"So why don't you get laid?" Steve asked, casually, like that was something that people said to each other out of the blue.
"I'm sorry, why don't I get laid?" Danny squinted sideways at Steve, who was sitting on his couch, furiously working the Xbox controller, a tiny slip of pink tongue sticking out the side of his mouth. Danny was hit by a powerful sense of deja vu; North Bergen, 1993, having this exact same conversation with Joey DePaoli when he was oh, sixteen years old.
Danny took a moment to mourn the fact that this is where he was in his life, having the same conversation 17 years later.
"Yeah, you know." Steve chucked the controller on the coffee table. "You're a single guy. You don't exactly have the best place to bring women home, but still." He shrugged, in that elaborately casual way that Danny pegged immediately as not casual at all. Don't pull that casual shit on this cop, my friend, Danny thought, itching with curiosity at where this was all going.
"I have a daughter, if you didn't notice," Danny said, pointing to her picture. "I don't want to be parading people in and out of her life, like, oh, I don't know, her mother, who barely waited until my grave was cold--"
Steve raised his hand. "You aren't dead," he said.
"My metaphorical grave, hello, are you following me here?" Danny smacked him on the shoulder.
"Yes, sorry, go on, your metaphorical grave, dead inside, that's why you don't get laid, please, go on," Steve made an encouraging gesture completely at odds with the shit-eating grin on his face.
"Can you take my pain seriously for a minute?" Danny said, pounding his own chest. "You're the one who asked why I don't date."
"No, I asked why you don't get laid," Steve said, leaning forward and letting his hands dangle between his knees. "That's an entirely different thing. I don't date either."
"But Catherine--?" Danny felt vaguely ready to defend her honor, in some way. Not that she needed his defense.
"Catherine is great," Steve said, smiling fondly, that big, goofy grin that he only got sometimes, when he was thinking about naval warfare or...well, he smiled like that at Danny a lot, actually. Danny shoved that thought aside, into the growing pile of Those Thoughts. "Catherine and I are friends. Good friends. She's a beautiful, smart, fun woman who likes to sleep with me." He leaned back and laced his hands behind his head. "I don't know how I got so lucky, actually. But we're not dating. She dates this guy back on the mainland. In Iowa or something like that." He shook his head, laughing a little. "Iowa."
"Well, for those of us who don't happen to have gorgeous, smart women on speed-dial," Danny said, rolling his eyes, because seriously, did Steve even get how rare that was? "The rest of us get to go and pick up women in bars or online or meet them at work, which is a terrible idea, trust me, and then, what? Have a one-night stand? I don't do one-night stands, babe. I just don't." Danny shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "I get involved."
Steve cocked his head. "You're a romantic," he said. "I knew that." He leaned forward, his arm sliding along the back of the couch, behind Danny's head. "But I still think you need to get laid."
"I'm curious where this conversation is going," Danny said, drawing his knee up on the futon and turning to look at Steve with an exaggerated expression of concern. "What is going on in that strange, scary head of yours that you're so interested in my sex life?"
“I just want you to be happy,” Steve said, and before Danny could even respond to that bizarre statement, Steve moved even closer and grabbed Danny’s hand and leaned in and oh Christ, he was going to kiss Danny Williams, shittiest detective of all time, because he didn’t see this coming. Except he totally, totally did and just ignored the shit out of it.
But Steve didn’t kiss him, he just sat there, close to Danny, in his space, breathing fast, holding Danny’s hand up, looking at him with those ridiculous eyes. He said, “I’m bad at this,” which Danny was going to agree with, loudly and at length, when Steve pulled Danny’s hand to him and sucked two of Danny’s fingers into his mouth.
Danny’s brain shorted out completely. Kissing was one thing, but this, this was something else entirely. Danny didn't know how to deal with Steve's tongue, hot and dirty, swiping up and down his fingers, sucking hard, with those little noises-- Danny's hips jerked up involuntarily, stuttering into the air. He'd been fine, really, not getting laid, until now. But the feel of tongue and teeth and wet was too much for his body to ignore. Lust slammed into him, taking his breath away.
Steve slid down the futon, coming to rest on his knees in front of Danny. Danny's cock was incredibly interested in this turn of events. He couldn't breathe, couldn't even talk. Steve pulled Danny's fingers out of his mouth with an obscene sucking sound. Danny groaned.
