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I Solemnly Swear Not to Light Myself On Fire

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Danny tugs at his cuffs, rolls his shoulders to make sure his jacket's settled just right, lets out a breath and glances toward the wide-open doors to the lanai. Most of the guests have already arrived; there's soft music playing, and the day's so spit-shine beautiful he feels a little nauseated, rubs a hand beneath his ribs.

"Would you relax?" Steve says, ambling in from the living room, tugging on his own cuffs.

"How about you relax," Danny shoots right back, then scrubs a hand over his mouth because maybe, just maybe, he can push those words back in. Steve's smiling at him, all easy calm and long-limbed comfort, jacket open, tie hanging loose around the collar of his shirt. "Why you gotta play it cool, huh?" Danny asks, and even to him it sounds like a whine. "Why you gotta be all 'no big deal' about this – what, a little palm sweat, that's too much to ask of you?"

Steve's smile becomes a grin and he reaches out, straightens Danny's tie just a little. He shrugs. "Not nervous."

Danny growls and rubs his hands together, ducks his head and looks at his shoes. "Clearly."

"C'mon." Steve leans so that he can catch Danny's eye. The bastard's still grinning at him, like he thinks this is cute or something. "It's just a couple of people we know, and . . . "

"It's like, everyone," Danny says. "It's everyone, Steven. It's the Governor. It's Rachel, it's – for crying out loud, it's Stan, sitting on a folding chair on our lawn and how, how, how did you convince me that a traditional Hawaiian love song was in any way an appropriate choice when I am – you are – " He humphs helplessly as Steve reels him in, his final words muffled against Steve's shirt. Steve's rubbing his back, what the fuck, is he a colicky baby, no, he is not. He grumbles, but Steve doesn't let go.

"We can send them home if you want," Steve says pleasantly, like it's nothing, like they didn't spend weeks on this, like they haven't had seventeen epic fights about the arrangement of the chairs and whether Steve's allowed – and everyone else – to go swimming after dinner.

"No, we cannot," Danny says. And he pushes against Steve, which makes for an unwieldy shoving match for a second, and then he's got a little space, a couple of feet of important air between him and Steve's stupid face, and Danny runs his hands back over his hair, tugs at his cuffs again. "I am marrying you, goddamnit. Fuck you and your general fucking pleasantness."

Steve laughs softly and Danny swears he's going to punch him, but then Kono and Chin come in and it's real, it's happening, oh fuck. Grace comes hurtling up the stairs, flowers in her hair, a basket of rose petals in her hand, more than a few tumbling here and there as she runs.

"It's time!" she says, bouncing on her toes, and Danny's heart twists at how happy she looks.

"Rose petals," he says weakly. "How the hell did I agree to rose petals?"

And Kono's laughing at him too, now, but she's sweet about it, kisses his cheek as she fusses with the lapels of his jacket. "Man up, Williams."

"Yeah, yeah," he says, nodding as Chin squeezes his shoulder, and then they're out the door with Grace in front of them, and it's just him and Steve, and really, he's going to puke. "I just – the last time?" he says, trailing off, watching Grace skip down toward the beach.

". . . you got married?" Steve asks.

"What? No," Danny says, doing a double take. "That I puked. May 18, 1996. It was – graduation." He shakes his head. "Never did like this kind of, you know. People. Looking. At me."

Steve shifts him bodily, hands on his shoulders, gives him some fond, earnest version of the thousand-yard stare. "So look at me," he says, and kisses Danny softly, and then he's taking Danny's hand and pulling him toward the doors and oh fuck, they're really going to do this, and Danny grips Steve's hand so hard he's probably going to leave a bruise.

The whole thing passes in a blur after that. Everyone seems to be beaming at him, which is weird and new, and everything smells good – flowers or deodorant or magic pixie dust, Danny has no idea. Steve never did get around to tying his goddamn tie, and when they get down to the sand he stands there with Danny's hands in his looking like some sort of playboy, all puffed up and proud, and Danny wants to stare a lot, let his jaw hang open a little, because really, what, how is this, how?

"You ready?" asks the Governor, and she's asking both of them, but Danny's still staring, and Steve just grins a mile wide and says, "Oh, yeah," and Danny's heart suddenly bursts into some wild, restless beat and god, he's fucked, he really is, because he loves this goof so much he can't even say, so he manages a nod and hitches a shoulder and the Governor, unlike everyone else, is pro enough not to laugh.

