Work Text:
Danny awoke to what his sleep-addled brain could only conclude was an elbow pressing painfully into his hip. It was quickly followed by a knobbly knee knocking into his side. Before he could protest, (and most vociferously at that), 190 naked pounds of his own personal furnace was rolling on top of him with very little finesse.
“Mother of-” Danny cut off, as Steve’s weight expelled all the oxygen from his lungs. He regained his breath, before continuing with exuberance. “Whatthefuck - argh, Steven, this is not sexy, oh my fu- what the hell is going on? Stop!” He punctuated his words with scolding yet gentle slaps.
“Phone,” Steve grunted, continuing his migration across Danny’s body.
“Yes, the phone. And? So? Therefore? Your only logical response is to clamber over me like I’m your favourite obstacle course? I am not a field of tires, you moron, get up and walk around the bed like a human being.” Danny managed to free an arm, and used his not inconsiderable strength to physically eject Steve from his personal space.
Steve came crashing back down onto the mattress, a tangle of limbs sprawled horizontally across Danny’s body. It took a few seconds for the bed to stop rattling, and Danny once again wondered if they needed something larger and much more sturdy. It was only his sense of propriety and Steve’s skill with a hammer that hadn’t sent them to Ikea many a time after they’d broken the bed.
Steve grunted again. “This was quicker.”
Danny resisted the urge to launch into his time-honoured spiel about cavemen. It wouldn’t get him anywhere.
Instead, he allowed himself to be distracted by the lithe stretch of Steve’s arm as he reached for the phone on the nightstand. The moonlight filtering in through their bedroom window danced across Steve’s back, and it was just bright enough to let Danny’s eyes track the subtle play of muscles knitting together beneath tanned and tattooed skin. Warmth pooled low in his belly.
He was pulled from his thoughts by a husky, “McGarrett speaking.” He flicked his gaze to Steve’s face, eagerly anticipating the moment when Steve realized that Danny was growing hard against his hip.
“Sir, yes, so the plane is still scheduled to arrive at… oh.” His words trailed off into a gentle whisper, and his eyelashes swept down to rest on his cheeks.
To Danny's eternal disappointment, Steve quickly gathered his wits.
“Sorry, Colonel,” he emphasized the importance of the title for Danny’s benefit, “please continue.”
There was silence for a few seconds, and then Danny began to slowly, lazily stroke a hand up and down the back of Steve’s thigh. He brushed the pad of his thumb into the crease of Steve's knee; dug blunt nails into the scratch of Steve's body hair; pressed his fingertips into the curve of Steve's ass. He was just in the process of trailing his knuckles across the small of Steve's back, when an electronic tone alerted him to the fact that the call had been concluded.
It was the work of but a moment for Steve to toss the phone back onto the nightstand and shift over Danny, a warm and muscled and extremely aroused blanket. For all the awkwardness and injury of their earlier tangle, they never failed to seamlessly wrap around each other when the time was right.
“That,” Steve began, before pressing a hot kiss to the slope of Danny’s shoulder. “Was.” Another kiss, to the curve of Danny’s neck. “Colonel.” The gentle scrape of teeth over a dusting of freckles. “Brock.” The not-so-gentle press of lips to Danny’s pulse-point, where the faded blush of an old love-bite lingered. “He said.” A gasp, as he angled his jaw to allow Danny to return the favour. “The plane should, oh fuck.” The hot, slippery slide of his cock against Danny’s belly. “The plane should be arriving in an hour. We’re on protective detail for the next seventy… seventy… seventy two hours.”
Danny lifted his hips up invitingly.
-----
-----
The day had been cool, and the night even cooler - by Hawaiian standards, at any rate. Steve had been sulking all evening about the chill, before finally pilfering an old blue wool-knit sweater of Danny’s from their closet and snuggling into it with a happy sigh. Not that he would ever confess to such a noise.
It had not been a particularly successful fit; the excess fabric had drooped at the shoulders and the sleeves had ended inches earlier than his wrists.
Danny had chuckled at the sight of it, but now, as he and Steve formed a protective cocoon around Grace, he was glad for the cold. He and Steve both tended to run hot – he could count on one hand the number of nights that they’d actually slept under a serious duvet. It would normally have been far too warm for Grace, but the uncharacteristically crisp hint to the air allowed them to snuggle around her comfortably.
Earlier, a startled female cry had pierced the house, and even as he’d felt at least ten years immediately leave his body, he’d instinctively pulled his side-arm out from the hidden compartment in his nightstand. (Whenever Grace slept over, all weapons were well locked away). He'd been relieved to see Steve doing the same on the other side of the bed, and they'd raced towards her bedroom.
It had turned out to be nothing more than a nightmare; but a nightmare on the heels of being kidnapped by Rick Peterson. Upon ascertaining that the room was secure, Danny had taken Steve’s gun, leaned back against the wall to catch his breath, confident that Steve would comfort Grace in the few seconds that he needed to calm himself. It wouldn’t do to upset Grace even more by letting her see how frantic he was.
