Chapter Text
Five-0 Headquarters
The thing about Harry Langford, Steve thought grimly, was that he never simply entered a room.
He arrived.
And today, he arrived at Five-0 headquarters like a storm disguised in linen and sunglasses, sweeping through the glass doors as though he’d just stepped off a spy film set. His shirt was open at the throat, tan trousers perfectly pressed, and his shoes were far too clean for Oahu. He looked like a magazine spread titled How to Irritate Steve McGarrett in Ten Seconds or Less.
The moment his eyes landed on Danny, his whole face lit up.
“Detective Williams!” Harry’s voice boomed across the bullpen, warm and delighted. “Hawaii has grown brighter in my absence. Though, if I’m honest, I suspect you’re entirely to blame.”
Danny, coffee in one hand and a file in the other, blinked in shock. The file slipped. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again.
“You’re—are you kidding me right now?” he sputtered, waving vaguely at Harry. “What the hell are you even doing here? I thought you were—where—Miami? Europe? Anywhere not here?”
“Ah, yes, but business brings me where it will,” Harry replied smoothly, striding across the room with infuriating confidence. In seconds he was at Danny’s desk, one hand braced on the edge, the other adjusting his sunglasses. With a grin that belonged on a billboard, he added, “And pleasure, of course. This time, the two intersect beautifully.”
Danny froze, narrowing his eyes. “Are you flirting with me? In my workplace? In front of—” He gestured wildly. “—everyone?”
“Of course I am,” Harry said cheerfully. “It would be a crime not to.”
From the glass table, Steve’s jaw clicked so hard it hurt. Every muscle in his body had gone taut.
He’s touching him.
Harry leaned in, closer than polite conversation required, close enough that Danny tilted back in instinctive retreat. Not nearly far enough.
“Insufferable,” Danny muttered.
“Insufferable? I prefer irresistible.”
Danny snorted, lips twitching despite himself.
Something in Steve’s chest twisted. Banter with Danny was his. Watching someone else steal it—someone taller, smoother, stinking of overpriced cologne—was unbearable.
Steve slammed his report folder shut. “Harry.”
Harry looked up lazily. “Commander. Always a pleasure.”
“Why are you here?” Steve asked, stalking forward, his steps heavy and deliberate.
“Business, as I said. And I missed my favorite detective.” Harry’s gaze slid right back to Danny. “Tell me, Daniel, still the only man on this island with taste in ties? Ah, yes—navy with a subtle stripe. Classic. Matches your eyes.”
Danny blinked down at his tie. “I mean… thanks?”
Steve’s blood pressure spiked.
Harry reached out, straightening the tie with exaggerated care. “Every masterpiece deserves a finishing touch.”
Danny swatted him away, cheeks pink. “What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing at all,” Harry said cheerfully. “What’s wrong is that no one else has been telling you these things.”
Danny sputtered, then looked helplessly at Steve—who stood rigid, fists clenched.
“Don’t look at me!” Danny blurted. “This is not my fault. I didn’t invite him, I didn’t ask for—whatever this is—”
“Complimenting you,” Harry supplied smoothly. “Because you deserve it.”
Danny groaned.
Steve’s voice dropped to a low growl. “Harry.”
“Yes, Commander?”
“Stay in your lane.”
Harry grinned, sharp. “Oh, but McGarrett… you and I may have very different ideas about what that lane is.”
Steve’s teeth ground so hard his molars ached.
“Coffee,” Danny muttered, standing abruptly. His chair squeaked. He jabbed a finger at Steve. “You. Don’t even start.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to! Your face is screaming at me.”
Harry followed like an eager golden retriever. “Allow me to buy you another, Detective. Nothing would bring me greater joy.”
Danny pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering about James Bond rejects and bad cologne—but he still walked through the door Harry held open.
Steve followed, grim and silent, pulse pounding.
Café
Normally, Steve liked this café run. Danny would rant about traffic or pineapple pizza, Steve would half-listen, and they’d both pretend it wasn’t a date.
Not today.
Today, Harry positioned himself at Danny’s side like he belonged there, pulling out his chair, leaning forward, attention locked on Danny as though no one else existed.
“So,” Harry said smoothly, “tell me, Daniel—how have you survived without me these past few months?”
Danny sipped his coffee, buying time, then shrugged with a wicked glint. “Eh. I managed.”
Harry clutched his chest in mock devastation. “Managed? Only managed? I was expecting at least a ‘miserable without you, Harry.’”
Danny smirked. “What do you want, a sonnet? A love letter? Maybe I’ll carve your name in a tree. ‘Harry was here, Danny wept.’”
Steve nearly choked on his espresso.
Harry looked delighted. “You jest, but I’d frame that carving. Ship it to London, mount it above my fireplace.”
