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"It's for the case," Steve says, like that makes it any better.

"No," Danny says, barely looking up from the report he is trying to concoct out of some very flimsy police procedure.

"Danno," Steve tries again, as if that's going to improve his chances.

"Let us imagine a small discussion about what I am not willing to do in the name of police work. In said discussion, we might explore a general unwillingness to work every single day of the week for months on end to the exclusion of seeing my daughter, perhaps we might touch on some elements of due process that I am not willing to bend, barter, or otherwise trample over. But the first thing, the very first thing in this discussion would be how there is nothing, absolutely nothing--"

"Danno, come on--"

"--that would induce me to tattoo your name on my ass. Ever," Danny says.

"It's just a temp, Danny," Kono says, sticking her head in the door.

"Kono, what is that. Why would you say things like that, why would you even put these ideas in Commander Steve McGarrett's head? I have not raised you right, I can feel this," Danny says, aiming a look that hopefully expresses his complete and utter betrayal at her hands.

It doesn't take. "Chin designed it -- I think it looks kind of nice," she says brightly.

Steve nods encouragingly, again, like he thinks any of this makes it okay.

"No way in hell," Danny tells them both sternly.

That's obviously how he ends up bent over the fancy computer table top with his boxers down his hips to a degree that would get them all sent to a sexual harassment seminar in any reasonable, sane working environment. It's just Danny's terrible, terrible luck to be working in 5-0 instead.

"Is that centered?" Kono asks doubtfully.

"A little to the left," Chin advises Steve, who obediently moves the transfer as directed.

When apparently everyone is satisfied with the positioning of Steve's name on his ass, Steve presses a damp cloth firmly against the transfer and holds it there for what seems like way longer than the required sixty seconds. Danny also does not believe that the grip Steve has on one of his hips is, strictly speaking, necessary. "I think it's going to look really great," Steve says, voice low and disturbing close to Danny's ear.

"I am going to make your life hell," Danny promises.

"Rrowr," Steve says.

"Exactly the kind of passion that leads to tattooing someone's name on your ass," Kono says approvingly.

Steve peels off the transfer carefully. "Hold still, Danno, we have to make sure it's dry," he says, hand still clamped on Danny's hip like he doesn't trust him not to move.

"I hate all of you," Danny pronounces, and when Steve releases him, he goes off to definitely not try to see his newly-acquired tattoo in the bathroom mirror.


"This guy must be the most ridiculous serial killer ever," Danny says grumpily, accepting the cup of coffee Steve hands him as his due. "Seriously, this is his criteria? Go after yahoos who are dumb enough to get someone's name tattooed on them?"

"It says something pretty powerful about the connection between two people," Chin says mildly, but Danny refuses to be duped. Chin can make really insane things sound totally reasonable, which is basically how he got into this mess in the first place.

"Yes, it says they're all idiots," Danny mutters, and he absolutely counts himself among that number, now.

Kono gives him a chiding look. "It says they're in love, that they want to permanently mark themselves to show that."

Danny squirms a little. He's tried the whole forever thing, and look what it got him -- at least he doesn't have a inked souvenir to taunt him on top of everything else. "What's wrong with a ring, that's what I want to know."

"I can get you one of those, too, if you think we need it," Steve says.

"Shut up," Danny suggests.

Chin taps a few more keys on the computer. "I've reserved you a room at the resort. If the killer runs according to pattern, he'll pick one more victim before he moves on."

"And out of an entire private beach resort of oiled-up, mostly naked guys, you think he's going to pick me because I have a tramp stamp of our fearless leader's name," Danny says, extremely skeptical.

Kono wrinkles her nose. "Is it really a tramp stamp if it's not so much on the small of your back as right above your--"

"Kono," Danny says, his general feeling of betrayal growing by leaps and bounds.

Steve decides to take advantage of the moment to settle his hand on the nape of Danny's neck. "We're just going to have to be really, really convincing. There's no other link between the victims beside the tattoo, and this is only going to escalate."

