danny, who could stop him, if he need to be, had to be.

Danny who's not going to stop him. Not with still possible still shaking through Steve's head so much more than his words about hating him. Danny whose choice is somehow him. Leaning down and kissing his skin, hollowing out whatever the hell had built up behind his breastbone, filling his head with all that noise and darkness. With one moment.

Lifting with that smile still on his face. Like someone how if he keeps his mouth straight Steve won't see it. In the crinkles at the edges of his eyes. Won't know it'd be in all the blue of his eyes if there was any light left in this room to see them. He knows. He knows all of it. He knows it's there just in the way Danny holds his head, and breathes in. The way his weight is settled.

The lighter, more prodding, teasing tone of his voice. The way he takes the second to taunt Steve, before kissing him again. Finally.

"Burn the floor," Steve said, against his mouth, whenever that first second burst back through from the necessity of mapping Danny's mouth. Thick and dark, against Danny's mouth. Fingers still in his hair, pulling Danny down toward him. His other hand, pushing himself up, into Danny. Back. Back, closer. Like the words and the thoughts and every eventuality got too close, made too much, and it can all burn.

To a blackened crisp. Until it's all gone. Forgotten. Until it's just Danny. "I don't want anything else."

Even if it isn't absolutely true, about Five-0, about the Navy, it's still true. Too. He doesn't want anything else.

Anything less than all of this, every single second and minute he could have of it. Of Danny. In his hands. His bed. His life.

[haole_cop]

If he can't help the smile, he definitely can't help the sound that comes on the heels of those words, the walls building up in his chest collapsing back down in a groan that scrapes up his ribcage. Fingers sinking into Steve's hair, tightening against Steve's side.

"Good."

Breathed out, hard and clumsy against Steve's mouth, and he blinks his eyes open just long enough to catch a breath, and look down at him. Smile gone, replaced by this burning that's setting fire to breath and blood and all the vastly expanding, stuffed-full space inside him. Burn it all down. All of it. Everything but Steve, and Grace, and the team. Burn the rules and the people who don't have any say in any of this, not how Danny feels and not how he acts.

Because there is no turning away from this. No possible way to leave, and stay in one piece. Not even if he thought he should. He couldn't. Because Steve is pulling him down, and Steve is pushing up into him, and Steve is saying those words, singeing like a brand into Danny's mind along with the others. "Because I just want you."

Lower, muffled against Steve's mouth, because Danny can't stay away long enough to say it, is caught back up in the lightning storm that strikes every time they touch each other.

And then he doesn't want to talk anymore, not even him, not even with all the words still swirling, somewhere, within reach if he wants them, because Steve's mouth is the single most important thing on his mind right now. Arm wrapping around Steve's shoulders and pulling him closer, partly off the mattress. Sinking into kisses that lick over him like sheets of flame, slamming the heat under the sheets up to feverish. Kissing Steve like it might possibly erase any doubts. For either of them.

Wanting to laugh, but not able to, anymore. What's left of his voice threadbare and worn down to transparency. "Just to be clear, though, you shouldn't actually be burning anything."

Except Danny. Who is. Being burned alive. Talking right into Steve's mouth and following it with nothing at all, just small sounds so low and deep in his chest they might not be there at all.

[thebesteverseen]

That sound is another example of things Steve would never manage to scour free from himself. The kind of sound that would haunt him, no matter where he went, if he could ever make it there. Which he's not sure he ever could. For all his prowess and history, he's not sure could. Not when the sound is guttering its way out of Danny, who's digging fingers into his scalp and his ribs, and kissing him hard and heavy with response.

Everything he shouldn't say, shouldn't let out, everything Cath will raze him over. And, fuck, if that isn't almost the reason to do it, too. Because he won't back down, or take it back. And she won't be wrong. And why isn't he saying it then. If it's beating in his head, and his veins, and his chest. Every god forsaken, over turned, ledger kicked out from under any footing the world has on the way to Danny. Obliterated in less than second.

That he didn't fight. That he isn't fighting now. That he doesn't have any plan to start doing so, even if he thinks of it.

