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"Come on," Steve's saying, his voice low and hoarse, whispering right into Danny's ear. "Tell me what you want." He's ghosting his hands down Danny's sides, the pads of his fingers teasing over Danny's ribs, his palms fitting over Danny's hips like they were made for each other. Danny's still shaking from the orgasm Steve's fucked out of him, all his nerves firing randomly from the overload of Steve's dick buried in him and Steve's hand wrapped around his dick and Steve's mouth biting bruises into his neck.

"Anything you want, Danny," Steve says, and at least he sounds a little shaky, too; it's not only Danny who's totally in over his head here. "Anything."

Even with being fucked stupid, Danny knows there are a thousand things he can say, things that he wants, things that Steve will give to him in a heartbeat. It's not entirely clear why he doesn't go with that--Christ, just the things he wants from Steve's mouth alone would take a month to list out. He could have done that, easy, but what he says is, "I want you to be fucking honest with me," and there's enough light coming in from the window for him to see the sudden flicker of pure fear in Steve's eyes, right before they go blank, and Steve's rolling off him and heading for the shower.

* * *

Whatever this thing is between him and Steve, Danny is determined that it's not going to blow up because he's not paying attention. He and Steve--it's crazy-hot, and a wild ride, but Danny'd had a lot of that with Rachel, too, and somewhere, when he hadn't been looking, they had turned into something where they paid strangers to tell them when they could talk to each other. That still might happen with him and Steve, but not if Danny can help it.

So, he pays attention to Steve, to what he says, and more importantly--because the guy is not known for his love of words--to what he doesn't. That doesn't mean Danny's not talking enough for the two of them, and needling Steve to play along; it means he's keeping an eye on things in general, even when they're on the job and Steve's in bulletproof, super-ninja mode. Maybe especially then, because he gets that crazy-focus thing going on and Danny picks up all kinds of tells from what he will and won't let through.

Besides, when it's just the two of them and a bed, Steve is so fucking focused on making Danny scream--and, okay, so fucking good at it--it's hard to notice anything else.

So, yeah, on the job--that's where Danny notices shit like how Steve can be functioning at a level most guys would kill for and still be shut down. When he's like that, he does everything right and most things perfect, but there's a little dullness to it all, like he's taken whatever it is that makes him, him, and tucked it away for safe-keeping. When it's really him--even when he's acting like a crazy motherfucker, doing things that are so insanely stupid Danny almost can't watch--there's a, a joy about him that makes it so Danny can't look away. That sounds stupid and cheesy even in Danny's head, but it's the God's honest truth.

All of which makes it a mess when Danny realizes that he's seen that shut-down look in Steve's eyes when they're fucking. Not all the time, which is good--to put it mildly--but it maybe makes it worse when Danny figures out that it's really only happened the times when they've been screwing around with restraints, which scenario happens to be Danny's A-#1 bulletproof kink. He's never hidden how much it turns him on, just like Steve's never hidden how much he likes getting Danny all twisted up. Steve's never said anything one way or another about it specifically, but that doesn't mean Danny's going to let himself off the hook on this one.

Danny's been trying to figure out how to get to the bottom of it all--his first few noncommittal attempts at bringing up the subject have gone nowhere--but he could kick himself for letting his mouth go off without his brain. There's nothing to do about it, though, except to sit back and outwait the avoidance tactic masquerading as a shower that's in progress.

It's a Saturday, and Danny doesn't have Grace this weekend, so he settles in for the duration.

* * *

Danny had noticed it first when he'd had Steve cuffed to the towel rack in the bathroom, on his knees with Danny's dick in his mouth, and seriously, Danny had been close to a heart attack, it'd been so good. But then Steve had looked up at Danny, one quick, flickering glance right as he'd relaxed his throat and let Danny slam into him deep and hard, and Danny'd realized Steve hadn't really been there. He'd been too busy coming like a freight train to say anything, and by the time his brain had come back online and he'd gotten Steve out of the cuffs, Steve had been normal enough that Danny told himself that he was lucky he wasn't brain-dead from the hotness and that he'd probably imagined that vaguely creepy, not-Steve Steve.