Danny lets out a small, exasperated sigh. "I know, I know."

The degree to which Steve's eyes light up at his capitulation is, frankly, completely worrisome.


"We need a backstory," Steve announces after he manages to maneuver Danny into his office with the clever ploy of actually letting them eat lunch before running off half-cocked.

Danny inspects his sandwich briefly for any undesirables -- what is with this spam obsession, do they still think it's 1943? -- and then bites into it after he determines it's safe. "Okay," he says, after he swallows. "Well, we're using our real first names, so we don't have to worry about that. It's best to keep it simple for this kind of undercover work. Getting too complicated is a mistake."

"We met while I was on leave in New Jersey."

"Ugh, you probably went to Atlantic City or something else completely tragic."

Steve gives him a look that suggests he's displeased by any and all hints of Danny being uncooperative. "I swept you off your feet," he continues.

"Well, that is certainly one interpretation of all the times I've ended up flat on my back after an explosion since we partnered up."

"I surprised you with a trip to Hawaii," Steve says doggedly. "You know, to give you a break from the frozen hellscape of Jersey winters."

Danny narrows his eyes at the Jersey crack. "Imaginary you is really good to me, I get it. Also more free with his cash."

"I'm good to you," Steve says, something a little sulky and affronted in his voice.

Danny looks down at his sandwich, which was in fact exactly what he wanted, and he didn't even have to tell Steve. "You're not completely terrible," Danny allows.


Of course Steve is enjoying himself. They're bait for a serial killer who has some sort of serious hangup about tattooing loved ones' names on their skin -- of course Steve thinks this is practically like a vacation, but better, because the chances of collateral damage are higher.

The Kawanuma resort is not Danny's kind of place. Not because it caters to a predominantly male clientele, but because it's frankly out of his price range, and also, it assumes that everyone wants to hang out on the beach. But he supposes that it's pretty nice -- tempting enough, at least, for both the killer and the last couple found murdered. 5-0 is split on whether the killer is a temporary employee of the resort or a guest -- Danny and Chin say guest, Steve and Kono think it's an employee -- but Danny doesn't object, in theory, to Steve playing it up for the benefit of the staff.

If he doesn't get his hand out of the back of Danny's pants, though, there might be bloodshed.

Once inside their suite -- which is just as lavish and ridiculous as Danny had expected -- Steve opens up their suitcase and says, "Ready to hit the beach, Danno?"

"Ugh," Danny says feelingly. "Also, do I even want to know what's in there?"

Steve fishes out something small and black and tosses it at him. "Get ready to show off that tattoo."

"All of my feelings consist of violent hate right now, you do know that, right?" Danny says, and starts to strip.


"Come on, take it off," Steve coaxes after staking out a place on the sand under an umbrella.

Danny knows this is the point, but still, he balks. "Look, my skin is going to burn. They will not see this tattoo, because I will be a lobster. I come in two shades: Jersey winter-pale, and red. That's it. There's no in-between."

Steve puts his hands on Danny's hips, which gives Danny the disorienting feeling of being the recalcitrant significant other. "Bitch, bitch, bitch," Steve says, looking totally affectionate while he does so. "Come on, take the shirt off and lie down under the umbrella. I'll put sunblock on you, how's that?"

"Are you absolutely serious?" Danny asks, but does as he's told.

Steve starts to smooth sunblock down Danny's spine. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to really work it in." He punctuates this with a firm stroke of his thumb along the tattoo.

"You're disgusting," Danny tells him.

Steve's chosen a good place -- high traffic and close to one of two guest service huts on the beach. If the serial killer is a guest, there's a really good chance that they'll pass Steve and Danny on their way to get a drink from the bar, and if it's someone on staff -- well, there are a lot of resort employees who are in and out of those huts, so Danny's feeling good about their chances. Or at least, as good as he can feel about any situation in which he is actively trying to make someone single him out for murder.

Danny's actually making some inroads on this book that Chin recommended to him when more shadow falls over him, the form of a man in a employee uniform holding a tray with a drink on it. "For you, sir," the man says.