Steve had wrapped his arms around her small body, lifted her effortlessly from her bed. She had tucked herself into the angles of his frame, pressed her face to his shoulder as fat droplets rolled down her cheeks to colour the wool of his sweater. As a unit, the three of them had returned to the safety of the main bedroom.
Which was how Danny now came to watch his little troop, his little nest of loved-ones. Steve lay on his front, Grace on her back. Steve had one arm tucked beneath his pillow for support, but the other was stretched out, as if seeking the company of his bed-mates. His large hand rested on Grace’s tummy, middle finger snagged gently into the linen of her pyjama top, the rest spanned protectively over her belly as she breathed deeply in and out.
With a sigh, Danny brushed a strand of hair away from where it lay scattered across Grace's little nose, and then closed his eyes.
-----
-----
“Oshkay,” Danny began, blinking rapidly in disbelief. “Dish you shpike my shoup?”
Steve tilted his head to the side in question. “Pardon?” He knew better than to smirk openly, so he snuck his hand to his mouth under the pretence of scratching an itch.
Danny went to grind his teeth in frustration, before remembering that he could neither feel nor particularly control that area of his face. He settled instead for a withering glare. “Dish you shpike my shoup?” He held up his bowl demonstratively and shook it at Steve.
Steve tried to manually unfurrow his brow, but it was tough going. “Did I spike your soup? No, Danny, no I didn’t. Why do you ask?”
Danny plopped the bowl onto the sheets, and pointed to the large telly that sat at the end of the bed.
Steve looked at it innocently. “It’s a telly. No, you’re not seeing things.”
“Yesh,” Danny mumbled with a roll of his eyes. “What’s eet dowing in here? You hate telly in bedsh.”
A blush swept across Steve’s cheeks with startling speed, and Danny knew that his answer would be something good.
“I do hate telly in bed, that is true.”
His jaw a foggy combination of pain and numbness, Danny chose to let his raised eyebrows ask for further information.
“You’re, you know, sick and all.” Steve waved a hand at Danny’s face in explanation. “You had all manner of awful dentistry procedures performed, and now you look kind of like Grover, and I know how background telly makes you feel better. So I brought it up here.” His raised hand shifted to the back of his neck, the very epitome of goofy.
A bloom of affection unfurled in Danny’s chest.
Wait, what, Grover?
“Heysh!”
Steve had the good graces to look moderately apologetic. He pulled the remote out of his jeans pocket, plonked down onto the mattress with a flurry, and scooted back against the headboard of their bed. His right thigh pressed snug against Danny’s left, and with a yawn and a stretch that was fooling absolutely nobody, he edged his arm sneakily around Danny’s shoulders.
Danny snorted. “Schmooth.”
“Shhhh,” Steve scolded as the telly flickered to life. “Be nice, my count is two shirts you’ve drooled on so far. I’m kind of fond of you, in the sense that you annoy the hell out of me, so I haven’t taken any photographic proof. Yet. Shut up and watch.”
Danny was on the verge of nodding in acquiescence when suddenly singing children were asking him - with great flourish and intensity - how to get to Sesame Street.
His mouth might not have been working properly, but his fists were fine – one was immediately knocked into Steve’s arm. “You asssh.”
-----
-----
It was a testament to how shit a day they’d had, that Danny paid very little attention to the painful cramp in his shoulder. It was a testament to the way his heart had lodged in his throat when Steve had crumpled like a house of cards, that he ignored every ache. He resisted the urge to flex his fingers, tucked under Steve’s side, despite the pins and needles of pain that emanated from beneath his nails. His only aim was to ensure that his partner kept sleeping soundly.
-
Hours later, Danny woke to the feel of a warm nose pressing gently but insistently against his own. When he’d drawn his gun on Steve, all those years ago, he’d never suspected that their future together would contain some serious nuzzling. Hell, he’d never suspected that they’d share anything other than armed conflict in a garage, full stop.
With a deep happy noise that rumbled right from Steve’s belly, he sleepily pressed in closer to Danny, hands and hips and knees and feet and nose seeking comfortable Jersey warmth.
Grace had once compared a waking Steve to a cat emerging from a sunshine snooze. Snuggly and soft and slightly dopey, and Danny suspected that she was the first person in the history of the world to get away with calling a Navy SEAL dopey.
It took a few seconds for Steve to settle, and Danny used the opportunity to roll his aching shoulder. His hiss of pain didn’t go unnoticed, and Steve’s ridiculous eyelashes fluttered open in concern.
“Shhhh,” Danny hushed against his cheek. “Just a cramp, go back to sleep.”
Their noses met again, a gentle dance of left and right, a finely honed routine of brief touches to chin and cheek, a familiar inhalation of warm beloved scent. Danny tucked his free hand into the elastic of Steve’s boxers; Steve slid his palm up into the warmth of Danny’s t-shirt.
-----
-----
“Steve, I swear, I have had it up to here with you, and if you don’t shut up right this fucking minute!” Danny threw a pillow viciously across the room as if to emphasise his point. It thumped against the wall with a ruffled blomp before sliding to the floor.
