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The Consequences of Plaid

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Steve glances up from his cup of coffee and the morning newspaper when Danny finally shuffles into the kitchen. He looks Danny up and down slowly, arches an eyebrow at the terrible plaid sleep shorts and stretched-out blue t-shirt that Danny's produced from who knows where. "Okay, you're officially not allowed to say anything about my cargo pants ever again."

Danny snorts. "One of us is making a fine sartorial statement, and it's not you, McGarrett." He scrubs a hand through his bedhead, which is impressive. Steve feels obscurely proud. "Now please make me pancakes."

"That is not sartorial anything, Danno," Steve says, before draining the last of his coffee. "How old are those things? You've probably had them longer than Grace has been alive."

"That," Danny says, "is immaterial. I've got them broken in just right. You, on the other hand, still don't seem to be making me pancakes. Falling down on your duties as a host, huh?"

Steve crosses his arms over his chest. "There's now a dress code in this kitchen. Not a single pancake will be served to anyone wearing plaid shorts," he announces firmly. “Especially those plaid shorts.”

Danny scratches his stubbled chin, momentarily thoughtful. "Okay," he says, unfastening his shorts and letting them fall to the floor.

Steve is impressed. "Well played," he says, standing. "Maybe a little unhygienic, but..."

"Really?" Danny says, sweeping one arm out in front of him. "You've got this standing in front of you, and you're focused on the hygienic nature of your pancake batter?"

Steve shrugs. "It's why I was thinking maybe we could go shower before breakfast."

"Shower," Danny says, arching an eyebrow.

"Big enough for two," Steve points out.

"And why would I have this urgent need for a shower?" Danny asks.

Steve has to fight the urge to smile, because only Danny could look vaguely belligerent while clad in nothing more than a bright blue t-shirt. "Because," Steve says, closing in on Danny. "You are about to make a mess all over yourself in my kitchen."

"You know, I'm really not seeing it." Yet Danny starts to grin as Steve leans down to kiss him, and when Steve wraps a hand around Danny's soft cock, Danny makes a small noise and clutches Steve's shoulder.

"See," Danny says, "can I really be the one to blame when you're the one instigating the mess?"

"Hrm," Steve says. He tightens his grip on Danny's cock just a little, gives it a long, slow pull. "See, if you can manage words like 'instigating' while I'm doing this, I need to up my game."

"Up, up his game, he says. Uh…" Danny kisses Steve back, sounding distracted; goes willingly when Steve turns him and hitches a hip so that he can sit on the kitchen table.

"Speaking of unhygienic," Danny murmurs against Steve's cheek. He spreads his legs and pulls Steve in. "We have to eat off this table."

Steve allows himself a smirk as he slips a hand underneath to cup Danny's balls, rolling them gently in his palm. He knows just what Danny likes and sure enough, Danny's breath hitches as he shifts, restless and moaning against Steve's skin. Steve curls his other hand around Danny's cock, feels it thicken and grow.

"You were saying?" he asks as Danny leans back on his hands and lifts his hips, eyes half-closed. Steve loves Danny like this, dazed and lost to the anticipation of Steve's touch, his normally sharp tongue reduced to one-syllable words, if that.

"Uh. Clean, not clean, whatever," Danny mumbles. His hips hitch a little. "Just, you know."

"Maybe," Steve grins. Objectively, this is hilarious—between Steve's sleep pants and Danny's shapeless blue t-shirt, they've got one outfit between them; Danny's sitting bare-assed on the kitchen table, his hair looking like he's already been blowing Steve. If Steve wasn't pretty sure it'd set Danny off on a tantrum, he'd be taking a picture of this moment right now. "But if you're more concerned about food safety standards, that's pretty admirable, Dan—"

Danny's eyes narrow to slits, suddenly all focus. "Steve," he says. "Stop teasing. Blow me."

Steve can't resist; teasing Danny is far too much fun "And what's the magic word?" He gives Danny's cock a squeeze.

Danny gasps. "Please," he says, teeth clenched. "Please suck my dick, you asshole."

"Nice," Steve says. He's laughing a little as he drags a chair over and settles in it in front of Danny and oh, that's a lovely sight before him, all that curly golden-brown hair and Danny's thick, heavy cock, resting against his thigh.

"Well," Danny says, clearly a little breathless. "I'm being very patient, you realize, what with you lollygagging around."