He takes the drink, sniffs it a little, and makes a face. "Steve, babe, what did I tell you about the pineapple rum?"

Steve is doing a good impression of a man working on his tan and maybe getting a nap in. "I didn't order drinks," he says.

"Ah, it's compliments of the management -- if it's not to your liking, I could bring you something else?" the server says. He looks nervous, then -- Danny takes in the uniform, which still seems bright and stiff, and his nametag -- Tony, it says -- looks brand new, too.

"Nah, don't sweat it," Danny says, and gives him his most charming smile to see if he'll relax. If anything, Tony freezes up more. "I just like to give Steve grief."

"It's your life's work," Steve says sleepily.

"What he said," Danny says, and takes the drink. "Thanks."

Tony stares a moment longer, and then scuttles off.

"Well," Steve says, sounding completely alert now. "Chalk one up for me and Kono's theory."

Danny pretends to take a sip of his drink. "Except no, because I think he was just checking me out. I think he thought I was hot," he says, marveling.

Steve makes the not-amused-frowning face.

"I've changed my mind -- I like this case," Danny continues, unrepentant.

"He could be our guy," Steve says, tilting down his sunglasses just a bit to look at him.

"You know, people can find me attractive without wanting to kill me."

Steve stares at him. "I'm not even touching that," he says finally.


"Here's the thing," Danny says later that night in bed.

"You snore, I know," Steve says.

"What -- no, I do not snore, I am trying to have a serious conversation here. The thing of which I am speaking is that maybe you shouldn't have put the tattoo on my ass."

Steve looks down at the sheet covering them, like he has x-ray vision or something. "I think it's a good place for it. What did Kono say? Primal or something."

"First of all, you two are never allowed to talk to each other, ever again. Second of all -- we're kind of restricted in terms of activities if you want to keep showing it off to as many people as possible."

"I could teach you how to surf," Steve says.

"I could teach you how to go straight to hell," Danny says.

"That doesn't even make sense. Come on, Danno -- lots of people surf, and we can move up and down the beach without being suspicious."

"I'm going to be terrible at it. I'm going to end up with a concussion. Or drown. Or be eaten by sharks," Danny says grumpily, and mashes his face into his pillow.

"Or maybe you'll love it," Steve says.

Danny makes a noise that he hopes adequately conveys the probability of that happening.


Normally, he would rather stab himself than admit it, but he does kind of love it.

This is not to say that he is good -- in fact, he is wretched at surfing. He is not a natural. He and Steve have been at this for a few hours now, Steve teaching him how to paddle on the longboard, how to pull himself up into a stand.

"Stop laughing at me," he grouses after he falls off again. "You've been doing this since you could walk, so have a little sympathy."

"I'm not laughing," Steve says, that liar, even though his mouth can't seem to do anything but smile.

They spend the morning on the beach, wandering down the sand in between going out into the water. They scan the crowd, as though they could pick out their suspect from sight alone.

"Maybe we were wrong," Danny says later on their way to have lunch indoors. He restrains himself from hiking up the waist of his shorts -- Steve says they ride low enough that you can still basically guess that it's his name, even if you can't see the lower part of the letters. It's indecent, is what it is. "Maybe this wasn't the right plan."

"It's a sound strategy," Steve says, and the quiet confidence in his voice is something that Danny can't help but respond to.

"We've had worse ideas," Danny agrees, and then even refrains from listing them out of the goodness of his heart.


"Your special friend is back," Steve mutters while they're finishing their meal.

Danny does not immediately turn to look, because he does tend to think things through unlike some people he could name (there exists the possibility that Steve does actually think through all the crazy stuff he does, but that's just too terrifying to contemplate). "I take it you mean our friend Tony, for whom I have developed a certain amount of affection based on his willingness to bring me non-pineapple oriented beverages."

Steve's eyebrows do something hilarious. "Affection?"

"Camaraderie, esteem -- what, do I look like a thesaurus to you? I'm saying, I don't think he's our guy."