Can't when Danny is adding words, agreeing with him. Breath rushed and kisses less than stable. Erratic. Made of electricity. Lighting everything up, when Steve is pushing up more. Going even more when Danny's hand is pulling at his shoulder. Like close is not close enough, might never be close enough. Even when he's shifting all his weight, pushing himself toward half sitting and Danny back into the bed.

Having to find the air to chuckle. Low, winded, actual amusement, like Danny is the insane one here. "Seriously?"

Steve lifted to look at him, head on and challenging, smirk totally there even for the dark. "I'm already breaking all the other rules." How is there something insanely liberating in actually saying it. Something that isn't even more like cuffs. He is. They are. They are. Together. Still. Doing this. Breaking every rule. Acknowledging that it's fucking insane, very likely unmanageable in the long run, and still doing it. Still. They both fo them. Together, even in that.

It just shoves the shard and the sarcasm richer, when he's towering over Danny. Mouth firming, eyebrows raising and falling, when he's speaking like he hasn't a single shred of shame or collateral reference. "Next you'll be telling me you still won't let me set off grenades in my own backyard, too."

[haole_cop]

"Okay, well, those rules can screw themselves."

These ones. The ones they're shattering, not just breaking. Every kiss and every night spent together and every time clothes start coming off snaps them into smaller and smaller pieces. And it's not just Steve breaking them. Danny is, too. Danny who doesn't break rules.

Except sometimes. When they can go ahead and burn away, because other things are more important. Meka. Peterson. Grace. Steve. He's been breaking rules left and right for Steve. Went into North Korea, with the knowledge that no one in the States would or could help if things went south. Went after the CIA, by himself, when he knows, he knows how stupid not having backup is.

That was a deja vu he really hadn't needed in his life, ending up in that chair.

And now this. Which seems so much less necessary, right? Rules, those rules, they can't possibly be as important as the weight of Steve as he pushes up, pushes Danny down, shoulderblades hitting the bed and head sinking into the bottom edge of the pillow. Fingers chasing around Steve's side to his back, to splay there, hard. Proprietary. An arm around Steve's shoulders, to drag him closer.

He already loses a heartbeat or five when Steve's in danger, alright. He already cares too much. Has for too long, even before he recognized what this is. Was already ready to do anything, fuck the rulebook and the Governor's displeasure, anything at all to help Steve if he needed it.

He's already compromised. Sleeping with Steve doesn't change anything.

"For what possible reason would you need to set off grenades in your yard, Steven? Can't you just use sparklers like everyone else?"

[thebesteverseen]

He doesn't even know how to explain that feeling, like something explodes in his brain, behind his eyes, levels his chest, when Danny even jokes about that. Danny who has spent every day of two years, in which he was present anywhere near Steve, telling him how terrible of a cop he isn't, and how many rules he's breaking, and how everything is different on the ground. Hearing him shove it all out the window?

Maddening. Even more so than Danny's tone, amused and rejecting. When he doesn't fight, falls into bed, hands snaking up against Steve's skin. Possessive, fingers stretching wide, still dragging him in. Closer, closer, closer. The words like a heart beat. Like the world already stopped existing against, and it's just Danny. From one end of the spectrum, where he was quite and freaking out, to the other, where those hands are everywhere.

Words singeing the air Steve's trying to breathe in. When breathing is over rated. Everything is overrated but Danny. Danny touching him. Trusting him. Choosing him. Over everything he's clutched tighter than air, only marginally less tighter than Grace. When Steve's leaning down, the fire Danny talked about, already soaring under his skin, in the faster breaths from Danny. In leaning in and finding his mouth, while sliding. A knee between Danny's legs, a hand on the other side of Danny, while shaking his head.

Like he's got some control. Any leg to stand on, for mocking Danny, and his decent into madness. Isn't matching every step.
Hasn't been walking it long enough he paved the path, built shelters to hide behind, long before Danny even got here.

"No, I don't think so," Steve said, letting his mouth loose. "The damage from those is incredibly minimal."
"Well." His head tipped in thought a beat. "Unless you're going to stab someone in the eye with it."

Or, really, any orifice. Structural integrity wouldn't survive much else down with the sticks. If that.

