Steve's arm wraps around him, just like before, only this time, Steve's nuzzling into his hair, and Danny's chest is pressed so close to his that he can feel Steve's heart beating, wings against a wall. Without making fun of him. Just letting him hold on, letting him find his center of balance again, the gravity that's been missing from the toddling steps his thoughts keep trying to make.
When it's not a big deal. Shouldn't be. But it is.
It's embarrassing. Despite his bluster, he's not a prejudiced guy, unless he's being asked his opinion on drug runners and the lowlife scumbags who do shit like kidnap women and children and sell them on the street. His precise and stubborn opinions on food and the superior state in which to live and raise a family do not extend to ragging on lifestyle choices, because who the hell is he to judge? Some single guy, living in a series of progressively worsening apartments, divorced dad who ended up falling for his partner, boss, best friend.
Yeah, he's in no spot to lay judgment on what anybody does in bed with anybody else.
But that doesn't mean it's not still weird. Strange. Unsettling. It's a first time, he wouldn't expect fireworks, or for it to be anything but a confused mix of unpleasant, awkward, and the kind of clumsy-good familiar to teenagers just trying this whole sex thing out for the first time the world over.
So it's not unexpected, just...annoying. Which is why he huffs laugh into Steve's shoulder that's as skeptical as an eyeroll, as much as it is dryly amused. "You think I've got a dance card for anything, McGarrett? Still not a girl."
But. No. Not off the card. Or off the table. Nothing is. He just needs a little time to work up to it. To ease himself into it. Going full-bore is Steve's style, not his. But, still. There's that tone again. The caution Steve never has. Wary and sincere all at once. The tone of a man willing to not just rip off a band-aid, but saw off his own cast, if necessary. Or maybe a leg, or an arm. His voice coming stripped down to the skin, waiting to be flayed or snapped at.
Danny shakes his head against Steve's neck, lets out a breath. Easier with Steve's arm wrapping around his back; he's not going to question it, just let it carry him along. "But no, no, nothing like that, okay? It'll just take some getting used to. This isn't exactly how I usually do things."
None of it is. Not the sex. Not the speed. Not staying over four or five nights a week. Not getting involved with his boss. His partner.
no subject
When it's not a big deal. Shouldn't be. But it is.
It's embarrassing. Despite his bluster, he's not a prejudiced guy, unless he's being asked his opinion on drug runners and the lowlife scumbags who do shit like kidnap women and children and sell them on the street. His precise and stubborn opinions on food and the superior state in which to live and raise a family do not extend to ragging on lifestyle choices, because who the hell is he to judge? Some single guy, living in a series of progressively worsening apartments, divorced dad who ended up falling for his partner, boss, best friend.
Yeah, he's in no spot to lay judgment on what anybody does in bed with anybody else.
But that doesn't mean it's not still weird. Strange. Unsettling. It's a first time, he wouldn't expect fireworks, or for it to be anything but a confused mix of unpleasant, awkward, and the kind of clumsy-good familiar to teenagers just trying this whole sex thing out for the first time the world over.
So it's not unexpected, just...annoying. Which is why he huffs laugh into Steve's shoulder that's as skeptical as an eyeroll, as much as it is dryly amused. "You think I've got a dance card for anything, McGarrett? Still not a girl."
But. No. Not off the card. Or off the table. Nothing is. He just needs a little time to work up to it. To ease himself into it. Going full-bore is Steve's style, not his. But, still. There's that tone again. The caution Steve never has. Wary and sincere all at once. The tone of a man willing to not just rip off a band-aid, but saw off his own cast, if necessary. Or maybe a leg, or an arm. His voice coming stripped down to the skin, waiting to be flayed or snapped at.
Danny shakes his head against Steve's neck, lets out a breath. Easier with Steve's arm wrapping around his back; he's not going to question it, just let it carry him along. "But no, no, nothing like that, okay? It'll just take some getting used to. This isn't exactly how I usually do things."
None of it is. Not the sex. Not the speed. Not staying over four or five nights a week. Not getting involved with his boss. His partner.