“See? Insanity,” Danny said, gesturing. “Steve, you hear this?”
Steve managed a strangled, “Mm.”
Harry’s eyes twinkled. “Jealous, Commander?”
Steve almost snapped his spoon in half. “Of what?”
“Of this.” Harry motioned between himself and Danny. “The chemistry. Some things can’t be faked.”
Danny coughed into his coffee, hiding a grin. The little bastard is enjoying this, Steve realized, heat rushing through him.
“Chemistry?” Danny repeated. “Hear that? We got chemistry now.”
“Undeniable,” Harry said, leaning closer. His voice dropped. “Sharp, quick-witted, devastatingly handsome. I could write novels about you.”
Danny’s ears went pink. He smirked anyway. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I am,” Harry said, “and yet, you’re still here. Which tells me you don’t mind half as much as you pretend.”
Steve vibrated with the effort not to leap across the table. Watching Danny flush under another man’s compliments—it lit something raw and possessive inside him.
By the time they left, Steve’s hands were restless, his pulse hammering. Danny walked ahead, shoulders brushing Harry’s.
Harry glanced back once, caught Steve’s stare, and smirked.
The smirk of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.
The Camaro
There were unspoken rules when it came to Danny’s Camaro.
Rule one: Steve drove it more than Danny did. He always stole the keys, always took the wheel. Danny complained, but Steve still drove.
Rule two: on the rare occasions Danny did drive, Steve sat shotgun. Always. No debate. That seat was his.
So when Harry Langford strolled up to the car and—without hesitation—slid into the front passenger seat, Steve felt the world tilt.
“Excuse me,” Steve said, flat and dangerous. “What are you doing?”
“Getting in,” Harry replied easily, clicking his seatbelt. “Lovely leather, by the way. Classic car. Good taste, Daniel.”
“That’s my seat,” Steve snapped.
Danny, sliding behind the wheel, groaned. “Here we go.”
“It is my seat,” Steve insisted. He leaned forward, stabbing a finger toward Harry. “That’s my spot. Everyone knows it. It’s been established. It’s practically law.”
“Law?” Danny barked a laugh. “Oh, for crying out loud—”
“Not today,” Harry cut in smoothly, settling back with infuriating calm. “Today, Commander, you’re in the back. Try to enjoy it.”
Steve bristled. “The backseat? No. Absolutely not. I’m not—”
Danny twisted the key in the ignition, cutting him off. “You’re not walking either, Steven. So either sit down and shut up, or get out now.”
Steve seethed, but climbed into the back, slamming the door. The Camaro had never felt so wrong.
The drive was torture.
Harry leaned into Danny’s space like he owned it, shoulders brushing, voice low. “You’re a surprisingly good driver. Firm hands, steady grip. Sexy, even.”
Danny nearly swerved. “What the hell—don’t call my driving sexy! Who even says that?”
Harry grinned. “A man who knows what he likes.” His gaze lingered deliberately on Danny’s hands at the wheel.
Steve lunged forward between the seats, voice a growl. “Don’t. Talk. About. His hands.”
Danny threw him a look in the rearview. “Steven. Sit back. You’re worse than my kids.”
Harry chuckled. “Adorable, isn’t he? All wound up.”
“I’m not adorable,” Steve snapped.
“Territorial, then,” Harry corrected, smirk widening. His hand drifted—resting lightly on Danny’s knee. “And jealous.”
Steve’s blood roared in his ears. “Harry.”
Danny sputtered. “Are you serious right now?”
“Merely appreciating the driver,” Harry said smoothly, thumb brushing in a slow circle.
“Hands off!” Steve barked, surging forward so hard his knee jammed between the seats. “You don’t touch him.”
“Steven!” Danny yelled, swatting blindly toward the back. “Do I need to pull over and separate you two? Jesus.”
Harry laughed, entirely too pleased. “I must say, Detective, you’re worth every ounce of this drama.”
Danny muttered under his breath, knuckles white on the wheel. Steve sat back, fuming, the word mine pounding in his skull with every heartbeat.
By the time they pulled into the crime scene, Steve was practically vibrating with pent-up energy. Danny hopped out first, adjusting his tie, muttering about “maniacs in his passenger seat.” Harry followed, brushing imaginary lint off Danny’s shoulder as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Harry met his eyes across the roof of the car and smirked.
It was a smirk that said: I know exactly what I’m doing. And I’m winning.
Steve, jaw clenched, thought: Over my dead body.
Lunch
Lunch, in Steve’s mind, was supposed to be quick, simple, efficient. A chance to refuel before diving back into casework.
Lunch, with Harry Langford around, became an Olympic-level endurance test.