But once Danny had known what he was looking for, he started noticing it every time. Like clockwork--it didn't matter which one of them was tied down, or what they were using, whether it was Danny using the cuffs on Steve, or Steve tying Danny to the bed with his ties--once Danny paid attention, it was obvious that Steve had checked out. He's still an over-achieving idiot who can make Danny lose his mind like nobody else, but all things being equal, Danny would rather have all of him there and the hell with the bells and whistles.

He just has to figure out how to say all that to Steve.

* * *

It's forever before Steve comes back out of the shower. Danny thinks about getting up and getting dressed, having the conversation that really needs to happen in some kind of neutral territory--that's what all the counselors say, and whatever anybody thinks, Danny had actually been listening during that phase of things with Rachel. In the end, though, he decides to stay right where he is: in bed and naked. It's the right call; it lets him be on an equal basis with Steve when he walks out of the bathroom with only a towel slung around his hips. If Danny had been dressed, the whole dynamic would have been skewed.

"Hey," Steve says, hesitating halfway across the room. "I figured you'd be gone by now."

"Lazy day," Danny says, and honestly, he'd halfway fallen back asleep. "Nothing on the plan."

Steve nods and changes course to head toward the dresser and clothes. Danny takes a deep breath and throws out a silent prayer that he doesn't fuck this whole thing up--more than he already has, that is--and goes for it.

"I figure it shouldn't come as any kind of a news flash that my mouth operates without my brain driving it a lot of the time," he says. "But sometimes I amaze even myself." Steve throws him a startled glance, and huffs out a small, surprised-sounding laugh. "Yeah," Danny agrees. "Hard to believe. But seriously, man. I'm sorry--it was a shitty way to say it and an even shittier time to say it."

Steve doesn't say anything, but Danny doesn't think he's kidding himself that some--not all, but some--of the tension leaches out of Steve's shoulders. So far, so good, Danny thinks. But now comes the hard part.

"The thing is," Danny says, plowing forward, because his timing might be for shit, but the whole issue isn't going to disappear, no matter how hard the two of them might want it to. Another lesson learned hard and bitter from him and Rachel flaming out. Steve's maybe dragging a ton of baggage with him, but Danny thinks he can match him pound for pound. "The thing is, word choice and timing aside, I don't see that it's not the truth. For whatever reason--and I'm not saying you don't have a good one--you've been glossing over how much it bugs you whenever we pull out the cuffs."

"Danny--" Steve says. He doesn't turn around, but he doesn't need to. Danny can hear it all in his voice just fine.

"You're gonna have to say it to my face," Danny says, as gently as possible. "Tell me I'm delusional, tell me I'm crazy--I'm okay with that so long as it's the truth and you look at me when you say it."

"Okay," Steve sighs. He gives up pretending like he's going to get dressed and does one of those moves that are impossibly graceful and ends up on the bed next to Danny. "It's--I'm fine, okay?"

"Uh, yeah, no--I'm gonna have to argue that point, and even if I didn't, 'fine' is marginally acceptable when we're talking pepperoni or ham and pineapple on the pizza. It does not cut it for me tying you down and fucking your throat. That needs to be 'oh hellyeah.'"

Steve's quiet for a long time, and he's got one arm thrown up over his eyes, so Danny can't see him, not for real, but he's there next to Danny and it doesn't feel like the world's about to end around them. Danny figures that's about as good as it's going to get. Plus, it's way better than he's been expecting.

Finally, Steve sighs, and leans up on one elbow so he can look down at Danny.

"Yeah, well, what if I want it to be?" he says. Danny resists the urge to jump in and talk for Steve, somehow managing to make an encouraging sort of a sound that he hopes says, yeah, listening, keep going. Steve looks all over the room, quick, skittering glances that land everywhere, like he's waiting for something to jump out of the walls, but he keeps coming back to Danny, so that's at least something. "I want it--Jesus, Danny, you don't know how much I want it--but then, every time, I end up… in a not-good place," he finally says.