It's short, as these things go – he remembers the ceremony the first time he got married, full Catholic mass, and Jesus, it lasted a year. This, this is simple – a poem Kono picked that he doesn't hear a word of; a blessing Chin offers that flies right over his head; music by those guys who play tourist schlock for their day job, but god, they're geniuses when they get to play what they want. And then the vows, which they couldn't write themselves, that they didn't want to be traditional, which is how they've ended up with the Governor writing them for them, and the irony, it's killing him, that she's making the rules again.

"I, Steven James McGarrett," she says, and Steve repeats it faithfully, takes Danny as he's supposed to, and then promises, "I will not set myself on fire."

Danny blinks, like he's waking up, then hoots, the laughter startled right out of him, and he bites his lip to try and stop it percolating, but god, that's a great fucking vow.

"I, Daniel John Williams," and right, it's his turn, and he grins at Steve – Steve who's not allowed to set himself on fire, and god, he loves the Governor, he really does. ". . . promise to ration my kvetching so as not to use up my supply by Wednesday."

Okay, that's a good vow too, and he ducks his head and laughs at himself, repeats the words, squeezes Steve's hands because oh my god, what are they doing, listen to the things that amount to lifelong devotion between them. It keeps going – Steve promises to stay in bed past 5am at least two weekends a month, criminal activity on the island permitting; Danny agrees to eat fresh vegetables twice a week or more, and he shoots a look at Grace who raises her eyebrows and grins at him, and okay, he sees how it is, the Governor has back-up, nice, real nice. They promise, respectively, to go to the hospital when wounded (Steve) so as not to shave years off their partner's life with worry, and to perhaps look into meditation (Danny) or other activities that bring down blood pressure, and Chin's behind that one, Danny swears to god. It feels good, this back and forth, banter like he's used to, and Danny slips a ring on Steve's finger, tells him he loves him, because he does, he does – it's this big, crazy feeling, right up behind his ribs, and it takes his breath away on a regular basis, makes him stumble with the wonder of it, makes him goofy in the head and the heart and the knees. Steve slides a ring onto Danny's hand, and tells him he loves him, too, and shit, Danny's got something in his eye, fucking sand, it gets everywhere. Kono's already got his handkerchief – she was looking misty by the time they made it to the front of all these chairs so he gave it to her earlier, and Steve's not letting go of his hands and fuck it, it's the beach, there's sand, it's not like people don't get how it is.

And then, "By the power vested in me by the State of Hawaii," says the Governor, and wow, they've done it, they've really actually done it, "I declare you yoked to each other for the rest of your lives."

And Steve grins at him, god, he's so fucking handsome Danny could die, and they smack into each other they're so eager to kiss, and that's just embarrassing, really, someone probably got a picture of that, but okay, he cares a lot less now they've rearranged their faces and their noses are working out better and fuck, yeah, a kiss. It'd be longer if Danny had his way about it, but people interrupt – rude, really, what is that – with cheering, clapping, Grace running up and hugging them both around the legs, and Danny's pretty sure that's Kono pressed up against his back, squeezing the life out of him, and okay, sure, that's not how weddings go down in Jersey, but apparently there's a scrum once you're hitched in Hawaii, and okay, that's pretty nice, and Steve's still smiling at him, the maniac.

They eat – there's surf and there's turf and there's other stuff Danny can't name, but it's good, he eats a bunch of it – and everyone's talking and laughing and there's beer, and the sun's just skimming the far horizon when Danny stands up and takes off his tie, offers Steve his hand, gets a face for his trouble, says, "With me, McGarrett," and pulls him out to the patch of lawn that'll do for dancing. Steve's eyeing him warily, a half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth, and Danny raises an eyebrow at Chin's cousin, Niko. The Boss starts singing, "Can't see nothing in front of me," and Danny pulls Steve in, shuffles them into a slow, clumsy dance, and Steve whispers, "First dance, really?" and Danny says, "What, you think I'm some throwback, that I don't know how this is done? The Boss too good for you? Screw you, McGarrett," grinning at him all the while.

"Not really a love song," Steve says, nose beside Danny's ear; his tone is playful. "Kind of a downer."