Steve rolls his eyes. Who's said "lollygagging" since 1963? Still, let it never be said that he's not one to rise to the challenge. He gives Danny's cock a single, firm stroke—enough to make the words die in Danny's throat with a choking sound—before he ducks his head to take Danny in.

This thing between them is so new that Steve still gets a little thrill every time he does this: every time he gets to feel the weight of Danny's cock against his tongue. He keeps one hand wrapped around the base of Danny's cock, lets the other rest against Danny's thigh to feel how the long muscles there twitch and tremor in time with Steve's movements. Steve likes the sensation, of feeling how Danny's keeping all his strength in check in anticipation of pleasure; loves to run his palm up Danny's thigh, rubbing the hairs against the grain to make Danny shiver.

"Oh. Oh god." Danny's voice is soft and breathy as he lifts his legs and rocks toward Steve, just a small movement, like he doesn't know what to do with his body. "Steve, you are, you—"

Steve nods his head and hums in agreement to whatever it is Danny is trying to say. Danny gasps, lifting his legs, one foot brushing against Steve's shoulder as Danny tries to arrange himself. Sliding a hand under Danny's knee, Steve lifts Danny's leg over his shoulder, taking a moment to kiss Danny's thigh. Then he leans in, buries his nose at the base of Danny's cock and breathes deep—it's all Danny there, earthy and warm.

"What are you," Danny says, words cutting off with something much like a cross between a hiccup and a giggle.

"Well obviously," Steve says dryly, "I'm lollygagging."

Danny outright laughs at that, a belly-deep chuckle that hitches into a startled moan when Steve takes him back in: sinks down as far as he can go and swallows greedily. This is one of the aspects of sucking cock that Steve likes best: the ability to test himself, to see what his limits are even while he's giving someone else pleasure. He likes the fact that he'll be a little hoarse later, that he'll carry the sense-echo of this with him for the rest of the day.

"Son of a..." Danny pants. His heel digs into Steve's back, urging him closer at the same time that Danny's hips start to rock back and forth.

Steve loves the way Danny pushes into his mouth, eager and needy. Danny's cock is silky smooth against his tongue and when he pulls back, he can taste fluid leaking from the tip. He runs his tongue over the smooth head before sucking back down on it and Danny's muscles tremble as he gets closer to coming.

He doesn't want that to happen just yet. Steve pulls off completely, provoking a startled whine from Danny, until he nuzzles further in to mouth Danny's balls. Danny goes absolutely silent, pulling his knees up, heel pressing into Steve's shoulder. All Steve can hear is Danny's harsh breathing and he knows Danny is barely holding himself together. Steve's own cock is hard and aching and he wants to touch himself, but he has his hands full of a barely restrained Danny and yeah, it's all good.

Shifting position, Steve runs his tongue up Danny's cock and sucks it down, lips sliding firmly along the length and Danny jerks, hips rocking desperately until with a low noise, Danny comes.

Steve swallows and swallows and then waits, timing it so that just as Danny starts to relax, the last waves of pleasure receding, he uses more suction. Danny all but howls, back arching as he dry orgasms. Steve can feel Danny tremble against him, and it's a hell of a rush, knowing that he's brought Danny to this: knowing that he can have Danny spent and whimpering on his kitchen table at nine in the morning.

It makes Steve want more, and he pulls himself upright, kisses Danny's dazed, slack mouth. For a moment, Danny is pliant against him, but then Steve can feel the kiss shift, turn hotter, when Danny tastes himself on Steve's tongue. Steve wraps his arms around Danny, pushes his hands up under Danny's t-shirt to get at all that sweat-damp, freckled skin.

"I want to fuck you," Steve mumbles between kisses. He's so turned-on that his skin feels too hot with it, that he can't remember how he could ever have willingly left his bed that morning. "Please, Danny, let me."

"Okay. Okay." Danny says, breathless. "Yeah. I want that too. Do it."

Steve kisses him, grateful and eager, then pulls back. Yeah, okay, he's doing this, but he needs stuff, and—kitchen, they're in the kitchen, with Danny ready and willing, waiting for him, and, and—

"In my bag, in the hall?" Danny suggests, his expression fond and amused.

