Chapter Text
Danny Williams is a man who has never once put out on a first date, regardless of the allure of his partners. At this junction, he wishes to go on record as identifying his many and varied lovers as immensely attractive, men and women graceful of limb and hot of loin.
… Perhaps he should not be thinking of loins, least of all hot loins, given his current predicament and position.
He is, after all, sprawled atop one Steve McGarrett, who on top of being the one person who has captured Danny’s heart with a speed and ferocity unmatched since he’s laid eyes on a pink bundle of squirming infant Gracie, is also possibly the most ridiculously beautiful human being Danny Williams has ever met.
He studies Steve a little more attentively now; takes in the long sweep of eyelashes over irises blown dark with lust and want, notices the undulation of throat muscles with every swallow, registers the flex of defined abs with every inhalation.
No, Danny has never once put out on a first date, but he is close to breaking this self-mandated law, because pinned beneath him, trapped between his spread thighs, is a dessert of a man – a veritable apple pie with homemade ice-cream, staring up at him with naked desire even as he straddles said dessert in his office chair, in his office, at their place of work.
He groans, and drops his head to Steve’s chest, which is somehow code for manhandle me with extreme prejudice, because Steve’s hands begin their downward trek, his fingers dexterous with Danny’s button and zipper.
“Want you,” the idiot breathes in his ear, all husky and low, his large palm now rubbing against the bulge in Danny’s pants, clever fingers tracing a hot path down the line of the zipper.
“I don’t – ” a choked off moan as the teeth in his zipper unlock molar by molar, “put out on the first date.”
Steve’s hand is now scalding against him, with only his boxers separating the tatters of his righteously guarded first date virtue and Steve’s amorous intentions. He thinks he whimpers when Steve bucks up against him, pressing something hard and glorious against the ache in his balls, and he feels his cock twitch, and knows, without looking, that the front of his boxers must be stained dark.
“Not the first date, Danno,” the impossible man murmurs, running his forefinger against the moisture on Danny’s boxers, and then, goddamn it, lifting it to his mouth to taste.
Danny surges forward, kisses Steve desperately around Steve’s finger, and it is messy, and there is the burn of friction as Steve nudges his mouth with lips and tongue and wet, wet finger.
“This is our third date, at the very least,” Steve says when they finally pull away, Danny’s breathing reduced to labored pants, and Steve’s smile to a self-congratulatory smirk.
“How many times must I tell you,” he starts hotly, “that covertly dating a person without their knowledge is not dating at all?”
Steve just grins at him, tugs him in closer by the buckle of his belt, now hanging loose around his waist, gaping open down to the vee of his crotch. He ends up even more snug against Steve, pressed up impossibly, spread thighs firmly bracketing Steve’s hips, Steve’s cock a hard, rigid line against his balls.
He whimpers again, and Steve’s caveman instincts must have deemed that sound pleasing, because he thrusts up, and his cock brushes over Danny’s hole, and Danny can feel himself fluttering and clenching, suddenly wanting the heavy layers of khaki and cotton evaporated.
Fuck it, he thinks – “fuck me”, he moans aloud, panting into Steve’s ear, tilting his neck to the side, offering up the slope of his jaw for possession.
Steve trembles in his arms, and then there’s teeth and tongue on his neck, and a hand in his hair, grasping strands and yanking his head back to expose more neck. He is unable to help himself; he moans again, this time keening and low, and submits. In the fog of his pleasure, made sharper by the hint of pain as Steve’s hand tightens in his hair, Danny thinks he hears Steve moan too.
“So beautiful, Danny,” Steve tells him, in between sucking a bruise high on his neck, leaving marks that would be visible even with his work-shirts buttoned up high.
“Look at you, just taking it for me. Would you let me fuck you, spread you open, here, in this chair?”
Danny’s breath catches, but his response of scrambling for the button of Steve’s cargos, and his simultaneous impatient tugging at Steve’s shirt, is answer enough.
He whines when Steve bats his clumsy hands away, and the whine turns plaintive when he is manhandled out of Steve’s lap. Steve laughs a little, wrapping an arm around his waist to anchor him, but continues to nudge him into a half-squatting position, and oh.
