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Steve loves the eyeful of Danny he gets every morning on his way out for a swim -- Danny fast asleep so he can look, really look, just for a long moment. It's long enough to truly see him in the drift of predawn light but not long enough to wake him. He tries to memorize the scruff of his stubble, the faint shadows under his eyes, the solidity of his body as it bends the empty space in Steve's house. Because some day much too soon, Danny's going to be gone.
Danny's quiet when he sleeps, breath raising his chest unheard and unhurried. Lines of care and his daily cloaking device of irritation are gone, leaving a softer, more carefree man. The man whose hair sticks awkwardly out in clumps over Steve's pillow is the man Steve wants to see every morning.
With a last wistful glance, he heads out to swim it off so he can act like it's nothing to have Danny on his couch.
The French doors are easing open without a sound when Danny says quietly, "Steve, stay."He wants to turn around. He does.
He's nearly paralyzed, moving so slowly that it seems to take a minute to put his foot down onto the floor, an hour to take a few steps. It's been so long, such a long time that he's been looking at Danny. What's he going to see if he looks now? Then he wonders – when else has Danny been looking back?
He drags his gaze up from the sticking-up feet tucked under the end of the blanket . Danny's feet mirror his hands, strong and capable, hardworking. But his hands are gentle. He's seen those hands pull the trigger and then cradle a crying witness against his shoulder.
Danny doesn't say anything as Steve forces himself to keep looking up, and that seems dangerous. There isn't a time when Danny doesn't talk, unless it's so big and bad that even he can't say it. Like when Matt ran away. Danny never came to Steve. They never talked about it, and Steve knows without being told that that's when Danny went to Rachel the first time.
He understands; really, he does. There are just some things that you can only take to somebody you care about.
Steve's made it to the top, past legs and arms and the breadth of blanketed chest. The expression on Danny's face isn't . . . bad. He doesn't look angry or sickened or even that annoyed expression he seems to wear just for Steve. There's more light now, bright blue in his eyes, but he's still younger with sleep.
"What is that face?" Danny's voice is a soft, blurry noise in the quiet house. "If you really want to swim instead, it's okay."
Steve wants to swim. He wants very badly to feel the cool water rise up to embrace him, to hold him light and free . . . but not nearly as badly as he wants to drown in Danny. He licks his lips.
"Instead of what?" He takes a step forward without even realizing he's done so. There's a tiny smile along the edge of Danny's lower lip that's pulling him closer. He watches, transfixed, as that beautiful mouth forms more words.
Danny says, "It's -- sorry about the tv late at night, I was just hoping maybe you would . . ." A shrug under the covers. "You finally came down, but you were pretty mad. And then we had to go."
Oh.
Steve is suddenly heavier than he was a moment ago. He remembers that water holds you up because it doesn't accept you. He's closer now, but not nearly close enough.
"Come here."
It's almost a whisper, but it brings Steve to his knees. His breath is coming in short, sharp gasps of gratitude.
Everything should be happening in the same bright bursts, but instead it's so slow. It's as if he's been wearing the time he's spent with Danny, a comfortable fit that got too tight. It's all coming loose in one endless thread that reaches from him to the man on the couch, stretching out between them.
His hand comes up, follows that line to Danny's cheek. And then Danny tugs.
Steve comes undone.
He unravels right onto Danny, sinks onto his chest. Danny's strong hands gather him in, flotsam and jetsam washing up onto Danny's shore. It's warm, hard, and so welcoming he never wants to go anywhere else.
There is some push and pull, but Steve finds himself lying alongside and half on top of Danny on his own couch, head tucked beneath Danny's jaw. His ear is pressed to Danny's warm chest and he can hear the tidal flow of his breath, buoying him up but surrounding him.
"That's better."
The soothing rumble steadies him when he might start wondering why, how, when. There's a hand wrapped around the back of his neck, fingers splayed into his hair. Danny's other hand is shockingly warm against the bare skin of Steve's back. He's just lying there, absorbing every inch of Danny's bone and muscle, saving each contour, every dip and rise, like an animal hoarding for winter.
The scent of hair gel, the feel of his chest against Steve's, the hardness of his forearms as they encircle him. The rasp of his morning beard against Steve's face, the light, dry feel of his lips pressing a kiss . . . oh god . . . against Steve's forehead. It's better than he imagined. More terrifying.
"Hey, hey -- what's this all about?"