"He's been watching you carefully and repeatedly. That doesn't seem a little suspicious?"

Danny rolls his eyes. "Look, you get hit on left, right, and center by every beautiful woman who crosses your path. You can at least let me have average-height-and-vaguely-nerdy, there."

"Who is a guy," Steve says, but not in a judgy way, more in an ascertaining-facts way.

Danny shrugs. "At this point, I'd take it."

They've clearly gone past funny eyebrow territory and have headed straight to not-processing robot land. "You'd take it," Steve repeats flatly.

"That's what I said," Danny says. "Oh, hey, he's coming over this way."

Tony's smile seems bright and genuine, and he fumbles out an awkward introduction of another employee, Kevin. "Anyway, I hear Kevin's massages are great, so maybe you'll want to book one with him?"

"We'll keep it in mind," Steve says, disturbingly friendly in light of the fact that he obviously thinks Tony is their number one suspect.

"We're going back out to the beach soon," Danny says, and feels perfectly justified in nearly batting his eyes for the joy of knowing how much it will irritate Steve. "Don't suppose I could get another one of your special ice teas when we do?"


It's a fact that Danny carries stress in his shoulders -- his is a very demanding job, and even more demanding since Steve came along and unilaterally co-opted him and started endangering his life on a regular basis, so yeah, lots of stress. So when Steve suggests making that appointment for one of the massages out on the beach, Danny does not argue and is even a little grateful for the excuse.

It starts off well enough, after accepting some kind of fancy bottled vitamin water, taking off everything except his laughable excuse for swimwear, and lying down on the massage table under the shade of a pavilion. His masseuse doesn't look like much, frankly, but he's got strong hands and that's something that Danny can appreciate. When Kevin goes to town on the muscles under his left shoulderblade, Danny actually makes a noise that he's pretty sure he hasn't made since the early years of his marriage to Rachel.

"Who's Steve?" Kevin asks after some indeterminate length of time.

"Partner," Danny mumbles, eyes closed to concentrate on what Kevin's thumbs are doing.

"The guy you were having lunch with earlier?"

"That's him," Danny says.

The rest of the massage passes in silence, or mostly silence that's broken by Danny's appreciative groans. When it's over, he feels dazed, but he thanks Kevin and heads back to the beach where Steve has been watching him the whole time.

"You'd better not have lost my place," Danny tells him, looking at the paperback in Steve's hand.

"Page forty-seven, relax," Steve says. "You really like this?"

"It's a beach read, Steven, it's supposed to be light. The point is to relax," Danny says, and steals the book back from him. Steve is only on page eleven, which means he probably was actually doing the surveillance thing instead of reading.

"How relaxing was that?" Steve asks, nodding toward the massage hut.

"Well, I think my neck muscles have stopped resembling elevator cable, so pretty good," Danny says. "But my spider sense is tingling."

"How so?"

Danny squints at the bright, bright sun. "Because he worked over every part of me, but he didn't touch that tattoo, not once, and he asked questions about it. About you."

Steve looks at him, his gaze assessing, and then he says, "Okay. Back to the room, then. We need to call Chin."


"He's listed as 'Kevin Awanu' in the employee registry," Chin tells them over the phone. "He's been there for five months."

Danny trades a glance with Steve. "Where was he before that?"

Over the speaker phone, they can hear the clack of the laptop keyboard. "Huh," Chin says after awhile.

"Chin, you know I hate it when you do that. It creates needless suspense," Danny says, frowning.

"Hold on," Chin says, and they can hear rapid fire typing and clicking for a few minutes. "Oh, this is good," he says.

"Chin, seriously."

"Kevin Awanu doesn't show up anywhere before five months ago. But here's something interesting -- he's listed as a transfer employee."

"If you're going to tell me that he transferred to the Kawanuma resort from the Islington, I swear to god I will tattoo your name on my ass," Danny tells him.

"Flattering, but disturbing. Please don't," Chin says. "And there's a 'Kevin Lee' who worked at the Islington until five months ago. Same picture, though. He must have put in for a transfer and then changed his name."

