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It started innocently enough. One of those weeks where the stupid was just through the roof, and by the end of it, the only reasonable course of action had been to drink till they felt equally stupid. That had led to god I need to blow off some steam, and it seemed perfectly reasonable to offer to help each other out. When it still seemed reasonable by the light of day, it turned into a bit of a coping mechanism. Rough week at work? Go home with your best friend, drink a little too much, give each other perfectly platonic hand jobs.
Fairly normal kind of arrangement, right?
It didn’t take too long (or too many crazy cases) before it seemed absolutely reasonable to take things a little further. And then further still. By the time they each had menus of preferences that they ordered off of as easily as they ordered take out, they were too deeply in it to be able to back safely out.
Thing was. By that point, neither of them wanted to.
But it’s one thing to have a perfectly reasonable, platonic-sexual-release-providing kind of arrangement with your work partner and best friend. It’s something altogether different to Be In A Relationship Together.
The first time they even came close to broaching the subject was late on a Friday night, when after a long, hard case, Steve was thrusting deeply into Danny while Danny tried really hard to seem as though it was simply satisfying and not some kind of spiritual experience. Which was getting more and more challenging. Because the thing was, they were fucking amazing in bed together. Steve was the most giving and attentive and capable lover Danny’d ever had. And, let’s not kid ourselves, they know each other really well, read each other remarkably well, and yes, if you were wondering, that does translate to some really fucking fantastic sex.
“So I was thinking,” Steve grunted out, between perfectly angled thrusts. “We should maybe go on a date or something.”
“Uhhh, yeah,” groaned Danny, and even he wasn’t entirely sure if he was agreeing to a date, or simply expressing his approval of Steve’s technique.
“Yeah?” Steve asked, sounding surprisingly soft, considering he’d been going hard without letting up for a good solid ten minutes at that point.
“Yeah, right there,” Danny answered, and okay, it was totally plausible he wasn’t talking about a date, but he could have been.
Steve, whatever his own feelings on the matter, dropped the subject in favor of chasing his orgasm off the cliff after Danny’s.
And maybe they both felt a little awkward after that, and so what happened next maybe was a way of stepping back from that ledge, but also at the same time expressing some level of discontent with the status quo, because they started turning everything into an innuendo, drenching everything with insinuation, and just generally keeping one foot planted firmly in the gutter at all possible times and in all possible ways. It was almost as though they were each daring the other to break. Because of course they would turn this, as all things, into a competition.
So one day when Steve was trying to break them out of a locked room and he started going all MacGyver on the door, Danny just stood helpfully by, entirely too close for either of their comfort, offering what definitely shouldn’t be called encouragement.
“Yeah, like that... that’s it, fit that in there... deeper, maybe at more of an angle, babe... yeah, just like that. Oh, that’s good.... That should do it. Oh god, yes!”
And Steve, bless him, kept a totally straight face. Because of course he could, he probably had oodles of experience with just that exact kind of situation. There was probably a whole class on it at SEAL School. Maybe Steve even taught the damn class. Because later that week, Steve was perched on Danny’s kitchen counter, drinking wine and watching him try out a new recipe, offering suggestions about how to stuff a chicken breast, how best to coat it, and what other things should go in the filling.
“You gotta go with the wrist action, bud. Really twist as you thrust, make sure you’re working it into all the crevices, fill it up so good.” And “But you gotta know when to pull back, too. You don’t want it spilling out all over the place and making a mess, you want some of it to stay inside, because that’s where it should be....” And “It helps if you switch hands, and use those fingers for the liquid, then the others for the topping. Yeah, see, isn’t that so much better? Just like that.” And “So what else are you gonna put in there? Oh, good idea. Yeah, that’s the way to do it. God, I can’t wait to eat that. You’re so good at this.”
Somewhere vaguely in the middle of all Steve’s oh-so-helpful suggestions, Danny realized he was going to have to get used to cooking while hard, because he was pretty sure cooking was never going to be the same again. Certainly not stuffed and breaded chicken breasts.