"In a not good place," Danny repeats, saying the words carefully, because there's something dark and icy and furious roaring through his head, and he has enough presence of mind not to want any of that spilling out now. Steve nods almost imperceptibly. Not for the first time, Danny wonders if Toast could get in there and crack the security on Steve's files, just so Danny might have a clue of what goes on behind the gameface. He reminds himself it'd be a complete invasion of privacy and a breach of trust and all that, but God, is he ever tempted to turn Toast loose anyway.

"All things considered, I vote for everybody being in a good place." Danny nudges Steve with an elbow and conveniently forgets to move his arm away.

"Yeah, but--" Steve can't not argue; Danny knows this and is prepared for it, and Steve still gets a couple of words in before Danny can counter.


"I can be--"

"I know there's shit I don't know about, and I accept that there's a lot of you that's tied up in getting past everything that stands in your way, but it's just you and me, here," Danny says. "Just the two of us."

"I want it," Steve says, not arguing.

"I believe you," Danny says. "Swear to God. We'll figure something out. Run an end-around or something."


"Hey, you're the hotshot QB; I was attempting to put things in an idiom you'd be familiar with."

Steve laughs, which is at least half of what Danny was aiming for.

"You know, for the life of me, I can't figure out why this is even working in the first place, but here we are." Danny shakes his head.

Steve mutters something that sounds like stubborn son of a bitch but Danny lets it go without answering, because honestly, Steve's only now figuring that out? It gets quiet after that, and Steve's relaxed enough that Danny can relax, too, to the the point that he knows he's not going to resist the temptation to go back for a little early morning nap.

"Lazy," Steve says, from somewhere next to Danny.

"Told you that already," Danny mumbles. He dozes for a little while, blinking when Steve rolls out of bed, but letting himself go back under once he determines Steve's not doing anything but suiting up for his usual morning ocean frolic.

The rest of the day goes along the same way. Once Danny makes it out of bed for real, he treks into Honolulu to drop off shirts at the dry cleaners near his apartment, because they're the only place that believes him when he says no starch. Since he's in the neighborhood, he picks up a bag of burgers at the drive-in place that Steve likes. When he gets back to the house, there are steaks and beer in the fridge, from which Danny deduces they're staying in for dinner.

He helps Steve deal with the tap in the half-bathroom that keeps dripping, and even gets around to cleaning out the unholy mess that's become the back seat of his car. The weather is the usual combination of sun and rain, how surprising; and Danny's almost okay with the daily rainbows now, enough that he stops and watches it for a few seconds. They don't get yanked into work; and nobody but Grace even calls. By the time Steve's finished doing his he-man thing with the steaks and an open flame--which Danny has to give him grief about, even if the guy does produce awesome food on a semi-regular basis--and they're sitting out in the back with a couple of cold, sweaty Longboards, Danny's about as mellow as he's ever been.

He's getting the same vibe off of Steve, too, and he tells himself it's as good a time as ever to pick back up with where they left off in the morning.

"So, I was thinking about this morning," Danny says, holding up a hand to hold off Steve's automatic I'm fine for at least long enough for him to get a complete thought out. "The only reason I'm bringing this back up again is because you said you want it, because, trust me, McGarrett, if it's up to me to pick between getting a little on the freaky side and knowing for sure everybody's okay with what's going on, we will be having the most conventional sex you've ever had."

The sun's down and the light's been fading for a while, but it's still bright enough that Danny can see Steve rolling his eyes, but he gestures for Danny to go on, so that's a win right there.

"While I have no doubt that you can get through anything you put your mind to--" Once Steve had made a crack about being drownproofed, and Danny had almost choked when he figured out that to a SEAL, that meant getting tied up and tossed into a pool to work through an obstacle course, so he means every word he's just said. "It's admirable, really, but it's not exactly the ideal I'm holding out for in the bedroom, not for anyone I give a damn about."

"Which means what, then," Steve says, but he sounds curious rather than challenged.