[haole_cop]

"You're an idiot, you know that?"

He pulls back enough to give Steve an exasperated look, though his hands don't leave his skin, and he's shifting to allow that one long leg to slide between his so he's just as tangled up in Steve's arms and legs as he is on a far more metaphorical level. After leaning up to meet that kiss, anyway, letting Steve push him back and just dragging him down, too.

"Although if you're admitting to only using grenades when they might be absolutely necessary -- no, you know what? They are never absolutely necessary. I'm sure that for legal purposes I should never know the extent of the weaponry and incendiaries you have in this house -- considering the number you keep in my car, without my express permission. One time you needed grenades here, once. That's it. Please stop thinking of children's playthings in terms of the amount of damage they can do. Your brain is a terrible place."

The worst. And yet Danny hasn't stopped, can't, won't. Is wrapping one hand around the back of Steve's neck, fingers brushing into short dark hair. Body tipping towards Steve, leg sliding over Steve's calf.

Like there's nothing for it except to be as wrapped up as possible. Pull him closer, shift to find the spaces he fits, while Steve is on the way to blanketing him entirely. He could cover every part of Danny, crowd him into the bed, into the pillow, and Danny would let him. He might put up a fight, go down wrestling, but not right now, not when he still feels peeled and raw from the words Steve coaxed out of him, that he hadn't wanted to say.

Forgotten, now, in the press of Steve's mouth, the low, full of humor tone of his voice. The way he's looking down at Danny smug and arrogant and so pleased with himself, like this is what he'd wanted all along. Panic that's drifted away on the sounds of the air conditioner, the breeze outside, the curve of Steve's stupid smile.

[thebesteverseen]

It's wrong how much he loves that. Choosing words he knows will distract Danny even at his most distracted. Making him have to pull back into the pillow, away from Steve. Wrinkling up his face, into that disgusted look that he knows so well. That one that isn't so much offended as almost affectionately resigned to an endless barrage of Steve's harrowing, horrible facts that collect on his tongue at a seconds' notice.

That he does, throws words at Steve's head, without letting go. Like the space between their faces is all Danny will allow. Almost like a perverse punishment, when snapping at him is more necessary than kissing him. Dragging him down into the sheets and the muddle of the blankets they're making. Like Steve can't feel it. Danny shifting to make room for him, so he can slide down a little, lay out across Danny, while he's ranting.

The hand warm and solid on his neck, and the leg curling over his. Not trapping him anymore than his will to stay there, and his will has nothing else in the world it wants. Than he wants. To be here. Danny under him, covering him, pulling him down, yelling at him about toys and cars and the house and weapons. Voice louder than a whisper, again, as he lectures Steve on other things he knows and doesn't care about the rules of.

"Slander." Steve defend, a hot vainglorious twist to his tone, dropping his mouth. Ghosting his lips along the edge of Danny's jaw, in no rush for this second. When he's half way to gusts of air, that haven't quite made it to laughter at Danny's brow beating. "I wouldn't keep more than the legal limit allowed in this house."

Blistering warmth that is at once mockingly offended and probably all sorts of a prime confession. Rules. Steve doesn't follow rules. Obviously. Isn't that proof right here. When he stops at the juncture between Danny's jaw and his neck, sucking the skin between his teeth, just barely. Just enough to pull at it from the muscle.

Before nipping the skin lightly. Aimed for a reaction, without driving him crazy or marking him up. Again. Maybe, yet. Maybe.

But he's too busy to care about the thought, the heady rush of possibility, when he's lifting his head to catch Danny's eyes, dark with mischief.

"And you love my head." God. Talk about bizarre miracles. Because Danny had to do something more than hate it. Or be exasperatedly resigned to it. To be here. Danny wasn't the person who made choices without some kind of general agreement all across himself. He didn't just shut off everything, to take whatever he could, was offered, from the world. Even if he hated the rest of it. "Don't lie."

[haole_cop]

"That is so much less than reassuring."

Of course Steve has more than the legal limit. Of course he does. Danny doesn't look into it, because it would be awkward arresting his best friend and partner, and Steve can at least mostly be trusted to keep them here and hidden, right? At least, he's unlikely to go rob a bank.

