A purely hypothetical question: what’s a man to do when he gets caught in his own house, with his own hand on his own dick, by his own best friend?
The bedsprings creak a little as Danny scrambles to cover his no longer private parts with both hands while he ponders this philosophical dilemma. The correct and moral answer is not, he suspects, let out a frustrated huff, kind of shrug in your horizontal position and keep going, so he doesn’t do that.
Even though he wants to.
“Wuh,” Steve says eloquently from the door opening of the bedroom. Maybe it’s the fact that he looks startled enough for the both of them that allows Danny to mostly ignore his own hysteria. Maybe it’s just pure shock. “What, uh, what are you-”
Danny, magnanimous even while horny, naked, embarrassed and slightly furious, decides to ignore the stupid query this stutter was obviously leading to. He grits his teeth and tries for a capital-G Glare. It’s hard to put any kind of real ferocity behind it from his current position, but he’s a very talented guy. “What the fuck are you doing here, Steve?”
Steve, beautiful, oblivious idiot that he is, licks his lips. Danny was already fully hard when Steve decided that opening someone else’s bedroom door without knocking was a great idea, so it’s not like it’s going to have much of a visible effect, but it’s something of an endurance test to Danny’s self-discipline either way. He’s on top of the covers, his clothes are on the floor somewhere and the pillow is all the way up by his head, so cupping his equipment seemed like the fastest, most efficient way to pretend he has some kind of dignity left, but now he’s starting to regret that efficiency. It would be so easy to just press a little harder- Move his palm a fraction- Rub his thumb over the-
But he can’t do that. Steve is still staring at him, for whatever reason. Even though Danny’s pretty sure that’s not the correct I-just-walked-in-on-my-friend-having-more-fun-than-expected etiquette either, that doesn’t mean he can just throw all semblance of politeness overboard too.
“I, uh,” Steve says, interrupting Danny’s fascinating train of thought, “was looking for-” He waves a somewhat hesitant hand in Danny’s direction, which could be interpreted in many colorful ways, although Danny would have to admit it’s unlikely that Steve was specifically looking for a guy mid-masturbation. “I knew you had to be home but you didn’t answer when I knocked. I used the key under the mat. And then I heard noise from, uh-” There’s another hand-wavey gesture, here, this time in a circle around the room.
Danny closes his eyes for just a second and takes a deep breath. When he opens them again, he could swear Steve has moved a step further into the room, but that’s not his main concern about Steve’s physical location at the moment. “Yeah, well, you found the noise,” he points out. Another deep breath. Calm down, little Danny, let the brain take the helm for a bit. “This- This thing you needed me for, is it an emergency?”
Steve shakes his head. “No, I just was just dropping by to ask if you wanted to grab a bite to eat.”
“Awesome, then get lost. I’m busy.”
This time Steve nods, but he very much does not move in any other way. “I see that.”
That’s the last straw, which coincidentally must also be what’s filling Steve’s head. He doesn’t seem to be grasping the situation, which means it’s time for Danny to bring out the big guns. Not that what he’s accidentally shown so far wasn’t big, just- Ugh. Whatever. “You’re about to see a whole lot more if you don’t leave,” he warns Steve.
“I’m okay with that,” Steve says, which is really not the kind of response Danny was looking for in any way at all, but alright, sure, if that’s how Steve wants to play it. Danny previously wouldn’t have thought he was into voyeurism, but hey, it certainly doesn’t seem to be spoiling his mood.
He takes both hands away from his crotch, letting his cock spring back up happily.
Steve is not running away yet. In fact, he looks rooted to the spot, and not by anything close to horror or shock.
Danny gets his still lube-slick hand back on his dick, gripping it firmly, and moves the other to clench at the bedsheets because, well, he has a vague notion that he shouldn’t be blocking anyone’s view. His rhythm is thrown off by everything else, so it takes him a few strokes to regain anything like it, but then he lets out a moan that’s been building up the entire time since he was so rudely interrupted. It’s followed by a whimper which it takes him a second to process isn’t his.
He keeps his hand going, but turns his head to look at Steve, who’s still right there.
“Well, are you just-” His breath hitches, which makes it a little difficult to sound like he’s got any high ground here. “Just gonna stand there and watch?”
Steve looks shocked to have been addressed, like he’s never met Danny before and thought this was going to be a quiet affair from now on, but he recovers pretty quickly. He clears his throat once. “Yes,” he says, which annoys Danny to no end, in spite of the swoop it sends through his stomach.