Steve stared at him coldly, laser focus beaming across the seemingly vast width of the bed. “I won’t tell you again. It’s class-.”
Danny snorted, interrupting him. “Oh, perfect, just what I needed. Here we go again with your patronizing Army bullshit, it’s classified, yadda yadda yadda blah blah blah, kill me now, please and thankyou.”
Steve ripped the blanket back, all military neatness gone for the day, (Danny had long ago grown fed up with back-seat bed making.) “Yes,” he snarled. “It is classified. Don’t you understand that you could get in serious trouble for sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong? How do you think it makes me look, when you know shit you shouldn’t? It makes me look guilty! If they think I'm feeding you military intel, I could get investigated! I could get arrested! I could get dishonourably discharged from the Navy!” The thought alone made the blood in his veins sing.
Danny merely threw his hands up into the air, stalking off into the bathroom. He could be in the middle of a hurricane and he would still find time to brush his teeth. “First of all,” he began with a violent poke of his toothbrush, “I’m not an idiot, I covered my tracks. Second of all, get over yourself, what I was researching pertained to our case, not you. Third of all, I will always do anything and everything I can to solve what comes Five-0’s way. And don’t you dare tell me where my nose should and should not be. I am not your little baby cadet SEAL waiting with baited breath to follow your orders, I am a grown man, and a homicide detective, and I will stick my nose where I see fit.”
Steve shucked his shirt off, scrunching it up into a ball and pelting it towards the hamper. “The information you were looking into is dangerous. Don’t you get that? Don’t you get that you could potentially put a lot of people in compromising positions by knowing things that you shouldn’t?”
Danny tossed his toothbrush down onto the bathroom bench, lest he snap it in half. “Don’t you get that there are people who aren’t in the military who actually have brains? I might not be able to rappel down a cliff with nothing but my teeth and sheer masculinity, but I am able to function. Oh, by the way, I cracked the case.” With that, he stalked towards the bed, rigidly settling into it and staring up at the ceiling like it was trying to murder him.
A few seconds passed, and then Steve sat on the edge of the mattress. He swiped a few buttons on his phone – setting their alarm for the next morning – switched off the light with a click, and then settled back into his pillow, his body as tense as Danny’s.
As Steve eventually succumbed to an uneasy sleep, joints tense and teeth clenched, he didn’t fail to recognize the fact that even when they were furious with each other, there was no doubt that they would sleep in the same bed. From across the cavernous distance of the bed, Danny was having similar thoughts.
-----
-----
Steve panted desperately and noisily into Danny shoulder. He was the epitome of possession, a warm blanket of slick skin and tangled limbs and bellies pressed flush. Whilst being fucked into the mattress was perfectly delicious when it was actually happening, the moments after sometimes tended to lend themselves to suffocation.
Danny was not a tiny man. He was short, he knew he was short, but that was the extent of his being even remotely small.
Steve, however, was a big man. He was all muscle and height, and, more to the point, he was all… asleep.
“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me,” Danny announced to the room. He would have spoken to his partner, but, oh, yes, his partner had fallen asleep a mere six seconds after orgasm. Fallen asleep on top of him. Fallen asleep still inside him. “Yeah, see, no. No, no, no. Has nobody taught you any bedroom etiquette? You really were raised by wolves, I have conclusive proof.”
Against Danny’s neck, Steve snuffled. He shifted slightly and Danny felt the sticky separation of their stomachs. Once again he cursed Steve for his comparative lack of belly-hair; Danny knew without looking that tomorrow's shower was going to be both disgusting and embarrassing. Steve already strolled around town looking like the cat that got the canary whenever Danny couldn't quite walk straight.
With a sigh, he gripped Steve’s arms, fingertips pressing firmly into ink. “Come on, big guy, up up up.”
Steve groaned in protest, grumbled himself awake and lifted his head just far enough to be able to look Danny in the eye. “Whatswrong?”
“Hi there, sailor,” Danny said with a raise of an eyebrow. “Think you could maybe get off me? Or, you know, get your cock out of my….ooooh, oh, okay, yes, thankyou. No, no, Steven, hey, come on now!”
Steve had pulled out, but he had then proceeded to flop back down with an oof.
“Man you weigh a tonne, no, come on, we need to clean up, argh, what’re…what are you doing?”
Danny watched in confusion as Steve clumsily slid down the length of his body. When the soft ruffle of Steve’s hair brushed against his navel, Steve came to a stop; cheek pressed to Danny’s tummy, body cradled between Danny’s thighs.
“That… is disgusting, you do realize I just came all over my stomach, right? And now you’re… what am I, your teddy bear? You are a Neanderthal, what am I going to do with you? Also, I think you’re forgetting the geographic basics of male external genitalia, in that you’re fucking squashing meeeeeee.” He might have ended his sentence on a squeak as Steve moved again, but he’d never admit it.
“Oh, shut up, Danny.”