"Coincidence?" Steve asks.

"If he's still carrying around the same knife? I don't think so."

Steve has a gleam in his eye that promises all kinds of trouble and property damage. "Max said that knife was distinctive. We find it, we can tie Awanu to Lee to the Islington killings. What do you think, Danny? Are you up for a little breaking and entering?"

"I can see that my efforts to teach you about how to make sure evidence is admissible in court have been a gigantic waste of time," Danny grouses, but knows he's going to give in.


As it turns out, Chin and Kono go to Kevin Awanu's apartment to do the actual law-breaking in the name of the law so that Steve and Danny can keep an eye on Awanu while he finishes his shift.

"We got nothing, Danny," Kono tells him on the phone, sounding really disappointed.

"Damn," he says, and blows out a breath. "Okay. Thanks for checking, Kono."

"You want us to check out someplace else? Does he have a locker at the resort, maybe?"

"If he does, I think it's worth a look," Danny says, and relays the whole thing to Steve.

And because obviously Danny's luck with breaking and entering is fantastic, this is how Awanu almost catches them rifling through his employee locker. There's no way for them to get out without walking past Awanu, and Danny racks his brain to think of an explanation for them being there, because Awanu probably wants to rinse off the sand from the beach, and there's only one way to the showers.

When they hear footsteps coming in their direction, Steve gives him a look -- a look that Danny's come to associate with, 'I have a plan and it may involve explosives' -- and pulls Danny against him into a kiss.

Danny's kissed people before for cover, most recently Kono, and it's never really done anything for him. Sure, he can put on a pretty decent act, a little drunken making out to provide a distraction, but if this is Steve's idea of a distraction, it's working on the wrong person. Because Danny? Is really fucking distracted by Steve's tongue in his mouth and hand rubbing his tattoo, and maybe it's the adrenaline of almost being caught by a probable serial killer, but he's pretty sure that hard length against his stomach isn't Steve's gun.

The footsteps stop, but Danny can't see anybody out of the corner of his eye -- and Steve is still kissing him like he means it, one knee between Danny's thighs that's not there by accident, if the flex of muscles that rocks it gently against Danny's erection is anything to go by. Trust Steve McGarrett to never do anything halfway -- he can't just light a fire in a wastepaper basket, he has to blow up the building, and apparently he can't just kiss Danny a little. Oh no, he has to eat Danny's mouth and grind his thigh against him, and -- Jesus fucking Christ -- trail a fingertip down Danny's tattoo to just dip into the crease, because heaven forbid Steve doesn't full-on commit to insanity.

There are footsteps again, but it sounds like they're going in the other direction. Steve stops kissing him then, just breathes quietly against Danny's lips while he listens, and after a moment, Danny pulls away.

Steve looks -- well, he looks like someone who was seriously getting it on, but he has that laser focus in his eyes when he jerks his head back toward Awanu's locker. They approach carefully, as quietly as possible, but the main locker room is empty. Awanu's locker is cleared out, and Danny grits his teeth in frustration.


Danny hasn't worked that many serial killer cases -- most regular detectives haven't, but there's nothing normal about his caseload since joining 5-0. Everything in his experience, though, in his gut, tells him that Kevin Awanu or Lee or whatever he's calling himself is their guy, and they have got to catch him before he kills again, changes his name and disappears.

"You've got to let me make another appointment with him," Danny tells Steve when they retreat to their hotel room.

"No way in hell," Steve says shortly. "Max showed us what that guy can do with a knife. No way is he putting his hands all over you again."

"You think he's going to snap my neck or stab me in broad daylight?" Danny asks incredulously. "He's not stupid, Steve, he never would have gotten this far if he was. And right now -- right now we have bullshit, we have nothing, we have no knife, no prints, no anything to connect this guy to any of the murders. You tell me what we should do -- you give me some kind of alternative better than our original plan and I'll take it, but right now, this is our best bet and you know it!"

Steve looks at him, stone-faced, totally shut down.