"For purposes of discussion only," Danny says. "I'm kind of assuming that being held down is probably not going to work either."

"No," Steve says, quickly, sounding halfway to fight-or-flight already, and okay, good that Danny's brought it up. The last thing this relationship needs is somebody in the hospital because somebody else with advanced hand-to-hand skills got triggered. "That'd be… worse."

"Right, crossing it off the list, not that it was really on it to start," Danny says, and takes a deep breath. "But that leads me to a second thought, which is no restraints, nothing external, just… you. Doing whatever I say."

Danny stops for a second, because he's thought about it, yeah, but holyjesus, saying it is a whole other thing and he needs a little time to process the sudden heat that sweeps over him. Steve swallows hard and puts his beer down with a little more attention than something like that usually requires. He's still looking at Danny, though, still there with him, so Danny digs around and finds his voice again.

"Or me, doing what you want. Either way." Danny holds Steve's eyes. "It takes out the part that triggers you, right?"

"It's not--" Steve stops and swallows again, like his voice is stuck somewhere. "It's not what you wanted."

"Not exactly," Danny says. "But, babe, if you think me knowing you're doing exactly what I tell you to is not enough to make me fucking insane, you're not paying attention."

Steve looks at him for a long time, which Danny used to find unnerving--there's a hell of a lot of intensity behind those dark eyes--but now it settles over him like it was made for him.

"Yeah," Steve says, finally. "We can do that, yeah." He stands up and offers Danny a hand.

"What, now?" Danny says. "Which--are you sure?"

"Yeah, now," Steve says, with a ghost of his lopsided grin. As small as it is, it's still real. "I like making you insane."

Danny closes his eyes for a second, almost dizzy at the promise behind those words. "Refresh my memory," he says, without opening them. "SEAL school taught you basic first aid, right? Please tell me you can do CPR, just in case."

"We're good," Steve says, right in Danny's ear, and Danny opens his eyes right in time to get kissed, hard and deep and long, which doesn't do anything for his sudden conviction that he might not make it through the night.

As good as the kiss is, Steve kissing Danny is not what this night is supposed to be, at least not without Danny being a little more on top of things, so to speak, so he eases back out of it and tries not to be panting too obviously.

"Down, boy," he says. "Chill for a minute."

Steve takes a half-step back, which is helpful in that it's marginally easier to think without him pressed shoulder-to-thigh against Danny.

"You're sure about trying this?" Danny says. "I can see the upside to diving right in," which, jesus, he can barely breathe for seeing the upside, "but I can also see it might not be a bad idea to take it a little slower."

"I'm sure," Steve says, and if his voice is soft, his eyes are right there with Danny, and that's what Danny cares about.

"'Kay," Danny says, swearing to himself that he's not going to miss a thing that's going on with Steve tonight. "Go take a shower while I deal with the rest of the dishes."

"I can help--"

"Go take a shower," Danny repeats, and looks at Steve until he gets it, a slow flush crawling over his skin as he nods. He turns and goes back toward the house; Danny lets him get to the door before adding, "Don't bother getting dressed when you're done."

Steve hesitates with his hand on the doorknob, then looks back over his shoulder at Danny and nods once before disappearing inside, and yeah, Danny is going to be so fucking lucky to get through this night without a coronary event.

"You need to think, moron," he says to himself as he works through the few dishes that are left in the sink. He really needs to have some kind of a plan, or even a general outline of what he wants, but every time he tries, he gets stuck at the part where Steve's in the other room, waiting for him, and hell, he's just going to have to wing it.

Danny listens for the shower to stop running, and makes himself wait ten minutes after that, pacing for the last five, but he figures that if the wait's winding him up, it's probably working double-time on Steve. A little healthy anticipation never hurt anyone, and if it's more than that, if he walks into the bedroom and sees something he doesn't like, then he is willing and able to stop it right then.

"Geronimo," he says, as he watches the clock on the microwave click over to ten minutes, and squares himself up to walk down the hall and see what he's got. He wouldn't be surprised to be greeted with a smirk and an elaborately-posed tableau, but when he opens the door, the only thing he can see is Steve sitting on the edge of the bed, naked like Danny wanted.