Danny's lips brush Steve's skin as he talks, his breath warm and moist like summer fog. Steve just shakes his head, rolling his face more deeply into Danny's neck. The shivering is getting worse. He hasn't had this kind of attack in years; never in the middle of an op. He knows, knows, that he is safe with Danny. It just doesn't feel that way. Nothing about this feels safe.
"You want me to talk, huh? I can talk. Let me guess, I bet there are things you want to hear." Danny's muscular forearms are doing lomilomi massage on Steve everywhere they can reach, nails scratching lightly against his back. There are only a couple thin layers of cloth separating him from feeling Danny all over.
Danny's voice is soft now, like the sound flowing in through his open windows at night. "First, give me some slack with this blanket, right? You can do that."
Steve only now realizes that he's gripping Danny's shoulder so tight that his own fingers are aching with it. Sure enough, his body can still move. Not fast and not much, but he does his best once he loosens his hold.
Danny hasn't said a word, just let Steve lie there. God, he's beached himself on Danny.
"What, are these withdrawal symptoms, McGarrett? You don't get your RDA of seawater and you get the shakes?" Danny's fingers never stop their comforting rubbing against his skull.
Once he's tucked under the blanket, it's easier, like he's hidden from prying eyes even though he knows there aren't any. He takes a shuddering breath that, combined with the heat of Danny's body, lets him relax just a little bit. There's the sting of fear-sweat in his eyes.
Danny's tone was gentle, but Steve can hear him worrying. Hell, he can feel it in the body beneath his. He takes one more pull of air, then tries to speak through dry lips. Danny just pulled him into bed. There can't be many ways to interpret that. If he's doing this thing, then he's going to do it. "Need this."
Not his best attempt, but he figures that Danny will be grading on a curve.
"Just this?" is all Danny says speculatively. His fingers never stop and his other hand is still rubbing up and down Steve's back.
"No, Danny, more. So much more."
"Hey, that was almost a full sentence there."
He turns his face so that it's held by Danny's palm, kisses the fingers against his lips. "Danny. . ."
"It's okay, it's good," Danny says finally. "This, here, it's good. How could you not know that?"
He didn't know that. He hadn't even known how to hope until just a few minutes ago. Now he's lying here in Danny's arms, and he doesn't know how to make the switch. More tension squeezes him and he can't stop it.
Low words soothe his ears. "Do you know how tough it's been to figure out whether we were on the same page? First you tell me to get back on the horse, several times, I might add, then you're insanely jealous of a stray dog. What was that, huh? You can't just be one way, you gotta be all over the board."
Danny uses a formerly-comforting hand to gesture at nothing. "I couldn't believe what it took to get an invite to your house. What's a man gotta do? I thought I was gonna have to pay for a billboard. They tear my apartment building down, I have to live in two other shitholes before I make up a story about mold. I didn't know if you didn't want me, or you were just too uncivilized to get it."
"Uncivilized?" Hell, he just got his breathing back to something like a reasonable rhythm and now he's being insulted. Eyebrows raise with his body as he lifts up as best he can, looks Danny over carefully. "You tricked me?" His voice is grainy with disbelief.
"Yeah, got a beef with that?"
Danny's arms tighten around him briefly and he settles back down, shivers draining away. His smile presses into Danny's chest, curly hairs teasing his lips. "Yeah, right." The coarse hairs bend over when he puffs experimentally against them. If he rests his head just right, he can feel Danny's heartbeat against his lips.
"It's still so early the fish aren't up. I need my beauty sleep, and God knows you do. You gonna stay here?"
Somehow Danny manages to hook a leg over his own, like he could ever want to get up. He nods as the last couple weeks of tossing and turning close in. Suddenly he can't stifle a yawn.
"Sleep," Danny whispers, a seduction against his ear.
"But . . ." All he's wanted for months is to touch Danny, and he's here now. They're both here. Maybe later they won't be. Danny's constantly ragging about Steve jumping in, but he's got some impulse control issues of his own.
"We've got lots of time. All the time in the world."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure."
Danny's firm tone – and the look that warms Steve like Honolulu sunshine -- says he's made up his mind, and when that happens, there's no changing it. Except maybe about Hawaii. It looks as if Steve might have some time to work on that one. Draping an arm over Danny's chest, he lets his lids drop as he leans against the rise and fall and decides that for once, swimming is overrated.
The water's great right here.