Danny palms the small of his back, turns his face to kiss Steve's throat. "That depends on your feelings about Jersey," he offers, and Steve throws back his head and belly-laughs when Danny dips him right as the chorus ramps up into the second verse, as everyone else starts leaving their chairs and joining in the madness, and that's it, the party's started. Danny dances with the Governor – doesn't step on her feet, that's good, that's a job-keeping move – and with Rachel, which is weird, but it's not, and that's something, right there, that she's at his second wedding and he's glad to have her there, can hold her in his arms and not regret a thing between them. He dances with Grace – though it's more a swaying with her sitting on his hip, and Jesus, not too much longer he can hold her like this – and with Kono, who's still misty, and Danny loves her, he does, smacks a kiss to her forehead, lets her hide her embarrassment against his shoulder while the music plays. Steve's not much for dancing – he stakes out a spot beside the beer cooler where he can watch everyone else, lets himself get dragged out once in a while, protesting and muttering but looking so fucking pleased despite himself that Danny figures he's never going to lose the grin. And then Steve's dancing with Gracie, her feet on top of his feet, swaying back and forth like some robot overlord, and Danny's little girl looks like the world was created just for her, leans back holding onto Steve's hands, giggling madly, and Danny thinks his heart may burst – how's a man supposed to take this sort of happiness, find a place to put it all on a night like this?

People stay and dance and stay and dance and it takes Chin's business face after midnight for people to start drifting home. Danny says his goodbyes, gets hugged so much he figures he'll need ibuprofen for the muscle aches tomorrow, and he feels good enough about the people who linger, who clatter the dishes in the kitchen and fold the chairs on the lawn that he doesn't feel guilty about taking one last beer, wandering down to the beach, pulling off his shoes and socks and sitting down in the sand.

"Hey," Steve says, sitting down beside him, and his jacket's gone but the tie's still there, hanging round his neck like a mockery of what a tie ought to be.

"Hey," Danny says, and he smiles at him, feels suddenly bashful, drops his gaze and knocks Steve's shoulder with his own.

"Good party."

"Great party."

Steve pulls his beer out of his hand. "Still gonna puke?"

Danny shakes his head as Steve crowds over him, pushing him back against the sand. "Not so much." And he's grinning again, right up into Steve's stupid face.

"Good," Steve says, and he leans down and kisses him. "That's really good," and Danny wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulls him in closer, kisses him like he means it, kisses him with all the affection and want that's been messing him up all day. He's been lightheaded and thunderstruck, nauseated and gleeful, and god, it feels good to have it just be the two of them at last, Steve solid and tangible and all his, and what the fuck are they doing on the beach?

"That's it, that's it," Danny mutters, pulling away from Steve's mouth, and he does not let himself get distracted by the displeased noise Steve makes. "No, come on, seriously, get up, you lug, I got plans, would you just – " and he levers Steve off him, clambers to his feet, pulls Steve up after him and drags him toward the house. "Okay, all right," he yells as they come in the doors, "I love you people, but get out of my house, right now."

Kono wanders out of the kitchen with a roll of aluminum foil in her hands, and when they did they buy aluminum foil? Not that that's important. "Something on fire, brah?"

"You," Danny says, and he tightens his grip on Steve's wrist, "do not want to know what is on fire right now, because you are a young lady, and I do not want to scar you with graphic details about what I plan to do to your boss. So you should leave." He grins at her.

She grins back, sets down the foil on the table. "Geez, it's not like you don't scar me all the time."

"Yes, yes, very funny, we can talk about that later, hey Kamekona, get the fuck out of my – why were you even in the laundry room? Wait, you know what, I don't even care, thanks for being here, lovely to see you, yes, later, later . . ." And the trickle of people keeps thinning, everyone giving him what he thinks is potentially the glad-fucking-eye, and Steve's all amiable and laid back and starts talking surfing with Ben, and Danny has to physically manhandle the little punk out of the front door and lock the thing behind him. He punches in the security code for good measure. "Fuck," he says fervently, leaning back against the door.

"Thought you'd never ask," Steve says, waggling an eyebrow, and Danny groans because god, he's going to have to listen to shit like that for the rest of his life, and what, what is going on, why is – "You're taking off your shirt."

Steve smiles at him. "Isn't that the point?"

"I am supposed to take off your shirt, I, as the groom, have certain prerogatives, and one of them is taking off your shirt, your goddamn shirt and tie that has been driving me out of my mind all day, why can't you . . ." But his words grind to a halt because Steve's dragging his stupid tie from under his collar and dropping it on the floor, and that is grade-A porn, right there, it's ridiculous how turned on that makes him, and he swallows hard to try and clear the dryness in his throat, says, "Last one upstairs is . . . oh, who fucking cares?" and runs, starts laughing when Steve grabs at his ass, tries to hook his fingers in Danny's belt loops, dodges and evades Steve's hands until they're in the bedroom, until Steve sweeps his legs out from under him and tumbles them to the bed and Jesus, they are wearing far too many clothes.

