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Three days. Three days of chasing down leads, knocking on, and occasionally kicking down, doors. Danny's done most of the knocking, Steve's done all of the kicking.
Seventy-two hours of taking short cat naps on the couch in Steve's office, of too many cups of coffee, wearing the same clothes for 20 hours straight, luke warm showers at the office and thanking the god of your choice for the long ingrained policeman's habit of keeping several changes of clothes in the car and office, because none of them have been home since this case started.
There are dirty coffee cups and empty pizza boxes all over the normally pristine office. Even McGarrett, anal bitch that he is, has quit complaining about the mess, though they're probably going to have to bribe the cleaners to come back in here when this is over.
They're all walking about like the living dead, drunk on lack of sleep and stress and tempers are starting to fray to the point where if they're not actively out on the streets, working leads, they're in their separate offices, avoiding each other.
So when they finally get a break and catch up with their guy in an expensive, overcrowded nightclub, full of smoke and the smell of sweat, spilt alcohol and cheap perfume, and he bolts like a rabbit (seriously, he took one look at them and ran. Danny has no idea how they know, and it's not the tie, no matter what McGarrett says), things seem to go south real quick.
The suspect, a man wanted for kidnap, rape, mutilation and murder makes it out of the club and into an alleyway and Steve I've-got-the-self-preservation-instincts-of-a-lemming McGarrett just fucking bowls straight out of the door after him, Danny's shouts for him to wait lost in the thumping music and Steve's own impatience.
Danny rockets through the door after Steve, hoping like hell that he's not going to get shot, again, because his boss is a fucking idiot. As it is, if he'd been a couple of inches taller, the shot that showers him with mortar dust and sharp splinters of brick would have probably blown his brains all over the wall. He ducks behind a dumpster and blinks grit out of his eyes. Steve's behind another dumpster on the other side of the alley, a few feet further down and the perp is probably behind a car beyond that. Danny's not real keen on sticking his head out to check just yet though.
There's a streak of red on Steve's arm; not enough to indicate anything other than a flesh wound, but Christ, Danny's starting to wonder if the man is ever going to learn to wait for Danny to back him up before he goes throwing them both into the line of fire.
The gunfight is actually pathetically short because the suspect is an awful shot and Danny and Steve aren't.
When the guy is lying on the filthy alleyway floor, clutching his shoulder and crying because it hurts, Danny has to fight down the urge to kick him. All that effort, all those hours and this is what they were chasing? This pathetic, whining coward?
So he doesn't protest when Steve hauls the guy to his feet by the bad shoulder (probably just a flesh wound). And he ignores the screams when Steve handcuffs the guy and practically throws him into the waiting arms of the HPD officers who've turned up. He leans against the wall and digs his fingers into his eye sockets and wonders how many hours of sleep it's going to take for him to stop feeling as though his brain has been through a blender, compares that to how many hours of sleep he's actually likely to get before the team get another job, and comes up with a significant deficit on the sleep side.
His ears are still ringing from noise of the club and the gunfire. His shirt is sticking to his back and is probably so rumpled and sweat stained that it's going to be good for nothing but the trash. And he's completely and utterly furious at McGarrett.
He doesn't say a word when HPD start asking questions, which makes both them and Steve look at him with surprise. By the time they leave, suspect in tow, Steve's shooting him concerned glances, but before he can say anything, his phone rings and then Steve's turning away slightly and Danny guesses that it's Chin on the other end of the line. Steve updates him, leaving out the recklessly-getting-himself-shot-in-a-firefight-in-a-goddamned-alleyway part (though Danny's sure Chin can read between the lines), then tells him to makes sure that he and Kono both get home and get some rest.
Danny locks his knees, drops his head back against the wall and stays right where he is. He hears McGarrett finish the call, and suddenly the man is right fucking there, like he has no idea that Danny's so mad, and seriously, the amount of swearing that Danny's doing is a sure sign that he should be getting the hell out of here and away from his boss before he does something stupid.
So, of course, he stays put, because he's had just about enough of this shit.
Steve's right in front of him, half a step too close as usual and he's looking concerned and Danny realises that he's been talking and now he's getting worried because Danny wasn't listening. All Danny can focus on is the streak of sticky red on Steve's arm. Another close call, another time when McGarrett's belief that he's Superman got him injured and nearly got Danny killed, damnit.