Steve points a finger. "Right." He extracts himself from Danny's embrace and hurries into the hallway, finds the bag and retrieves the condoms and lube. When he comes back he pauses to take in the sight of Danny sprawled on his table, a hand in his hair as he pushes it back off his forehead, one leg propped on the back of the chair, accentuating the line of his naked ass and god, he's gorgeous.

"You," he breathes, watching as Danny pulls his t-shirt off and flings it away impatiently—Steve thinks it may have landed in the sink, but he doesn't really care—"God, Danny, you're like porn."

"Like, he says," Danny snorts. He snaps his fingers. "I'd prefer if it was less like and more actually doing. Come on and fuck me already, Steve. I want to really earn that shower."

Steve doesn't need to be told twice. He crosses the last few steps so that he's standing between Danny's spread legs, and kisses him until they're both breathless and Steve's so hard it's almost painful. Still, he can't seem to stop kissing Danny: kisses him as he coaxes him back to lie on the scrubbed wood of the kitchen table, and Steve takes a moment to send a wordless prayer of gratitude to whichever nameless person designed the table to be at the exact right height for them to do this.

He leans down to kiss Danny's belly as he shoves his pants down, tangling them briefly around his ankles before stepping free and now he can't find the goddamn condom packet he dropped on the table two seconds ago.

"Come on, come on, we're almost there," Danny croons, grinning up at Steve. "Smooth dog."

It's the broad, eye-crinkling grin that makes Steve feel like his stomach is doing somersaults, and he's momentarily torn between finding the condom and kissing Danny's ridiculous face. But then Danny sits up and grabs the condom packet from the table, right there next to his hip, where Steve had left it.

"Allow me." In a flash Danny's got it unwrapped and is unrolling it over Steve's cock as Steve watches breathlessly. "There now, you've got a hoodie on it."

With a surprised snort of laughter, Steve pushes Danny back down on the table. "I got this part," Steve manages to say as he picks up the lube.

Danny moves closer, knees drawn up to his chest and Steve spills lube everywhere as he slicks up his fingers. When he slips one inside of Danny. Danny closes his eyes, expression blissful as he murmurs soft encouragement. Steve slips another finger inside, easy as can be, with Danny so relaxed and boneless. "Are we good?" Steve asks.

"We're great," Danny says expansively. He spreads his arms and slings a leg up over Steve's shoulder. “Really great, so you know," he continues, "your cock, my ass, any time you're ready."

"Don't want to hurt you," Steve says, carefully using his fingers to stretch Danny open. Danny's heat, the way his body moves in response to Steve, is almost overwhelming.

"Not going to hurt me," Danny says. "Come on, I want you."

Steve doesn't take the bait, as much as he wants to. He puts one hand on Danny's left hip, holding him down while Steve keeps working him open with his right hand. "If it's worth doing," he says, making his tone deliberately prissy, "it's worth doing right."

Danny laughs again, shifting underneath Steve's hands. "Want to do me right, huh?" He catches Steve's gaze and his expression turns from amused to heated as Steve slides in a third finger. "You know how long I spent doing this to myself in the shower, wishing it was you? Thinking I'd never—oh." He breaks off, throwing his head back, as Steve's fingers clearly find Danny's prostate.

The thought of Danny alone, touching himself is almost too much. "Now I'm ready," Steve gasps out. "Jesus, Danny."

He pulls his fingers free, lubes his cock with a few strokes of his slick fingers and then pushes inside Danny. It's a struggle to keep slow and steady; Danny is so warm and tight around his cock, it's fucking amazing, how good it feels. Danny makes a low, satisfied sound and wraps his legs around Steve's waist, pulling him closer until Steve is balls-deep and his blood is singing in his ears.

"Is it good, Danny?" Because it's damn good for him.

"Oh god yes." With a look of sheer bliss, Danny wriggles a bit, squeezing Steve's cock as he moves.

Steve gasps, grabbing Danny's thighs to steady him.

Danny spreads his arms wide; his grin has a feral edge to it. "Have at it, sailor," Danny says, and Steve discovers that it's surprisingly difficult to thrust while laughing.

Difficult, but not impossible, and definitely pleasurable. Danny is warm beneath his hands, and responsive, and Steve can feel sweat trickling from his hairline down over the nape of his neck. He wants to come, but he wants to stay like this for a long time; he wants to fuck Danny speechless and he wants Danny to keep talking forever. Steve experiments with angle and depth until he hits on the combination that has Danny's eyes rolling back in his head, his cock twitching against his belly.