Danny grins toothily, because he is not a little dazzled by Steve’s strategic thinking, and gamely scrambles into kneeling over Steve, allowing Steve the room to tug his cargoes down and away, and to kick it gracelessly across the room. He helps Steve then, both pairs of hands greedily removing his own pants, but they only manage to get as far as to get the offending article of clothing to pool around Danny’s ankles, before Steve yanks him back down to straddle his hips, and to claim his lips.
Somewhere in the melee, Danny loses his boxers, and the heat of Steve’s skin against his tells him that Steve has also miraculously misplaced his own tight (gloriously tight) briefs. He is not complaining though, even though he suspects getting dressed again is going to resemble an Easter egg hunt – he is definitely not complaining when Steve’s finger trails down to his bottom, and slips between the cleft to circle lightly around his rim.
He thinks he makes a high-pitched noise only dogs could hear, before attempting to ride Steve’s finger. Steve’s chuckle is a mixture of groan and laughter, and he cruelly eases his finger away.
“When was the last time, babe?”
The question is asked earnestly, if hoarsely, and Steve’s gaze is clear and heavy on his face. Danny sighs a little, and sags. He knows he isn’t likely to get what he wants, not if he tells Steve the truth.
“Awhile,” he says reluctantly, and only elaborates when Steve raises an expectant eyebrow.
“All right, fine – not since the first few months of our partnership, okay? It didn’t feel right, what with the whole Rachel rerun, and then falling arse over teakettle for your stupid self, I just haven’t – ”
He is rudely cut off by Steve’s mouth sealing firmly over his, the kiss gentle but hungry, and more eloquent than the words they could both think to use.
“I’ve wanted you for forever,” Steve whispers against his lips when they come apart. “It killed me when I couldn’t make you see it.”
He feels his own face heat, which is stupid and ridiculous given the amount of nakedness and groping they have previously been doing, but Steve’s undisguised affection stirs something deep in him, and warms him all over. He settles for leaning in and brushing a kiss over Steve’s adam apple, and then biting down, lightly, both as reprimand and affirmation.
“I still want you to fuck me,” he tells Steve, and when the other man looks as though he might protest given Danny’s unfortunate run of virginhood, he cheats, grinding down against Steve’s lap, feeling Steve’s cock harden anew against him.
Steve retaliates by winding dexterous fingers around his cock, tightening his fist until Danny is all but fucking into his hand, and by stealing Danny’s breaths when he opens his mouth to moan brokenly at the sensation of Steve’s slow slide down his length.
“We don’t have supplies here,” Steve pants, and okay, at least he is no longer fighting Danny on the probability of being fucked sometime in the near future.
Danny makes a half-hearted sound of complaint at that assessment; half-hearted because all his brain faculties, like his blood, has diverted southwards of his body, towards Steve’s thumb skimming over his cockhead, collecting the moisture and pressing firmly into his silt. He feels so good he thinks he sees stars, and they are all dancing, a disorderly one-two tango with more zest than grace.
“Going to come,” he stutters, fighting to keep his eyes open on Steve’s face, on Steve’s hand working him. He grounds down on Steve’s lap, has enough brain capacity left to rearrange himself so that Steve’s cock is trapped between the small space between his thighs, and squeezes his legs experimentally. From the choked groan that Steve produces, he gathers that the friction must have been met with approval, and therefore struggles to keep his legs together, the pleasure of Steve’s hand, now fast and frantic on him, making it tempting for him to just spread akimbo and boneless.
He comes hard without warning, right at the moment when Steve’s free hand wanders over to cup the curve of his ass, and when Steve’s finger, wet with his own precome, enters him without warning. In his orgasmic haze, he thinks he bites down on Steve’s collar, and that prompts Steve’s own orgasm, shuddering and complete and wet.
It takes a few minutes before they each return to their vacated bodies, wrung out with pleasure, and warm with something dangerously close to a particular emotion that Danny thinks they should take time to build up to, even if they are quite fond of doing things backwards. His smile, however, must tell Steve a different story, because it prompts Steve to pull him in closer, wet spots and sweat and all, and to kiss the corner of his mouth lazily, a slow smile on his own lips.
“Rest, then round two, back at our place,” Steve informs him, and Danny would find it in himself to be indignant at Steve’s imperious attitude, but for the our, and for the shock of content that floods through him at it.
He nods against Steve’s shoulder, and closes his eyes, and looks forward to everything.