So Danny takes the opportunity and uses the element of surprise in a way he likes to think Steve would be proud of, fucking SEAL training and all, and he uses his full weight to shove Steve backwards and slam him against the opposite wall of the alleyway.
McGarrett's skull bounces off the brick and Danny hopes, viciously, that it might just knock some sense into the man.
"Danny, what...?"
"What is it with you? Do you have a death wish or are you just completely fucking insane?"
"I have no idea what you're talking..."
"No. Do not finish that sentence. You know what? Don't bother answering. It's both, right? Right."
"I don't..."
"Seriously, what the hell is your problem? Normal police work not exciting enough for you that you gotta always be throwing yourself into stupid situations that nearly get you and your partner, which would be me, shot? Would it honestly kill you to wait 30 fucking seconds so that I can back you up properly?"
"Danny..."
"Really, I'm just trying to understand here. Are you trying to get us both killed? Or just trying to give me a heart attack? I mean, if you want a new partner there are easier ways of getting one," Danny knows that's he's rambling, words almost tumbling over each other where he's so wired from the lack of sleep and the fading adrenaline to care.
"A new partner? No, Danny. What hell?" Steve's looking confused and hurt and it's making Danny's neck ache to look up at him, and he's standing far closer than he probably should be, but neither of them are backing down.
"Then why the fuck do you keep doing this?" Danny squeezes Steve's arm, the drying blood tacky beneath his fingers. Steve winces a little, though he looks more surprised than in pain, as if he'd forgotten that he'd gotten shot, again.
"It's my..." Steve starts, that familiar stubborn look settling over his face.
"I swear, if the next word out of your mouth is 'job', I will shoot you myself."
Steve closes his mouth and shifts; not fighting Danny's hold on him, not trying to get away. Danny feels the movement all the way through his body and he's briefly confused because he hadn't realised they were quite that close. Now he's aware of it, his sleep deprived brain can only come up with one solution, one way to maybe, maybe make McGarrett start thinking about their long term health.
"Come here," he says, as he curls a hand around the back of Steve's neck and drags his mouth down to Danny's. Steve doesn't resist, but Danny can't tell if that's because he wasn't expecting Danny to kiss him, or for some other reason.
In fact, Steve doesn't react at all, until Danny digs his nails into the tender skin of Steve's neck and kicks his ankle hard enough to make Steve move it and widen his stance so Danny get get one leg between Steve's. Then Steve suddenly comes to life under Danny's hands. Figures.
He kisses like he drives; too fast, too reckless, all fire and little finesse. He puts one hand on Danny's waist, fingers burrowing under his shirt and the other slides into Danny's hair. Danny feels muscles tense against him and then Steve's shoving and suddenly Danny's the one with his back against the wall, while Steve uses the hand in his hair to angle Danny's face the way he wants it. He's pressed so tightly up against Danny that Danny swears he can feel every twitch and ripple of muscle as Steve keeps kissing him.
Danny gets one hand under Steve's t-shirt, finding sweat-damp skin, warm and firm under his touch. He trails his fingertips along the waistband of McGarrett's pants and wonders idly, through the haze of exhaustion and lust, what the hell they're doing making out in an alleyway, in public, when they've both got perfectly good beds they could use.
Steve's wormed the hand under Danny's shirt up Danny's chest and he's using what Danny thinks is his thumb to stroke and roll Danny's nipple until it's stiff and sensitive and throbbing so hard that Danny has no choice but to retaliate by sliding a hand down the back of Steve's pants and squeezing hard. That makes McGarrett twitch and his hips press forward, cock obvious, hard and hot, even through layers of clothes. Steve's hand leaves Danny's nipple, the material of his shirt suddenly scratchy and rough when it touches the over stimulated flesh. He sticks his hand down the front of Danny's pants and cups his cock through his boxers, Danny groans and then his fogged brain reminds him that they are making out in a fucking public place.
"Stop, God..."
McGarrett freezes then yanks his hand back so quickly Danny swears he must have gotten friction burns. He goes to take a step back, but Danny reaches out and catches hold of his forearm.