Steve lifts his head and watches Danny cross the room, sitting still and quiet, but when Danny gets close, he can see how fast the pulse under Steve's throat is beating, how shallow every breath is. He traces the backs of his fingers across Steve's mouth, along his jaw, and smiles as Steve half-closes his eyes and arches ever so slightly into the touch, like a cat who can't decide whether to unsheathe the claws or stretch out and purr.

"What?" Steve asks, tilting his head back, and Danny wonders if he even realizes he's moving into Danny like he is.

"Nothing," Danny answers. "Lie back."

Steve stretches out, the low light of the bedside lamp throwing shadows that ripple over skin and muscle and ink. Danny sits on the bed next to him and drinks it all in.

"That does not look like a 'nothing' smile," Steve murmurs.

"You're right," Danny answers. "Look closely, babe, because this is a 'Hawaii-isn't-so-bad' smile, due entirely to the fact that if we were in Jersey, it'd be freezing and I'd feel obliged to cover you up." He strokes a slow, careful path up one strong thigh, circles a hipbone with his thumb. Steve takes a long, shaky breath. "But we're here, and it's the usual balmy evening in paradise, so I get to have you just like this, all spread out for me."

"Danny," Steve says, in a strangled whisper. Danny keeps with the easy strokes, doing his best to ignore how Steve's arching up into them, how he's letting his legs fall open in a blatant invitation for Danny to touch more. Or, well, he's at least not acting on it; a saint couldn't ignore that.

"All night, just like this, if I want," Danny adds, holding steady even when Steve shudders against him. He'll be doing good if he makes it longer than a half-hour, what with Steve sprawled out like a fucking wet dream, biting his lip and breathing hard already, but he's pretty sure Steve doesn't have a clue.

Danny takes Steve's wrist, the one that's closest to him, into his hand, wraps his fingers around it like a bracelet or a cuff, squeezing tight. Steve's pulse skyrockets against him; Danny holds there for a couple of seconds. It's right on the border of him holding Steve down, but Steve hangs in there with him, his eyes locked on Danny's. Danny loosens his grip and brings the wrist up to his mouth. His plan--such as it is--is to drop a quick kiss across Steve's skin, another point of contact to keep him grounded, but then there's the way Steve's moving with Danny, giving up control, offering his wrist to Danny and the quick kiss turns into something that's closer to a bite.

Steve hisses, but doesn't try to pull away. Danny somehow manages not to break the skin, and gets back hold of himself to brush his mouth over the marks he's left on the inside of Steve's wrist, and then again across his palm. Steve murmurs something indistinct, his voice rough and pleased; when Danny picks his head up enough to see his face, Steve looks back at him with eyes hot enough to burn the house down around them. Danny smiles as he stretches Steve's arm over his head and wraps his palm around one of the ever-so-handy carved accents on the headboard. Steve cranes his head to watch, but then comes right back to Danny's eyes.

Danny does the same thing with Steve's other arm, minus the bite on the wrist, just to mix things up a little. This time, when Steve looks back to him, Danny stays serious. He runs his thumb back across where Steve's fingers curl around the wood, along the edge of his hand and down across his wrist, and he can't really kid himself that he's doing it for Steve, no matter how easy Steve's making it to see that he likes it.

"Stay," Danny says, and he's not expecting his voice to come out as low and hoarse as it does. Steve's hands flex hard around the posts--Danny half-expects to lose him right there. He's ready to call it at any time, but he needs to own up to how much he wants to keep going, so he can make good on that promise he made himself, the one where he swore he wasn't going to miss anything going on with Steve.

"Hey," Danny murmurs. "McGarrett. You with me?"

"Yeah," Steve says, exhaling on a sigh. His hands relax, but don't let go. "I--yeah."