"I want you naked," Steve says, breathing hard, and Danny whaps him up the back of his head.

"Do I look like I don't want that?" he asks. "Get to it, ninja-boy, what, my zipper too challenging after all those beers?"

Steve growls, and Danny makes a mental note to stop finding that attractive any day now, but then Steve's hands are everywhere, and Danny's getting naked fast. He's not complaining, not in the slightest, not when Steve seems hell-bent and determined on removing his own clothes too – it's probably good they sent everyone home when they did, lest innocent bystanders find themselves stripped because McGarrett's got this hang-up about efficiency – and when Steve settles back on top of him, kisses him slow, Danny groans and twists up into Steve's weight, slides his hands down his back to his ass, to his thighs.

"Fuck, you are something," he says, words catching when Steve slides down his body just enough to catch a nipple between his lips. "I mean – not that this is news to me, I wouldn't want you to . . . oh fuck . . . think, but I'm just saying, I'm glad I married you." And he sucks in a breath when Steve mouths at his hipbone, feels the muscles in his abdomen contract at the chase of Steve's breath. "Babe," he whispers, "babe, babe, c'mon, please . . ." And he has just enough room to work his thighs loose, tilt his hips and ask for what he wants, and if Steve has to pull away to find the lube and slick his fingers it's okay, it's good once he settles back – it's perfect, perfect – and Danny shudders hard when Steve slides a finger inside.

"Your face," Steve says, and he's curling his finger, mouthing a kiss to Danny's upper arm, and Danny turns his head because that's just not enough.

"Here, c'mere – " he says, and he means it to sound more demanding than it is, but it works, Steve shifts, and when he slides another finger home they're kissing – wet, soft, stupid-making kisses, and Danny hooks a leg around Steve's thigh, works himself back against Steve's hand, pants into Steve's mouth.

"Do you – " Steve says, and his hips are moving restlessly, his cock dragging across Danny's skin, "do you know, do you . . ." and Danny cups the back of his head, kisses him again, says, "Yeah, yeah, babe, please," and Steve does something with his fingers that has Danny see stars, make noises he's absolutely sure he didn't know were possible two seconds ago, and Steve just keeps going, keeps working him loose.

"Swear to god," Danny grits out, because what's the man waiting for, an engraved invitation, that part of the day's over, "you are the most annoying man alive," and he gasps when Steve adds a third finger, shivers when he feels the cool touch of metal against his ass. "Is that . . ."

Steve's watching his own hand. "Yeah . . ."

"Shit," Danny says, and grabs the base of his cock, squeezes hard, says, "warn a guy, fuck," and Steve laughs, sounds so fond that Danny can barely stand it, wants to smack him, but and then he's shifting again and pushing in, and Danny wraps his arms around his back, holds on for dear life. It's graceless, this part of it, the slide of bodies, the push of hips, but god, it's great, it's them, it's everything, and Danny thinks he might be babbling, knows for sure Steve is saying filthy, sweet things right in his ear, and when he comes with Steve inside him it's like the whole day in a moment, bright white and too much to handle, and Steve whispering, "Danny," as he falls.

Afterwards, when they come back down, they clean up half-heartedly, climb under the sheets. "God," Danny says, and he burrows in closer, seemingly, sickeningly unable to get enough of this man who's taking up too much of the bed.

Steve shifts to his side, uncharacteristically obliging, rests a hand on Danny's hip, nudges his nose to Danny's cheek. "Round one," he says, and Danny's eyes flutter open.

"What?" he says, and that was a squawk, unattractive, but what's a man to do. "Oh no, no, seriously, you are kidding me, I gotta – sleep. For like a year, and – " Steve's smile's slow and secretive, and Danny peers at him, says, "What? What is that face? What are you thinking, you crazy person, what?"

And Steve worries his bottom lip between his teeth, looks up through his lashes, says, "Round one of, like. Forever." And it's stupid, and clumsy, and that's probably why Danny feels like his heart will split in two, because it's just them, no people to see, no one to hear – this is Steven James McGarrett wrecked and stupidly happy, and he kisses him forcefully, says, "Okay, babe, okay. That we can do."