Danny hates that look, hates it, but they don't have time for this. He calls down to the concierge to make the appointment for tomorrow, and Steve watches him the whole time, face still disturbingly blank of expression.


He tries to keep himself calm when he goes to the massage hut for his appointment, but there's no hiding from Kevin Awanu that he's tense.

Kevin clucks his tongue. "You undid all my hard work from yesterday," he says.

Danny says nothing in response, but makes an effort to relax.

A few minutes pass in silence, and then Kevin says, "So, how long have you and Steve been together?"

"A little over a year," Danny says.

"Wow. A year and you get inked? Must be serious."

Kevin does something with his knuckles that is just out of this world, and it would be just Danny's luck to spend the rest of his life comparing all other massages to that of a serial killer and find them wanting. "Sometimes, you just know," Danny says eventually, and there's more truth to that than he expected.

They lapse into silence again, and Danny feels like he could fall asleep right on the table, which he puts down to the excellent massage until he lifts up his head and feels incredibly dizzy, and realizes he's been drugged.

"Steve," he says, or tries to say. He's not sure if he succeeds.

"It's okay," Kevin says gently. "I know you love him, but there's only one way it's going to end. I'm just trying to help you."

He doesn't want to go anywhere with Kevin, but he can't seem to voice any objections as Kevin leads him down a service path to the hotel.

"Seriously, Danny? Stepping out on me already?" Steve says, and if Danny weren't so happy to see him and weren't roofied to the gills, he would have something profane to say to that.

"He's not feeling well," Kevin says. "I'm just taking him to see the doctor we have on staff."

"Thanks, but I'll take him from here, Awanu. Or is it Lee?" Steve asks with a tight, unfriendly smile.

Danny feels something against his neck then.

"Don't come any closer," Kevin warns. "We're going to leave and you're not going to stop me, not if you want him to live."

It's like Danny's body doesn't entirely belong to him, but it listens to him anyway, listens and does what Steve wants, which is bring his foot down hard on Kevin's instep. Kevin drops the knife, and that's when Steve rushes him, drops him to the ground with a hard punch and a roundhouse, and when Kevin is bleeding in the sand, Steve punches him a few more times, and would probably have kept going if Danny hadn't croaked out his name and dropped to his knees, the world going gray around him before he finally passes out.


He wakes up the next morning in the hospital, which is becoming a more regular occurrence than he might like. Chin is sitting in a plastic chair next to bed, drinking coffee and reading something on his phone.

"Hey there, sleeping beauty," Chin says, looking up with a smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Ugh," Danny says eloquently in reply.

"That good, huh? You want some water?"

Danny nods, and Chin take a styrofoam cup off the table next to him and puts the straw against his lips, and Danny swallows a few mouthfuls before he leans back again. "Where's Steve?" he asks.

"In the hallway, talking to the governor. He's been here all night with you."

Danny frowns, and looks at the single IV in his arm. "Can I leave soon?"

Chin hits the call button for the nurse. "Well, they were just keeping you under observation, wanted to make sure you stayed hydrated. They'll probably clear you to go home soon." His gaze turns considering. "What do you remember?"

Danny thinks about it. "Steve beating the shit out of our serial killer. Tell me you arrested the son of a bitch."

"Arrested, and Max matched the knife, and Awanu was shockingly forthcoming under questioning."

"Well, thank god for that," Danny says.

Steve takes that moment to come in. "Danno, you're awake. How are you feeling?"

"Like I want to get out of here. And I need coffee. Possibly bacon. I feel really hungover, is what I'm saying, and I didn't even do anything to deserve it."

Steve just says, real seriously, "Okay," like he is totally up for getting Danny anything he wants, and it's weird, but Danny decides not to look this particular gift horse in the mouth.


Steve takes him back to his house without asking, and Danny would bitch except he knows how great the water pressure is in Steve's bathroom, and more than anything, he wants a long, hot shower.

"Go on, coffee and breakfast will be up when you're done," Steve says, and Danny nods tiredly before going upstairs.