There are two parts of what Steve says and does that are easy to respond to, and one that his brain balks at like a cat splashed with water. Clumping gears, swiftly shutting them down, slamming walls up. One word that works like a tripwire and sends him sprawling.

Making his voice come cranky in reply, aggravated, watching Steve with annoyance when he lifts his head back up from the faint sting at Danny's neck. "Will you watch it? I don't know if you noticed, but it isn't exactly fun for me when Kono starts in on what I am sure is at least mostly well-meaning questions about my love life."

That smile, dark and arrogant and knowing, isn't helpful. Only pushes him further into digging in his heels, stubbornly ignoring the thing screaming around his head, landing in a soft punch to the gut, to his chest. Threatening the structural integrity of his ribs. He can't. Alright? Looking at it makes it real. Acknowledging it means he's even more screwed than he already is.

So he bats it back, instead, prickly, exasperated, letting Steve get under his skin, in that way where Steve basically resides there at all times already.

"Wrong. You're a psychopath."

And he just won't pay attention to any part of him that says otherwise, okay. Two freakouts in one night is more than enough.

[thebesteverseen]

"I don't know," Steve decides to lead with, unmartial by any of the insults, one arm crossing Danny's chest and resting there, fingers driving through an endless brush of pressed curls that are becoming so common they're almost for granted. Until a second strikes, like this one. When he actually looks down, watches his fingers spread wide over part of Danny's chest, past the back of his hand, covering as much space as possible.

"It was pretty amusing last time." You know in every seconds where he wasn't completely standing in the back of the bull pen, waiting to see what exactly would fall out of Danny's mouth. Especially with how much Kono looked like a kid suddenly. At Christmas. With her first board. Bright as thought none of the stuff with Adam had been going on.

At least for a few seconds.

A sentiment he didn't entirely hate, when it lines up with the fact he's not entirely immune to the effect, himself, it seems. Forgetting for a few minutes here and there, everything else, when Danny is right here. Right next to him. Serious or ranting or laughing or teasing. He forgets for a few minutes, when Danny is here. All the rest of the crap waiting right outside the door of this room.

Of his head. That he doesn't forget. Any of it. That sometimes Danny is right. His head is a miserable place to be. He keeps it all.

"Wanting to know how it was you got up to something she didn't know about yet." If there were moments she really did remind Steve how young she was. Everything was new and delightful. Even seconds after the look of utter shock about things with Gabby being done. She was onboard with wanting to be Danny's conspirator for whatever it was that was already happening. "Totally cool with getting the brush off. Because that's completely the kind of detective she is."

Maybe because it went well with her own. With Adam. Secrets, and excitement.

And then, not to be missed, also, because it was just Kono. Endlessly bright and willing to join in. "Mostly."
Steve's voice was a riot of dark humor, repeating that word the way Danny had said. Thinking about his collar grabbing.

It was terrible that he actually felt more compelled to be obnoxios and lay into Danny's skin with that thought, wasn't it?

[haole_cop]

He watches Steve look down, study the splay of his fingers over Danny's chest and it makes those muscles tighten in response, contracting under touch and under glance. Still not used to Steve noticing him. Running fingers over Danny's stupid hairy chest, thick muscle that makes him heavier than he looks. That Steve wants to see. Touch. That Steve has run that smart mouth of his over, bitten faint marks into. That Steve somehow has not yet gotten enough of.

When it still blows his mind that Steve wants it at all. That everything Steve is could possibly want Danny. Danny and his temper. Danny and his five million words, most of which are used to insult Steve day in and out. Danny and his hands in the air everywhere.

It's mind-boggling. It's unreal. Steve shouldn't. He wasn't supposed to. But here he is, pressing Danny into his bed. Didn't let Danny leave. Reminded him that it's them. Together. Like always. "I'm just saying, you could maybe keep it below shirt level, huh? Or, better idea, avoid it in the first place."

Steve probably is amused by Kono and her less that subtle hints that Danny needs to tell her what the hell is going on, and, okay. If it weren't about him (if it weren't about Steve), Danny would find it cute. Endearing, even. She's sweet about it, and she's just concerned because they're friends and coworkers and she's in the middle of dealing with the fallout from one hell of a messed-up secret relationship of her own, which reminds Danny of how Steve mentioned she could have found a less complicated bed to fall into.