Danny doesn’t bother trying to send Steve a Glare this time. His usual Glares have all been kidnapped by lust, so they probably wouldn’t be conveying what he wants them to anyway. He just lets his gaze drop, on purpose, from Steve’s face to his crotch. He expects the bulge there, at this point, but actually seeing it still sends a full-body thrill bouncing from his head to his toes all the way back up to his cock.
“Least you could do is give me something to look at in return.” He’s kind of proud of how that comes out – confident, smooth, no hitch this time. He’s less proud of how his hand slips from his dick and he stops breathing when Steve actually goes for his own fly.
Unfortunately, there’s no chance Steve could have missed the way Danny freezes. He stills in response, zipper of his cargo pants tantalizingly halfway down. “Were you- Were you joking? Don’t tell me you were joking, Danny.”
“I wasn’t-” He gets his hand back where it should be before he tries to formulate any more of a reply, because he has his priorities straight, if nothing else. Oh, God. “Wasn’t joking. Just- Surprised you were being so obliging. That’s uncharacteristic for you, babe.”
“I’m plenty obliging,” Steve says, and Danny would like to challenge him on that, he really would, but he can’t when Steve is demonstrating just how obliging he is by pushing his pants and underwear down just enough to free his dick.
And oh, what a glorious dick it is. It’s hard and the head is so very obscenely pink and already beading precum. Steve looks to be a little longer than Danny, which Danny would’ve expected to make him feel like the underdog – they’re both very competitive people in every aspect of their lives – but if the way his mouth waters at the sight is any indication, he’s skipped right over the negative feelings into pure sex fantasy addled glee at the thought of how they could put that length to good use.
“Can I?” Steve’s voice is husky. Steve’s dick is very pretty, as is the rest of him, for that matter. All things considered, it takes Danny longer than it should to figure out that Steve is asking him for permission to touch himself.
“Fuck,” he says, heartfelt. It’s not much of an answer, as evidenced by Steve’s torn expression, so he adds, “Yes. Go for it.”
Even Steve’s hands are pretty. He wraps one of them around his dick, and the sight of his long, comparatively pale fingers curling around that flushed hardness is mesmerizing. Steve takes another step closer, almost looming over Danny, and starts jacking himself at a familiar pace. It takes about five strokes for Danny to finally realize why it feels so familiar.
It’s because his own hand is moving up and down in the same rhythm. Steve is keeping pace with him.
He speeds up a little, to put Steve’s dedication to this concept to the test, and Steve obediently quickens his movements in response. Danny’s mind is reeling. He can’t stop glancing between Steve’s face and his dick, because he’s not sure which he wants to watch more – Steve’s performance, or Steve avidly, hungrily watching his.
“Do you want to fuck me?” It rolls out of his mouth like it’s a perfectly reasonable question to ask. At this point, with both their dicks out and hard and both of them panting like they’re getting a workout that benefits more than just their arm muscles, maybe it is.
“No,” Steve says. It’s a concern for all of two seconds, until he amends, gruffly, “Yes. But I want you to fuck me first.”
Steve McGarrett’s mouth saying words that mean he wants Danny to top him? Yeah, that’s a shock to the system of the type that has Danny squeezing the base of his cock, trying to stave off his orgasm just a little bit longer. He needs to hear if Steve has anything more to say. “You do?”
Steve’s hand stills when Danny’s does, but the muscles in his arm jump, like it’s taking him everything he has not to keep going. “Yeah. God, Danny, I-” Steve sounds absolutely broken now. “You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted you to just bend me over my desk and- God.”
“And what?” Watching Steve try to hold back is more than Danny’s own self-restraint can take; he starts up again, with long, hard strokes from base to tip, paying special attention to the head.
Steve mimics him. Steve also, apparently, really did have a better answer. “Just give it to me,” he grinds out, his eyes on Danny’s cock, but almost feverishly glazed, like he’s seeing more than just what’s happening in front of him. “Fuck me raw. Pound into me until we break the damn desk, or, or just mess it up so badly that even if I clean it I’ll never be able to sit there again without thinking of it, thinking of you, thinking of having to redo my paperwork because you made me come all over it-”
Steve has a surprising flair for storytelling. It’s this attention to detail that roughly shoves Danny over the edge – either that, or hearing Steve say the words “come”, “fuck” and “pound” in such close succession.
He spurts pretty damn impressively over his own belly and chest, stripping his cock until the very last drop has been squeezed out. Then, and only then, does he allow himself to relax and slump onto the mattress.