And of course the sex was even better after that. But they never talked about it. Not in bed. Bed was for the having the sex, and nothing else. It was as though everything else could only happen outside the bedroom—as though somehow that made it safer. So when tenderness started creeping in, that came outside the bedroom as well.
At first it was a little awkward, because the thing is, since they’d started doing this—whatever you want to call it—they’d been avoiding touching each other at all, except during sex. Every touch was too loaded, too electric. And maybe they should have realized that said something, but they didn’t.
Danny sometimes got horrible headaches. The kind that just kind of sit there for days on end and refuse to budge. And this time even sex hadn’t helped. But by day three of it Steve had mysteriously turned into some kind of magical massage therapist. It started when he was standing over Danny at his desk. They were pouring over files, looking for connections in their latest case, and Danny was squinting at the too-bright screen. Steve’s hands came gently to rest on Danny’s shoulders, and it was a casual touch, the kind they’d been used to for so long—the kind they’d been so carefully avoiding. So Steve was tentative at first, but it felt so good that Danny melted into it, and let his eyes close, and took a long slow breath, and something in that must have encouraged Steve, because his fingers slowly started digging in, and, shit that felt good, and Danny must have started making sounds, even though he swore he was trying not to, but man, Steve was good at this, and when did that even happen, and why had he been holding out on Danny this whole time?
By the time he slowed and then stopped, leaving one hand resting on Danny’s shoulder in a way that was either meant to be soothing, or possibly convey some deeper message, Danny felt a whole lot better. Then he looked back to thank Steve, and saw lust-blown eyes softened with something that could only be called adoration.
Thanks, babe, is what Danny wanted to say.
“You’ve been holding out on me,” is what came out instead. But it wasn’t teasing or playful or even jagged. It sounded almost forlorn. And maybe that’s when he knew....
...But it was also when Tani and Junior walked in to update him and Steve on what they’d been looking into on the case. And fortunately Steve made Danny sit this one out because of his head, because having to get up at that point would have proved slightly problematic.
Steve clearly enjoyed Danny’s reaction to the massage, however, and a few days later, when he barely hinted at having a stiff neck—and not, swear to god, thinking at all about Steve’s magical fingers—Steve took the first available opportunity to offer Danny his services.
Now, up to that point, they’d kept a pretty strict lid on things. More than just avoiding touching each other around the team, they’d been steadfastly careful about what they’d even say. (If they’d thought at all about it, they probably would have realized that wasn’t exactly the smartest move, because of course the team noticed the total absence of their usual exceptional physicality not to mention flirtatious banter. Duh.) But Steve broke with tradition for the first time when he nodded at Danny, who was rubbing his neck awkwardly with one hand while he scrolled through surveillance on the tech table with his other.
“Want me to give you a hand there, buddy?”
And Danny (maybe because he was distracted, or maybe he just wasn’t thinking, or maybe it was just finally time) didn’t even hesitate before replying “God yes, please babe” in tones entirely unsuited for the workplace.
Tani, who was standing right there, kept her head down, kept scrutinizing the footage, for about ten seconds. But when Steve pressed his fingers into Danny’s knotted flesh and Danny let out a deep, vibrating grunt of satisfaction, as one does—she blurted out “I’m gonna go help Junior with those phone calls,” and hightailed it to her office.
Once her door was solidly shut, Steve let a slight growl escape, right next to Danny’s ear. “That was probably a little unprofessional on your part, Daniel,” he licked into Danny’s ear, moving his body right into Danny’s personal space.
“Fuck you, asshole,” Danny replied, leaning into Steve’s body even more. “You knew that would happen.”
“What, that you wouldn’t be able to contain yourself at the thought of me touching you?”
And that right there was a whole new ballgame. Because that, they didn’t do. They talked the talk, and they walked the walk, but they didn’t talk about their walking... together. If you get the drift.
Point being, it was the first time words had been put to what they were doing—and how much they liked it.
It was also the closest they’d come to kissing. Because when you’re fucking your best friend for practical reasons, kissing just doesn’t make its way into it. And honestly Danny hadn’t minded, had barely thought about it. Until right at that moment, right in the middle of the office, surrounded by their teammates, and feeling very much in danger of dissolving under the attentions of his partner’s tongue running along the outside of his ear.