He stays in the shower for a long time, letting the spray beat down on his shoulders. He wraps a towel around his waist, and is in the middle of swishing mouthwash around when he hears Steve climb the stairs. He spits just as Steve appears in the doorway. "What," he says.

"Just checking on you, making sure you didn't fall in the toilet or something."

"Hilarious," Danny says. He turns a little bit and looks at his back in the mirror. "Is this thing fading or what? I thought it was a temp."

"It's a little lighter," Steve says, but he doesn't sound entirely convinced.

"Great, at this rate, it'll probably be there forever," Danny complains, and drags his fingers ineffectually through his hair, like it's going to behave without product intervention.

Steve is quiet for a moment. "The thing is -- I really like it."

"Jesus, how big is your ego?" Danny asks. "I'm sure having your name on my ass is a thrill, but seriously." He rubs his thumb against the tattoo, like that's going to help, but when he looks up in the mirror again, the expression on Steve's face isn't teasing -- it's absolutely serious.

"No," Steve says, and swallows, still looking at Danny in the mirror. "I mean, I really, really like it."

It's like having Rachel rear-end his car all over again. "Oh," Danny says faintly. "You -- oh."

Steve pushes off from the door frame and steps closer, hand hovering over the tattoo. "Chin said -- it says something powerful about the connection between two people."

Danny's throat feels tight. "Is this the time to mention how Johnny Depp got a tattoo that said 'Winona Forever' and he changed it to 'Wino Forever' after they broke up? Because people change their minds. People fall out of love," Danny says, because he knows only too well.

"No," Steve says, and before Danny can ask for clarification, Steve steps in close and kisses him, more gently than he had in the locker room. "I'm not going to change my mind."

"Steve," Danny says, feeling strange and wound tight.

"I'm not going to change my mind," Steve repeats, low and solemn.

And maybe it's some strange McGarrett skill, but Danny actually believes him. "You'd better not, because hell if I know something funny I could change 'Steve' to," Danny says.

"It really is just a temp, I promise," Steve says.

Danny threads his fingers through the hair at the back of Steve's nape. "But you do like it."

"A lot," Steve confirms, mouth close to Danny's but not touching.

"Show me," Danny says, and closes the distance with a kiss.

It's slow for a minute, cautious and a little gentle, like Steve doesn't want to startle him. It's nice, but Danny's the one wearing only a towel, which makes him feel like he's about four steps ahead in the game. He sits down on the counter behind him, and pulls Steve in between his legs by the belt loop -- and he gets one look at the smile on Steve's face then, brilliant and hungry, before Steve buries his face in Danny's neck, tongue chasing droplets of water on Danny's skin before covering the same ground with lips and a hint of teeth. But Danny's got Steve right where he wants him, except all his damn clothes are in the way -- Danny pulls at Steve's t-shirt to kiss along his collarbone, thumbs his nipples through soft cotton and that gets Danny a growl, Steve whipping off his shirt before pulling open Danny's towel.

"Come on, come on, pants," Danny mutters against Steve's lips, and there's something stupidly hot about how fast Steve remedies the situation, how much he wants this, and Danny just wraps his legs around Steve's thighs to pull him even closer, keep him there, which is crazy because Steve is clearly not going anywhere that he can't touch as much of Danny as possible. And Danny is absolutely on board with that, because Steve is all hot skin and hotter kisses, and it's not like Danny's seen a lot of cock, up close and personal on a recreational basis, but Steve's looks like something he wants to get his mouth around. Steve obviously feels likewise, because Danny doesn't get much warning before Steve steps back far enough to bend over and take Danny in his mouth, and Jesus fucking Christ, he should have put more faith in those rumors about what Navy men get up to at sea.

In the small space of the bathroom, the sounds Steve makes while he's blowing him seem loud and extra obscene, and the noises Danny's making -- well, if he wasn't already halfway to orgasm, he'd be turning himself on with his panting and the small moans that he can't stop himself from making. And then Steve pulls off, and says, "Turn around," and Danny's brain is mush, it's completely melted, and he obeys before his brain totally processes what Steve's after.