Steve is still going. The sound of precum-slick skin on skin seems loud, all of a sudden, in the quiet room where it’s only mixed with Steve’s harsh breathing. Danny watches Steve lazily, luxuriating in the satisfied, loose feeling in his limbs while Steve’s jaw is still clenched, his hips jerking and his arm so desperately racing for the finish line it’s almost a blur. It’s not an image Danny ever thought he’d get to enjoy in such vivid, colorful detail, but it’s certainly one he could get used to.
On impulse, he locks eyes with Steve, slips two fingers into his own mouth, and sucks until his cheeks are hollow.
The shock on Steve’s face is the exact same brand as it was that very first day when Danny punched him. It makes Danny wonder exactly how long Steve has been fantasizing about Danny’s dick in his ass at the office – since before or after they’d finished unpacking the boxes, all those years ago? The question is driven from his mind in the next fraction of a second, because Steve’s wide-eyed shock melts into wide-eyed bliss as he hits his climax, thighs trembling. For an instant, Danny feels a measure of smugness that probably should have made him explode, if for no other reason than that the universe would be correcting an unholy anomaly.
Then gravity does its usual thing, inexorably pulling everything that goes up back down, and the first long, winding rope of Steve’s come hurtles through the air as if in slow motion, landing with a splash on Danny’s chest.
“Hey!” He pushes up on his elbows and wipes at his chin at the same time. There’s nothing on his chin, but it’s a couple of inches’ difference, at most. “Watch it! What the fuck do you think you’re-”
Steve, to what little credit there is left for him, does attempt to catch some of the sticky fluid in one palm as he keeps moving the other, but he’s not very successful. Danny feels both anger brew and arousal build, but none of it really leads anywhere because he literally just had an orgasm. As far as ways to mellow him out go, that one is very powerful.
When Steve is done painting Danny’s chest, he stands there, dick slowly going limp in his hand and whole body swaying a little, and a whole new set of concerns springs up in Danny’s mind. Steve starts tumbling before Danny can scoot over, but apparently even immediately post orgasm Steve is still unexpectedly a gymnast. He manages to turn his descent into a vault over Danny that could almost be described as elegant if it weren’t for the landing, which is flat on his back, bouncing a little on the mattress, and with one leg thrown over Danny’s like taking it with him would have been just that little too much to ask. Danny jiggles his knee – very naked against Steve’s cargo pants – but Steve doesn’t give any indication of taking notice of this weak protest. All he does is lift a shaky hand and wipe it on his own shirt, which, ew, but at least he doesn’t use the bedsheets.
Danny ignores all that, and does the same with the fact that he actually doesn’t completely hate anything about this situation, or at least not as much as he maybe should. He gets up on one elbow again, so he has a better view of Steve’s lax body and happy face. As a bonus, it’s easier to yell at him.
“Are you crazy?” Danny asks. That it’s mostly rhetorical doesn’t mean it isn’t a valid question. “You’re on my bed, but you’re still wearing clothes and shoes, and oh, did I mention that you just came on me? I’m a mess. Which, might I remind you, you have yet to apologize for, or even acknowledge at all for that matter, which really isn’t-”
He doesn’t get any further than that, because Steve hooks a somewhat sticky hand behind his neck and draws him in for a kiss. After what they just did, it shouldn’t scare Danny as much as it does, but it does, oh God, it does. His heart, smeared in come that could be either Steve’s or his own, trembles way more than Steve’s thighs did.
“Sorry,” Steve mumbles against his lips. “Didn’t mean to.”
Danny breathes in the air that Steve exhales. “You realize you don’t sound very sorry.”
“Damn it. You saw right through me.”
Danny falls back to his own side of the bed. From there, he studies Steve again, lingering on the sprawl of Steve’s long legs, his exposed, soft cock, the colored edge of a tattoo that peeks out from his t-shirt sleeve, and finally Steve’s face, unexpectedly open and vulnerable now that some of the endorphin fog has cleared. “Yeah, actually,” Danny says. “I think I do see right through you.”
Before he can get lost in that and its implications, Danny sighs and points down at his own body. “Get me a towel or something. This is disgusting.”
“Sure,” Steve says, surprisingly obliging again. Then he closes his eyes, which is more like the Steve Danny would have expected. It’s both infuriating and reassuring. “In a minute.”
If Danny pokes Steve in increasingly uncomfortable places until Steve opens his eyes and heaves himself, groaning, off the bed to get a wet towel – well, that’s just something Steve will have to get used to, if he keeps letting himself into Danny’s home unannounced.