"Good," Danny answers. He traces that same thumb down Steve's arm, wrist and forearm, triceps, delt. He dips into the hollow above Steve's collarbone, draws a line up and along his neck, the curve of his jaw. "I like you here, like this. All of you," Danny adds. "Not only the pretty wrapping paper." Steve shivers against him, one quick, hard wave. "All of you," Danny repeats, barely keeping his hand steady when Steve makes a small, needy sound.

"Yeah," Danny says. "I like hearing you, too." He skims his thumb across Steve's lower lip, and ends up staying for a while, unable to resist when Steve's tongue sweeps out to chase after it. It's stupid ridiculous how much just playing a silly little game of cat-and-mouse is turning Danny on, but Steve's loving it, too, so Danny figures it's all good.

He lets Steve catch him once or twice, but then pulls away and doesn't let Steve follow, holding back until Steve catches on and eases back down on the bed.

"Come on," Steve whispers. "Danny. Please."

Danny really does get off on hearing Steve talk--he's usually so quiet in bed that every word is like gold--but watching him trying to lie quietly and let Danny be in control is like crack, it's so addictive. He tells Steve that while he smoothes the tip of a finger along the high arch of his cheekbone, and Steve's eyes go heavy and lidded, only a small gleam to let Danny know he's still there.

Danny takes his time and works his way down Steve's body, mapping places he knows and places he hasn't quite made it to yet, no matter that they've been fucking for months. The hotspot at the curve of Steve's neck into his shoulder Danny already knows about, and the way Steve's breath catches the first time Danny flicks at his nipples is familiar, too. He finds a stretch of skin along the line of Steve's obliques that pulls a desperate sound from somewhere low in Steve's throat; and another spot on the inside of his thigh that has him arching so hard it's Danny who's making noises.

Even better, Steve doesn't stop talking, so that Danny's treated to endless hoarse whispers, Danny and fuck and so good, and occasionally, very occasionally, sweetest of all, please. Danny's seriously addicted to hearing it, to figuring out how to make it happen. Touching is good, but so is tasting. In the normal run of things, he and Steve, they tend to slam together hot and hard and fast; and yeah, sure, Danny's had his mouth on Steve before, has licked him and bitten him and sucked him and tongue-fucked him, but he's never had the chance to take it slowly. There's a spot on Steve's hip he likes, sucking a mark into the skin there in layers of kisses and bites, mouthing over the teeth marks he's leaving and going off to find new places, but always coming back for more, Steve's voice urging him on.

Danny loses track of time, but Steve's sweaty and shaking, the spot on his hip deep purple when Danny sits back to unbutton his own shirt.

"Look at you," he says to Steve, and he doesn't know why he's keeping his voice down. They're alone in the house, so it shoudn't matter, but he hasn't said anything above a murmur since they started. Maybe it's that he likes how the words drop into the quiet of the house, or maybe it's how Steve goes still and focused, not quite straining to hear them but having to pay attention all the same.

"You should see yourself, babe," Danny says. "All spread out and begging for it and I haven't even gotten started yet." He smiles as Steve moves restlessly, tiny hitches and fidgets that have him in constant motion. He never lets go of the headboard, though. "Hard, too," Danny adds, letting his eyes linger on Steve's dick, thick and swollen for all that Danny hasn't so much as brushed his fingers over it. "All on your own, no help from me."

Danny's almost there, too; a low, heavy ache in his dick and balls that he notices but isn't ready to act on. Not yet, at least. He strips off his shirt and tosses it blindly away from the bed, still swept up in watching Steve.

"Think we can get you off if we keep going like this? Just this?" Danny lays his hand on Steve's thigh, smiling again at Steve's almost instant reaction. He draws circles with his thumb, teases higher with his other fingers, close but still not touching Steve's dick. "Maybe we should make that something you should do. You're doing good with the first thing, aren't you?"


"Tell me what it is you're doing so well," Danny says, and he really, seriously has no idea where this is coming from, only that the words spilling out of his mouth are jacking the both of them sky-high. "Tell me what I told you to do."

"Jesus, Danny," Steve says, pushing into Danny's hand. "You're killing me here."

"Tell me."