"Wait. What is... Look, just stop a minute, OK?"
"I'm sorry, I thought you wanted this." Steve's trying so hard to look like it doesn't bother him, but Danny knows him too well now to buy that.
"I do. What, kissing you didn't make that obvious enough? I don't know how you roll man, but I don't tend to kiss people if I don't plan on following through."
"Oh. Then the problem is...?" Steve moves back in, eyes on Danny's mouth, arm twisting slightly, as if testing Danny's grip
"We're in an alleyway, which is filthy, in case you hadn't noticed. And in public. I'd rather not have someone call HPD back here to arrest us for public indecency."
"Oh, yeah." And really, it's quite gratifying to see Steve McGarrett, who isn't half as smooth as he thinks he is, lost for words. Doesn't happen all that often, but Danny has learnt to treasure each and every time that he gets to see it.
"So, you wanna take this back to my place? Or yours. I mean, yours is closer, right?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah? Yeah what?"
"Yeah I want to take this back to my place. I'm not going to your tiny apartment."
Danny wants to argue the point about his apartment, but Steve steps in again, close enough that Danny can smell fresh sweat that makes him think of the ocean that Steve seems so fascinated with. Another half a step closer, and he can pick out the cigarette smoke from the club and the lingering hint of gunpowder and blood. He's pretty sure that if he had to, he could pick Steve out of a line up on scent alone, he's spent so long cooped up in a car, or on stakeouts, or any number of life and death situations with the man.
Steve looks like he wants to kiss Danny again, but stops, just before he can make the move. Danny's kinda glad, because honestly, knowing that Steve's having that much trouble resisting him is a huge ego boost, and a fucking massive turn on. He's never been blind to Steve's regard; the looks and the gifts and the way Steve's been trying to insinuate himself into Danny's life, while trying to drag Danny into his. He knows that they've been dancing around this for months and all the reasons that they haven't done anything about it are still just valid as they were when he was thinking straight, but Steve's warm and willing and just right there, even though Danny knows it's just because their barriers are worn thin from the exhaustion and adrenaline talking. But in this moment, none of those reasons seem insurmountable.
He's still holding Steve's wrist and he uses that grip to get Steve to back up a little and there's another little flare of lust when Steve lets himself be manoeuvred so easily. He doesn't let go of McGarrett even when he gets them both moving back towards the car. When he finally has to let go, he does so reluctantly and tosses the keys at Steve without being asked.
Steve's hands flex on the wheel the whole drive; clench, loosen, clench again. Over and over, like he has to do something with his hands or he's going to lose control of them. At least, that's what Danny's hoping. It's been a long time since he's been the focus of someone's lust and the fact that his dry spell is going to be broken by McGarrett, who is capable of an often terrifying single-mindedness that drives Danny fucking crazy in most other situations, is a sucker punch of nervous anticipation.
It's strange getting out of the car and going into Steve's house, although Danny's been here a dozen times or more. He's been here for work and for down time. Hell, he's been shot at here, but it feels different now. He's not entirely sure what he's expecting, because this is new ground and while he's always been great at rolling with the punches, he doesn't want to make the wrong move and have this blow up in their faces.
Steve barely lets him get over the threshold before he uses his weight and Danny's to shut the door and then pins Danny against the wood. Just like that, the fire between them is back and Danny's hot all over, sweat collecting in the small of his back and on the palms of his hands as he uses them to drag Steve's head down so he can kiss him.
It takes them a few seconds to sync up and then it's as if they never left the alleyway; lust and need and a complicated tangle of emotions pushing them together, towards something that Danny's beginning to think might have been inevitable from the start. He shouldn't be surprised because nothing with Steve ever seems easy or straightforward at first glance, but once you get to know him, once you understand what drives him, then it becomes easier.
Tomorrow will be complicated. Right now though, it's pretty damned simple. Now, it's all about getting off, getting each other off. It's about his hand under Steve's shirt and Steve's fingers stroking over Danny's cock through his pants.
Danny's lost in the pleasure, strung out and wanting when Steve pulls back. "I haven't..." he starts, but Danny's too turned on to let him freak out now.
"Works just the same way as yours, babe," he says, and grabs Steve's wrist, trying to stop him taking his hand off of Danny's dick.