Which is hilarious, in retrospect. In that way where Danny doesn't want to laugh at all.

Except Steve is busy making all the alarms in Danny's head go off, and he's shaking his head, moving one hand to find Steve's chest, like he could possibly hold him off at all.

"Hey. Hey. No. I know that look. That is the look that says I should invest in some turtlenecks, and Steve, it is way too hot here for those, so, please, restrain yourself."

[thebesteverseen]

Steve might be moving toward a smirk. When Danny's chest sinks in, a breath pulled in and muscles firmed up. Like somehow, there's a way Danny could pull away. That wouldn't involving having to go straight through his own spine and the mattress's below him. Let him. Startle a little. Be unnerved. By whatever it is, that flashes through his head, when Steve is not about to move his hand.

The ends of his finger curling against muscle. The beat of Danny's heart trapped under the area of where three different fingers are stretched. Danny might be lecturing him about how or where, but he's nowhere near even started with memorizing where every single muscle on Danny's body is. What it looks like. Feels like. Tastes like. Until it's branded into him deeper than any other scar left on his skin, any other story he can't share, wouldn't, doesn't want to.

That hand that shoves at his chest makes him laugh. Like it's actually going to get him to go anywhere. While Danny's other arm is wrapped around him, as well as a leg. As long as part of Steve's weight is actually resting as much against Danny's chest as the bed. The heady combination of all together, making it so easy. Catching Danny's hand at the wrist and forcing it out. Back, above, to the side of his head.

Smiling too broadly, challenging, and not in the slightest thwarted. Leaning down, with that as the only warning, without shifting, and let his mouth touch on the center of Danny's shoulder. Maybe not center. But where there's a semi-circle. He can't see it without the light. But he knows it's there. Somewhere close to where he lays a kiss on Danny's shoulder.

"You have to stop making such--" When he's tracing slowly inward on that shoulder, pausing his sentence, the lasting statement of any picture clear enough. Until he can brush his lips, and the skin around it against the rise of Danny's pulse. But only that. Not kissing him. Not pulling on the skin.

Just that. The rub of smooth lips. The friction of warm skin, and sharp stubble there, only. Exhaling against that thin skin, where it thrums with the rush of blood. And it takes a second, windfall blown through his dropping level of voice, against the warm ache slicing through his own chest, like the word isn't even enough to explain, taunt, torment with.

Doesn't even know which of them that it's truer of, for. "--obscene noises when it happens, first, Danny."

The sounds that drag up out of Danny. When his name becomes this completely different word, unlike every other million times Danny's said it. Playing in his head like liquid fire. When those fingers are digging into his skin. His back, his arm, his hip, his shoulder, his hair, depending on what part of Danny's skin he's gotten to. Like Danny doesn't turn tense and pliant in waves, isn't pushing into him, opening up, giving him whatever he's willing to take next.

Like he can forget. Don't stop. Two words that don't leave him. Tip and tumble like dice, like a card turned over in his fingers. An ace he'll never use. Something he can hardly believe. Doesn't really want to look at, or toward. Isn't proud of. And, still. Even then. Danny and his hands, the reckless abandon beyond even understanding why or how. But still with him.

Still wanting him, giving him everything, even when the tether on his control, beyond even Danny's control, snapped.

[haole_cop]

"'Obscene?' Really?"

This is going to be the death of him. He's sure of it. The way Steve grins, lunatic and fond all at the same time. The way he pushes at Steve's chest but can't actually convince himself to try pulling away, or moving, or letting go of Steve at all.

Doesn't actually try to take his wrist or hand back, though he does pull at it, more with exasperation than any desire to actually have it freed. Really, Steve? "You think pinning me down is going to help with any of that? Your inability to keep from giving me bitemarks and hickeys, I mean. Are you thirteen? Is that what this is?"