Harry insisted they sit on the patio—“to bask in the glow of Detective Williams”—and slid into the seat across from Danny like they were on a date. Steve got the awkward third spot, teeth already grinding.
“You know,” Harry said as the waitress left, “I’ve dined in Paris, Rome, Monaco… but I think this may be the best table I’ve ever had.”
Danny blinked. “We’re sitting next to a surf shop. Half the menu is sandwiches.”
Harry leaned forward, gaze intent. “I’m talking about you.”
Danny choked on a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Unbelievably captivated, yes.”
Steve bent his menu until it creased.
When the food arrived, Harry’s eyes lit on Danny’s towering sandwich. “That looks divine. May I?” Without waiting, he plucked a fry and groaned theatrically. “Heaven. But then, anything you touch must taste extraordinary.”
Danny froze mid-bite. “You can’t just—”
Harry pinched another fry between his fingers, held it out across the table. “Here. Try it. For me.”
Danny stared at him, then at Steve—who looked like he was about to combust.
And that’s when Danny’s mouth curled into a wicked little smirk.
“Oh, you want me to try it? Fine.” He leaned forward, slow as molasses, eyes locked on Steve the whole way. And instead of grabbing it with his hand, he took the fry with his mouth—his tongue brushing deliberately against Harry’s fingers.
Harry’s eyes went wide, delighted. “Cheeky,” he murmured.
Danny sat back, chewing, looking far too pleased. “Happy now?”
“Ecstatic,” Harry said, still grinning.
Steve’s fork hit the plate with a crack. “What the hell was that?”
Danny feigned innocence. “What? He offered. I accepted. That’s how sharing works, Steven.”
“That’s not sharing, that’s—” Steve broke off, gesturing violently. “That’s not how people eat fries.”
Danny’s grin was pure mischief. “Relax. You’re acting like I licked his fingers or something.”
Harry coughed into his napkin, eyes glittering. “Well…”
Steve’s vision went white.
Danny leaned back, smug. He hadn’t just enjoyed the attention—he’d weaponized it. And judging by the vein in Steve’s temple, it was working perfectly.
The walk back to the cars was thick with tension. Harry kept calling him “Daniel” in that infuriating velvet tone, each syllable deliberate. Danny kept swatting at him, muttering “knock it off,” but he was smiling when he said it.
Steve stalked a step behind, fists clenched, jaw set, every instinct screaming at him to do something—anything—before Harry Langford stole more than just Danny’s fries.
He drove home gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles went white, every replay of “Daniel” echoing in his skull like gunfire. Harry had made his move. And Steve McGarrett was officially at his breaking point.
The Bar
The hotel bar buzzed with laughter and glassware. For Steve, the sound was muffled, drowned under the sight of Harry’s hand on Danny’s lower back. Not fleeting. Lingering. Guiding.
And Danny didn’t shove it off. He leaned in, laughing at something Harry whispered against his ear.
Steve saw red.
His chair scraped as he stood. He stalked forward, chin tucked, fists clenched. “Danny.”
Danny turned, startled mid-laugh. “Steve? What’s—”
“Now.” Steve’s hand clamped around his forearm, dragging him across the lobby, into the elevator, up three floors, into the suite. The door slammed.
Danny yanked free. “What the hell was that?”
“What the hell was that?” Steve shot back.
Danny blinked. “I was having a drink—”
“With him?” Steve snapped, pointing like Harry’s name was poison.
Danny’s mouth twitched. “Ah. There it is.”
Steve bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Danny said, stepping closer, “this isn’t about Harry. It’s about you. You’ve been grinding your teeth every time he so much as looks at me, but you don’t do anything.”
“I’m doing something now.”
Danny crossed his arms. “Dragging me off like a caveman? That’s your big move? What’s next, beat your chest, mark your territory?”
Gasoline on a flame.
Steve moved before he thought. Danny hit the wall, Steve’s arm braced beside his head, body crowding close, fury vibrating off him.
“You think this is a joke?” Steve’s voice was low, rough. “Watching him touch you—hearing him call you that—do you know what it does to me?”
Danny’s smirk faltered. “…what does it do to you?”
“It makes me insane,” Steve ground out. “Because he wants what’s mine.”
Silence hung, electric.
“Yours, huh?” Danny asked softly.
Steve’s gaze dropped to his mouth, lingered. His hand slid to Danny’s hip, gripping hard. “Mine.”
Danny’s heart hammered. His lips curled into a dare. “Took you long enough, babe. Thought I’d have to let him kiss me to get you moving.”
That snapped the last thread of restraint.
Steve’s mouth crashed onto his, all teeth and fury and want. Danny kissed back like he’d been waiting for this all along.
The explosion had finally happened.