"You said," Steve says, his breath coming in quick, shallow pants. "You--you told me--not to move."

"Oh, no, babe." Danny feels his smile go sharp and hungry, and knows Steve sees it, too. He takes his hand off Steve's thigh, and stores Steve's low, disappointed whine--and how it makes something inside him growl--away in the back of his head to think about later. "That's not what I told you--you can move all you want. You have been. If I'd told you not to move, you wouldn't be doing it right, would you?" Danny waits until Steve shakes his head, and then finishes with, "Tell me what I told you to do."

Steve swallows twice, his head tipped back toward where his hands are--still--right where Danny put them, but then he looks Danny straight in the eye and says, "You told me to stay."

"I did," Danny agrees. "And you have." He puts his hand back where it was. The tight, taut muscle relaxes under it, and Danny feels like he's found something he never knew he's been missing. It's a rush, a big one, to feel all that coiled energy, the strength he knows Steve's spent a lifetime building, all of it melting into him. "So let's do something more."

Steve breathes a couple of slow, steady breaths, and Danny watches carefully, so he doesn't miss it if that's enough for Steve to check out.

"You can say no." Danny keeps his hand on Steve, keeps the connection. "We're good either way, man, I swear--" Steve's shaking his head before Danny can finish, which is pretty freaking typical. Danny gives him a couple of seconds to say something, but when he doesn't, Danny leans over and digs through the drawer of the bedside table. It takes him a little to find the bottle of lube but only because he can't be bothered to look away from Steve.

"Okay," Danny says, dropping the lube on the bed. "This is how it's going to play out--you stay right here with me, you stay right here like this--" He pushes Steve's legs apart, gets one braced up and over his own shoulder, and then waits for Steve's acknowledgment, mostly because hearing Steve say he knows he's supposed to stay is doing crazy things to both of them. "And you come when I tell you to."

Danny files Steve's groan away for further contemplation, too, and makes sure Steve can see him uncap the lube and spill a little on his fingers. Steve likes it rough--no surprise there--and Danny is usually right on board with that, but they're in uncharted waters here, and he's not sure where the line is. If he makes it too easy, though, Steve's completely capable of taking it as some kind of commentary on how he can't deal and they'll be back to Square One.

"Danny," Steve says, through gritted teeth. "Danny, don't make me--I can't wait, I need--"

"Yeah, man," Danny says, giving up on the internal debate and pushing two fingers inside Steve with no prep or warning. Steve arches up off the bed, every muscle gone back tight and hard, but he doesn't let go and Danny doesn't stop. "I got you, okay? I got you."

Danny sets a rough, fast pace, fucking Steve open as he goes, catching the right angle to hit his prostate by the third stroke, holding Steve steady as he bucks and jerks through the strokes.

"Yeah," Danny breathes. "Like this, no toys, no nothing, just you and me, and you are so fucking gorgeous, babe, giving it up like this, letting me fuck you until you come--"

Danny, Danny, Steve's saying, and can't and need and again and again that sweet, sweet please.

Danny adds a third finger, twisting hard every time he fucks into Steve's tight, hot body, not slowing down, not easing back at all, and Steve stays with him, his body sweat-slick and fever-hot against Danny's, his voice edging closer and closer to completely shredded.

"Come on, sweetheart," Danny says, pushing harder, faster. "Come for me now."

"Can't." Steve's voice is nothing but shattered glass over concrete. "Can't."

"Not an option, babe." Danny goes in deeper, and Steve's groan breaks on something close to a sob. A part of Danny's brain is whispering to him, telling him to drop it, back off, pointing out that however much he wants to front like this is about Steve, he's so fucking turned on by it all that he can't be thinking clearly.

"Please." Steve writhes helplessly, pushing into Danny's hand. "Danny, please."

"Let it go," Danny tells him, not quite an order but close. "I got you; just let it go."

He twists his hand ruthlessly, and Steve arches up off the bed with a ragged scream that sounds like he's tearing out his throat, shaking and coming and there, his eyes locked on Danny's and Danny's never seen anything hotter or more beautiful in his life.