Even if he thought he could get away with it, he wouldn't try. Or couldn't, maybe. Has to be right here, holding Steve as firmly as he's trying to shove at him. While Steve just laughs, cocky and self-assured, a wide smile stretching so teeth glint white in the dark, so the corners of his eyes crease up and he looks actually happy for a second. In a way Danny hasn't seen enough of, ever. Can't get enough of the smile that lights this whole room and blitzes the inside of Danny's chest like a floodlight.

He'd do anything. Say anything. Keep poking and prodding and protesting, keep tossing stupid insults at Steve's stupid head, keep giving in to Steve's mouth on his skin, whatever it takes, just to keep seeing it. To wipe away the memory of that other, so lost, look. The one that felt like someone attached Danny's ribcage to a short rope and then dropped the rest of him off a rooftop. "I should not be responsible for your lack of self-control, Steven."

Dropping his name in two disapproving syllables, even when his skin is shivering against that bare touch. Shorting out nerves like Steve's lips are brushing past skin, right against the sensitive, too large, too fragile, glass-blown thing that's taking up residence in Danny's chest. And knowing that Steve shouldn't stop. Shouldn't ever stop. That Danny would give almost anything to make sure this keeps happening, insane as it all is.

[thebesteverseen]

It's a rush. Insane, washing him out, even when he's holding still. Danny shivers against his mouth, under his chest, in his arms. Hand still tugging, downward at the offending hand holding his. Mouth still tossing out barbed darts, in his name, at his head. All three at once. "Obviously." Steve said it pert and thick with disbelieving sarcasm.

"We've already covered you failed at that." Like Danny was nothing where it came to his control. Totally unneeded.

"Ages ago." The moment he said those words. The moment his lips parted and his fingers fisted in Steve's shirt, like a life line. The moment it took him more than a minute with those two, before Danny could even shove either of them back to ask what the hell had just happened to his world.

Their world. This world. When everything changed in a seconds.



Steve was absolutely fine before all that. If fine was all he was aiming for being.

Fine, and not this stupidly heady, high feeling, that causes him to rub words into Danny's skin, like he can't get enough of it, before propping himself back up. Without actually giving in to doing anything in the slightest, like some smug iota of proof, when Danny is shivering from a seconds' effort.

The cage of his fingers around Danny's one wrist, releasing and dragging down his forearm a few inches. When he can't help and doesn't even pretend there's any remorse going on in him. Because there isn't. There is so very little he actually feels anything untoward about all of this, and hit most of it already.

[haole_cop]

"I failed at that? Am I holding some kind of leash? Do you realize the sort of hazard pay I should be getting if I am somehow in charge of your ability to restrain yourself? At the very least I deserve a raise, because that is another full-time job. Or are you just always about to lose your self-control?"

Look. Surely Steve managed to function for years before he met Danny. Right? Okay, yeah. He was a loose cannon for a lot of those first months, and still is, but Danny likes to think that maybe Steve has grown. Mellowed, possibly. At least from those first moments, guns in each others' faces, twisting Danny's arm behind his back. Something he hasn't tried since, no matter how many times Danny gets up in his face, or yells at him, or tries to reason with him (usually a lost cause).

But then there are those days when it's like meeting Steve all over again. Like last week. When they were up here, but there were no smiles and there was no laughter, and Steve really didn't give a shit about marking up Danny's skin. Not in the way that makes him groan, or whimper. Like he was angry at it. Because he was angry at Danny. And Danny knows this is a thin and shaky line they walk, between Steve being like this and Steve being like that.

That. Nowhere near like this. When Steve is teasing, murmuring words into Danny's neck, making the skin there spark and shrink in reaction, making Danny bite down on one of those sounds Steve just referred to. The ones he said were obscene, which, Danny begs to disagree. They are not. It's not his fault that Steve drags them out of him, like he drags shakes and tremors and insanity. Like he drags all these ridiculous words that mean absolutely nothing, because they're all just skimming the top of this bottomless well. Drops here and there. Barely touching the litany in his head.

The one that can't stop reminding Danny how gorgeous Steve is. Like this. In the half light. Naked and relaxed. Or at work, with sleeves rolled up tight above his elbow, letting Danny see the muscles in his forearms flex and loosen in a way that is guaranteed to make him lose his mind, now.