He gets it, though, when Steve kneels and kisses the skin temporarily inked with his name, licks it, and then keeps licking down. Danny manages to say, "Oh god," before Steve holds his cheeks apart and licks down, licks in, and Danny is seriously not sure if his knees are going to hold out, even the good one, because he's holding himself up on the bathroom counter and there's nothing he can do, nothing he want to do but take this, Steve rubbing his thumb against the temporary tattoo and pushing his tongue into Danny, and if Danny was making noise before, it's nothing like the low, gasping moans he's making now.

Steve has mercy at last, stands up again and presses himself against Danny's ass, and when he wraps one hand around Danny's cock, it's almost too much. Steve rubs himself against Danny, strokes Danny's cock slow and firm, and it's all Danny can do to hang on to the bathroom counter and keep looking at Steve's eyes in the mirror. When he falls completely apart, it's with Steve watching him, pushing his hips against Danny hard a few more times before coming on the small of Danny's back.

"Okay," Danny says after they catch their breath. "You like it, I believe you."

He can feel Steve smile against his shoulder.


5-0's track record with inviting sexual harassment seminars is still terrible, which is amply demonstrated by Kono smacking Danny off-center on his ass with a case file while she sidles past him. This is not unusual, but what is unusual is the gasp Danny sucks in through his teeth.

Kono blinks at him worriedly. "You okay, Danny?"

"Fine," Danny says, and waves her off.

It doesn't work -- it never does, he doesn't know why he tries. "Because you just made a sound like I hurt you," Kono continues. Her eyes narrow. "Danny, are things okay? Is there something you need to tell me?"

"Just a scrape," Danny says.

Kono stares at him. "A scrape. On your--"

"Can we stop talking about this?" Danny pleads.

"Stop talking about what?" Chin asks when he and Steve come back into the room.

"Danny's injured. He says it's 'just a scrape,'" Kono says, tone extremely dubious.

"Let's see," Steve says briskly, no-nonsense.

"Okay, let's not, because it's fine and also, we are working and thus have better things to be doing than talking about a relatively minor boo-boo," Danny says.

"It's in a delicate place," Kono stage whispers.

"Wow, I'm out," Chin says.

"You're all out," Danny says, but Steve just manhandles him back to his office.

"Are you going to show me, or am I just going to pants you?" Steve says.

"Seriously, HR is going to send us to so many seminars," Danny says, and waves an irritated hand at the glass walls of the office.

Steve huffs and shuts the blinds. "Pants. Now."

Danny frowns at him. "I'd like it to be known that I was attempting to keep this a surprise."

"You wanted an injury to be a surprise?"

"No, you idiot -- it was supposed to be a present-type surprise. You know, for our anniversary."

Steve brightens, and then his face just goes confused again.

Danny unbuckles his belt, undoes his pants, and pushes the waistband of both pants and boxers down far enough to show Steve the inked mark on his hip. "I will put up with no bitching about the placement -- if I'm going to put something permanent on my skin, I want to be able to see it."

Steve's eyes are wide. "You--" he trails off, and brushes his thumb near the small tattoo, careful not to touch it.

"Also, I might point out that the SEALs do not have the most attractive insignia in the history of the world, although I will count myself lucky that it doesn't include a mermaid or something totally preposterous, because that is just completely out of the--"

Steve kisses him. And kisses him some more.

"So many harassment seminars," Danny says faintly when Steve pulls back. "It's the middle of the day and I'm in my boss's office with my pants down."

"Danno," Steve says seriously, something half-desperate in his tone. "You're not going to change your mind?"

"I'm not going to change my mind," Danny says. "Not about you."

Steve takes great care in covering up the tattoo again, and re-buckling his belt. "Come on, I have a surprise, too -- two nights at the Leimomi, with surfing and steak and no pineapple drinks. You want to check in early?"

"Do I," Danny says, and they don't quite run for the Camaro, but it's close.