Steve's expression gets pissy and pinched and he twists his arm until he's the one holding Danny's wrist, fingers tight enough that Danny wonders if he'll have bruises tomorrow. "I was going to say," Steve says, "that I'm not doing this up against a door. Not the first time, anyway."
"What, you gone and got some manners while I wasn't looking?"
"Shut up." Steve tugs against Danny's hold on him and uses it to steer them both through the house. He walks backwards and he doesn't stop looking at Danny the whole way. Danny's noticed Steve's intensity; it's fucking hard to miss at times, but he will never, ever admit that he's basked in it, provoked it, even. He just wasn't sure that they'd ever actually act on the tension that's been singing between them.
Steve only stops moving when they're standing next to his bed. Danny has no fucking idea how he's managed to get them there without one of them falling over something or cracking a shin on a table. Damned SEAL training
There's a moment where they just look at each other, then Steve steps closer, the hand holding Danny's wrist loosening and sliding up Danny's arm until his thumb rests under Danny's jaw and his fingers are curled around the nape of Danny's neck.
When he kisses Danny this time, it's slower, more deliberate, meant to take Danny apart. Danny's not going down without a fight though and he works on distracting Steve with one hand under his shirt, finger stroking over a nipple, before using his nails, dragging down the pectoral muscle and across Steve's stomach. Steve flinches a little, but doesn't pull away and Danny gets his other hand on Steve's fly. He has no trouble popping the button open and dragging the zipper down part way. He waits a beat, then nips Steve's lip and this time Steve does lean back.
Danny doesn't wait to hear if he's got anything coherent to say. He's too focussed on dropping to sit on the bed, and pulling Steve's pants down as he goes. He gets a hold of Steve's hip and there's no resistance as he pulls him closer, until he can lean forward enough to lick a slow stripe up the underside of Steve's cock. Steve shudders; a ripple of muscles twitching and jumping from his shoulders, all the way down his spine. He's muttering under his breath, curses and pleas and Danny's name, all twisted and jumbled, like he can't work out how to speak proper sentences any more.
As heady as this newfound power is, Danny's not looking to make a point here, he's not interested in torturing Steve; paying him back for every time that he's nearly given Danny an aneurysm. He'll want that later, but for right now, he just wants to see Steve give it up.
It's been a long time since he's done this, but he's pretty sure that Steve won't be scoring his performance. He lets himself fall into a steady rhythm; hand covering what his mouth can't; firm suction as he pulls up, making Steve sway closer and moan, fingers digging into Danny's shoulders, and lots of tongue as he slides back down, sloppy and wet.
His jaw is just starting to ache when Steve gasps, swears once, loudly, and then curls forward as he comes. Danny would have liked a little more warning, but it's too late now and he can save that up to torment McGarrett with later. He keeps going through the tremors and Steve pulls away, flinching as his dick becomes too sensitive for the continued stimulation. He's breathing hard and Danny can feel the sweat on his skin and the rapid thrum of his pulse under Danny's hands.
Apart from Steve's pants, which are around his ankles, they're still fully clothed and Danny finds that stupidly, irrationally hot. Once he's sure Steve's not going to topple over, he lets go and leans back on one elbow, his other hand desperately opening his pants. He's hard and aching and he can't wait for Steve to get with the programme.
Turns out that he shouldn't have worried, because he's only just got his hand on his own dick before Steve's on his knees, shoving Danny's thighs apart so he can press between then and return the favour. His hair isn't quite long enough for Danny to get a grip on, but he rests his hand heavily on the back of Steve's head and doesn't even try to control the way his hips shift. He's pretty sure that he lasts longer than Steve did, but he's too busy coming like a fucking train to be absolutely sure on that point.
Once he's done, Steve crawls up onto the bed with him and they just lie there on their backs, shoulders and knees touching, both of them staring at the ceiling. Danny wonders if this is the point where it's supposed to get weird. But ever since he met McGarrett, his baseline for weird has been fucked up, so he isn't finding this pleasant afterglow nearly as surreal as he might have a few months ago.
He can feel it when Steve turns his head to look at him.
"Can't believe you've still got your dammed tie on," is all he says, low and more content that indignant.
Danny just grins smugly.