When he's so hung up on the curve of Steve's mouth, and he'll never not be able to think about the things Steve has done with it, how it feels when Steve's breath gusts hot or gentle across his bare skin, shocking him like he'd been dropped in icy water.

Never won't know how different it is when Steve's fingers drag down his arm, instead of looping quickly at his wrist, letting go right away. Tugging everything else into a slow slide that's going to end with Danny in a pile at the foot of a cliff, and there's no helping it.

Not when he's looking up at Steve and he just can't even tear his eyes away, because, Christ, Steve is the most beautiful thing he knows, and it keeps hitting him, when he least expects it, sidelining him like a semi smashing into his skull.

It's screwing with his thoughts. It has to be. Because the words that drop out of his mouth are insane, something he should never say, never condone, or offer. Or challenge, if that's what this is.

"So then lose it. But don't blame me."

[thebesteverseen]

Holy Christ, what is he actually supposed to do with Danny?

When his own mouth is creasing up his cheeks, hard and fast and wide, reminding him all too glaringly of It's fine. Do it everyday. I like it. And that stupid, smile that dragged out across his lips, and he had to turn and walk away. When things like that hit him long before things like this were even the jagged bits of broken glass he was walking barefoot on.

But it's banking to a dangerously sharp edge quickly. Not about forcibly calling him Danno, stealing it from him and batting him about the head with it, until Danny gave him permission. Like Danny keeps doing right now. Danny's voice filling up his head and his chest, until it might burst. Not occasional words. Dozens of them. Staking our their claim on his sanity, on his breath, on the ability to us his head against the movement of his blood thundering.

Still possible. I want to be with you. Good. Because I just want you. Those rules can screw themselves. So then lose it.

Like dropping all the appliances this house owns in a bathtub, only after they've all been cranked up to high, and shoved under his skin, with sparking, frayed wires. So that Danny's words, and the way he's looking up, like there might be nothing else in the world, that Danny wants, that Danny can even see, that guts whatever he had been holding in the way of wanted patience and pressed, flippant amusement.

Like the length of any leash actually holding his want to be cool and smug goes up like flash paper on Danny's mouth losing it there.

"But I'm good at it," is goading and arrogant, every proof and promise, when he's leaning back in. Taking it for a goddamn golden ticket. Raising the hand that had originally stolen Danny's wrist, to find the side of his face, cheek, jaw and tip it up more. Lips splitting against the thick cording muscles and the rapid beat of Danny's pulse.

Running the tip of his tongue against it, before sucking up his skin, gently, between his lips. A tumbler, a thimble of awareness, left, to try and keep to that. Gentle. To a point, if there was a point. When he didn't clarify it at all. His words. If it's blaming Danny. Or losing control. Or dragging every single sound out of Danny that is better, higher, hotter, scorched into his head and his skin, than anything he once imagined.

[haole_cop]

There are lots of things Steve is good at. Like driving Danny up a wall. Or shooting things. Making other things disappear in as large an explosion as possible. Driving things, flying things. Swimming, and diving. He's good at running, good at strategy, good at getting the attention of even the most jaded and bored of waitresses.

And he's good at this, too. Mouth clever against Danny's skin, but lighter than Danny expects. Especially when Steve is grinning at him, and his hand was at Danny's wrist.

Not anymore. Now, it's tipping Danny's head, fingers pressed warm against his jaw and cheek, leaving Danny's hand free to find the back of Steve's head and cradle it, all too aware now of the tiny sound trying to force it's way up and free from the grip in his lungs. He's got to be, now that Steve's mentioned them, labeled them obscene, which is, thanks, just not accurate, alright. This is not some porn session, there's nothing heavy and creepy about this. It's almost a whimper, choked into a moan that doesn't actually make it past the lowest part of his throat.

"Oh, sure," he says, instead, goading, despite the threadiness of his voice, the way air doesn't quite seem to be working the way it normally does in his voice. "But you, you're good at everything, aren't you." Heavily sarcastic. Disbelieving. Like Danny can't believe Steve manages to put his shoes on the right feet in the morning.

"No, don't answer that. I don't need your ego getting in bed, too, there's only so much room here."