"Jesus, Steve," Danny says. His hands scramble for purchase on the kitchen table. "Yes, yes, come on, don't hold out on me, you fucker, just—"

Steve laughs again, feeling lit up; his orgasm is building at the base of his spine, hot and effervescent. Had he ever thought it could be this good between them, when he'd first screwed up his courage and kissed Danny? He'd hoped, but his hopes had been like all those months he'd spent pining: desperate, guarded.

But now he gets to have Danny, have him naked and sweaty and fucked hard and fast on his goddamn kitchen table, Danny with one hand braced against the wall behind him, knocking the napkins over, sending the empty coffee mug crashing to the floor. Steve is going to think of this every time he sits at this table, it's going to get him hot and bothered, thinking about the welcoming heat of Danny's body, the strength of Danny's thighs, holding him tight, the way Danny arches his back and squeezes him hard. He can't wait.

"Oh, fuck." With a look of surprise, Danny reaches down and begins to stroke himself. His cock is growing hard again and even though Steve's close to the edge, he forces himself to slow down, to hold back. He wants to see Danny come again, wants to see if Danny can do it, wants to feel Danny tremble and shudder from the inside.

"Look at you," Steve gasps. "You love this, don't you?"

"Yes," Danny says, words slurring. His hair is a mess once more, his forehead damp with sweat. "Yes, yes, god, come on, Steve, make me come, make me—"

Steve rubs one hand up and down Danny's side, soothing him, saying, "It's okay, babe, I got you. Just like this, show me."

He wraps his free hand around Danny's cock, tangling their fingers together. Danny moans at the sensation, a guttural and unreserved noise that makes Steve shiver. Steve had fucked a couple of guys before he'd gotten with Danny, but those had been quick and furtive sessions, barely more than one-night stands, and none of the guys he'd been with had ever seemed to revel in the sensations as much as Danny did. It's fascinating, and Steve slows down even more, rolling his hips as deliberately as possible, wanting to wring every last drop of pleasure out of Danny.

"That's it, Danny," he croons. "That's it, come on, give it up for me."

"Yeah," Danny pants, "yeah, okay, god, love you, Steve, Steve." Danny tenses, his face screwed up in concentration as his cock stiffens.

"Come on, babe, come on," Steve says.

He strokes Danny's cock with a firm hand and his own self-control is slipping away but suddenly Danny jerks and comes with a desperate yelp, hips twisting, hands clenched and it feels fantastic, to fuck Danny through his orgasm, feeling the pleasure as it rolls through Danny's body. Steve has to hold on tight to keep Danny from slipping away, lifting Danny's hips and thrusting hard and fast all over again as Danny laughs a high-pitched, giddy laugh.

"—fucking amazing, Steve, god, you are—"

Steve lets Danny's broken, breathless words wash over him as he lets go, riding along the edge as the tension builds for what feels like forever, his mouth dry as he gasps for breath and when at last he comes, it's one long surge of pleasure after another, leaving him trembling and wiped out in its wake, head bowed, half collapsed over Danny, all the while still throbbing with little electric aftershocks.

Steve stays there for a long moment, still buried inside Danny as his cock slowly softens. The two of them are stuck together with sweat and lube, and they trade lazy kisses and slow touches, mumbling at one another in something that's not quite language but still speaks clearly of affection, of promises. Eventually, Steve's stomach growls and he pulls out, slowly as he can, and disposes of the condom in the trash can. When he turns back, he sees Danny pulling himself up to sit on the edge of the table. The light streaming in through the window gilds his skin, highlighting his freckles and the strength of his arms.

Something twists in Steve's stomach, something helpless and heartfelt, and he realizes that he never said it back, and he should. Maybe it's too soon, they haven't even been together six weeks, but he can't bring himself to care.

"I love you, too," he says firmly, hoping that Danny can see just how much he means it—just how much Steve's meant it for a long, long time now.

Danny's eyes crinkle up at the corners when he smiles. "I love you too, you lollygagger. But you're still making me pancakes. And maybe even bacon."

And it's almost ten in the morning and Steve's standing naked in the middle of his own kitchen, and Danny's still here and everything's pretty good. It's great, in fact. "Yeah," he says. "I will. I promise."