"Here," Steve's trying to say, before he even stops shaking. "Come here, come up here. Let me--want to suck you."

Danny should stop, let everyone catch their breath, make sure Steve's okay. He knows this with every rational brain cell left, but there is no fucking way reason is going to prevail, not when Steve's stretched out in front of him, his mouth bitten raw and come splattered across his belly and chest, his screamed-out voice not shutting up with the want it, want it, Danny, want you.

Danny's moving before he can think, crawling over Steve and clawing at the button and zipper on his pants with hands that are already shaking and clumsy.

"Yeah," Steve rasps, and jesus, that voice is never going to leave Danny alone. "Come on, come on, come fuck my throat."

Danny hisses as he gets his dick out of his pants, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from coming right there. He tells the part of his brain that's appalled by what he's about to do that it'll be okay, that he'll be lucky if he lasts ten seconds. He gets himself braced with his knees on either side of Steve's ribs and hesitates for a second.

"Do it." Steve runs the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip, teasing fucker that he is. Danny takes the invitation and slams home, almost yelling at how good Steve's mouth feels; lush, hot suction, and his throat working frantically around Danny's dick is enough to kill off any bit of sanity that Danny might still possess. He doesn't need it, though, because Steve has that look in his eyes, the crazy-ass-motherfucker-isn't-life-grand gleam, and that's enough for Danny to let go and stop having to think.

He does what Steve's asked him for, fucking hard and deep into Steve's throat, riding it out as he gags around Danny's cock, and then going back for more, and more, and more, Steve egging him on with eager noises until everything he's been holding back for half the night crashes down around him and he's coming with a final stuttering thrust and jagged streaks of light and dark behind his eyes.

"Holy fuck," Steve's saying, gulping down air like he's only just remembered how to breathe. "Holy fuck."

Danny wouldn't mind staying how they are for forever, Steve stretched out on the bed, Danny kneeling over him, propped up by the headboard and wall, but his knee is screaming at him to move, and it'd probably be a good idea not to ignore the pain. His physical therapist is a genius, but she's a stone-cold bitch about not fucking with her work and Danny is fairly certain that she's not going to give him a pass because his partner is too hot for words.

"For a man who'd rather get shot in the face than talk about shit, I think you just nailed the only acceptable response to this situation," Danny says, hitting the mattress with all the grace of a wounded duck and not caring a bit. "Holy fuck."

Danny stays sprawled out until his heart slows down to something that's not in coronary event range, and then leans up on one elbow. Steve's still too fucking hot for words. "You can let go now," Danny says, nodding to where Steve's still got his hands wrapped around the posts in the headboard.

"Yeah," Steve says, with a breathless half-laugh. "I would if I could." Muscles flex and shift and he laughs again. "Shit."

"Babe," Danny says, hauling himself into a sitting position and running his hand over Steve's wrist and hand. Everything under the skin is rock hard. "Your brain is such a piece of work."

"Tell me about it," Steve gasps as Danny digs into the tendon between his thumb and forefinger, working it loose as gently as possible. "Shit. Shitshitshit," he groans. Danny can feel the muscle spasming, but they finally get both hands relaxed enough that they can get them off the posts. Danny trades off working on each on each one, nothing fancy, just whatever it takes to get them loose. It has the added bonus of making Steve stay still for a couple of minutes, long enough for Danny to give him the once over, make sure he's really okay, not just putting a good face on everything.

"I'm okay, Danno," Steve says, and yeah, Danny's never had much of a poker face. "Hands to the contrary."

"Good to hear," Danny says. "But you'll understand if I don't take your overcompensating word for it, yeah?"

Steve snorts, but he lets Danny keep going, until it's less about working cramping muscles loose and more about holding hands. Steve won't ever admit it, but Danny thinks it's never going to be a bad thing that he gets physical demonstrations that somebody actually cares what's happening on the inside. As far as Danny can tell, that's pretty much a foreign concept in Steve's worldview, but Danny's working on it.