"Wait, are you speechless?" Steve asked. "Because if so, I want to write down the date." He grinned at Danny, that same stupid fucking grin that he always had when he was giving Danny shit, even though his mouth was still slick and red from sucking Danny's fingers, Jesus fuck. "You are speechless," Steve continued. "This is a momentous day. I'm taking a picture."
"You-- you..." Danny flailed his hands, curling one of them into a fist. "Don't stop, Steve, I swear to God I am going to get my fucking gun." He sat up, leaning his body forward off the edge of the futon and pulled Steve to him, kissing him like a normal person would to start this kind of thing, open-mouthed and hot, biting and nipping at each other until Danny was panting, his cock straining in his pants.
Steve pulled back and sank back down, knees sprawled wide on the floor. He unzipped Danny's pants with one hand while biting down his neck, then sank down, stopping briefly to lick at Danny's knuckles, a promise of more to come. "You like my hands?" Danny asked, his voice coming out rough and low.
"Yeah," Steve said. His eyes were serious, not the goofy Steve of just a few minutes ago. "Yeah, I do." He sank down, swallowing Danny's cock. Danny hissed and twisted off the futon. Steve didn't fuck around; he didn't start by teasing or licking; he just went for it, hard and fast, setting a brutal rhythm that was almost too much. Spots exploded in front of Danny's eyes as he squeezed them shut. All he could hear was his own loud, gasping breath and the sound of his pulse beating in his ears. He felt himself getting even harder, impossibly, when Steve reached up and intertwined their hands, almost crushing Danny's fingers in his grip. "Fuck," Danny moaned.
Steve pulled off, resting his forehead on Danny's thigh for a second.
"Will you stop-- stopping?" Danny yelled. "My gun, I swear, McGarrett."
"Sorry," Steve panted. "I gotta." Danny looked down to see Steve shoving his hand down the front of his shorts. His eyes were squeezed shut and his mouth was open slightly. He was stripping his cock as fast as he could, making these high, keening noises. Danny wanted to tell him that there was no rush here, he wasn't going to run off, no worries, but instead he pressed his forehead to Steve's and whispered, "That's it, babe, come on," and Steve groaned, pitching forward and shoving his head into Danny's shoulder, shuddering through the aftershocks.
Danny slipped his hand down to his own cock, still sticky with saliva and ultra-sensitive. Christ, he was amazed that he lasted this long. He started to jerk himself slowly, savoring the feel of it, trying to put off that slow build of sensation already pooling in his gut. Steve braced his hands on either side of Danny's hips. "No," he said, batting Danny's hand away. "Let me." And then he lifted, lifted Danny up by the hips, sucking him down as far as he could go. "Fuck!" Danny yelled. The slow burn ignited into a fire, Danny scrambling for purchase on the futon cushions, while Steve steadily fucked his own mouth with Danny's cock. It was hands-down the hottest thing that Danny had the privilege to witness, and he knew it wasn't going to last long. He braced himself with one elbow to get the right angle, dropped his head back, and let go, his orgasm pounding up from the soles of his goddamned feet and overtaking his whole body in a hot rush.
It was a few minutes before Danny's brain swam to the surface. Steve had apparently taken advantage of Danny's fried state to shove the table out of the way. He was gripping the futon, ready to pull it all the way out. "Yeah, yeah, go ahead," Danny mumbled, rolling over as the futon expanded beneath him. "Bed," he sighed happily.
Steve sat on the edge of the bed. "Told you," he said. "You needed to get laid." He didn't sound like he'd just had an amazing sexual experience. He sounded tense. And okay, Danny hadn't really had three seconds to reciprocate, but Steve seemed to get into it, so what was up? Danny lifted his head and squinted at Steve, who was all dressed again, buttoned up and nervous, picking at the lint on Danny's futon cover. Right, Danny thought. He chooses now to get weird.
"And I told you," Danny said, "that I don't do casual. And you blew me anyway."
Steve looked up at that, his fingers stilled on the futon. Danny didn’t get him, truly. The time to worry was before you went and sucked your partner’s brains out of his dick. Once there was nudity and orgasms, you moved on to the next phase. Namely, sleep.
"So," Danny said, patting the space next to him, "get your ass into bed and please have your freakout tomorrow."
"Aren’t you the one who should be freaking out?" Steve asked as he pushed Danny halfway off the futon with his giant, gangly arms.
"Nah," Danny said, just before he drifted off to sleep. "I really needed to get laid."