Lou, probably because he’d been alerted by Tani’s hurried progress past his door, chose that moment to—slowly, thankfully, perhaps having been aware that things were... up between them—leave his office and join them at the table.
“You’re frightening the kids,” he said, voice low, but kind. “Do you think maybe you should wait for a more appropriate time and place to finally admit you’re in love?”
Steve pulled back suddenly. “We’re not—this isn’t—we’re just messing around....”
“Yeah, uh-uh, whatever you’re telling yourself.”
Lou grinned at them, but didn’t move to return to his office, so it gave them no choice but to shift gears. Still it left Danny feeling more than slightly odd, and weirdly called out.
This wasn’t love, this was practicality. This was maybe going a little too far with the teasing of each other, but that was, in a lot of ways, just an extension of their usual banter. It didn’t mean things had changed between them. Did it?
He didn’t get a chance to answer his own question though, because Tani re-emerged from her office then, face grim but determined.
“We got him.”
And they were off.
If Danny, in the car on the way to catch the perp, let his hand linger near the edge of his seat, and if Steve definitely noticed, and let his rest a little bit back from the gear shift, and if their fingers brushed against one another, briefly... well. That was just a friendly reassurance. Just their way of saying, it’s okay.
Problem was, it really wasn’t okay. Because Steve nearly got shot, and Danny got punched hard, and Danny knew, as he slowly assessed the damage to his head before he got up, that it was all different now. The feeling he got in his chest, watching Steve get shot at, had never been a pleasant one. But it was nearly unbearable now. Probably that was why he’d gotten hit so hard. Because he was finding it incredibly hard to breathe, imagining Steve’s blood on the outside, and not the inside where it belonged. By the time Tani got to Danny, helped him up, checked his eyes, evidently deciding he was okay to continue on his own, he’d made an important decision.
One he didn’t get to act on for what felt like forever.
Eventually they wrapped the case up, and Lou suggested they do beers another time as it was late and this had been a rough day. Danny silently thanked him for the kindness, because by that point he was nearly vibrating with need. And something that felt new. Something that felt illicit and exciting and effervescent.
They made it all the way back to Steve’s, not talking, not touching, not even looking one another in the eye. They even made it inside. And up to the bedroom. Moving slowly but with confidence. Some kind of new, aware, awakened something, glowing brightly and swirling all around them.
They gently and patiently undressed each other, and that was new as well. Usually they each undressed themselves—practicality and not tenderness being the driving force behind their bedroom activities. It was all tenderness now. Tenderness and awe.
Once they were naked, they showered. Carefully but thoroughly washing each other, checking for scrapes, bruises, cuts. Danny found what looked an awful lot like a bullet graze on Steve’s upper arm, but Steve shrugged it off, being more concerned with the bruise forming on Danny’s cheek.
By the time they were mostly dry, and climbing into clean clothes—which was slightly odd given they were both utterly hard—Danny could barely contain himself.
“I think,” he finally said, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling Steve along with him. “I think maybe Lou is right.”
The smile that warmed Steve’s face was familiar and yet new, and the way it made Danny’s toes tingle was familiar—which felt new.
“Yeah, buddy, I think probably he is.”
“So what are we gonna do about it?” Danny’s chest was so tight he was surprised he was still breathing.
“Well, I seem to recall asking you on a date.” Steve almost looked shy, as he looked into Danny’s eyes, and maybe he was remembering how awkward this had been the last time. But it didn’t feel awkward now. It just felt like... yeah, that’s the way to do it....
Danny leaned closer, bringing their mouths within millimeters of each other, before answering “I’d like that” as he pressed his lips against Steve’s.
The kiss dissolved into more. Into taking—carefully, reverently—their clothes off, and gently, tentatively, exploring each other’s bodies, almost as though it was an entirely new experience, which honestly wasn’t far from how it felt. If Danny’d thought the sex before had been outstanding, that was nothing to how it was now. Maybe it was the added kisses, maybe it was something more, and maybe it helped that they’d had their technique solidly down before they added the softer, more loving aspects. But it was the most heightened, most intense, most absolutely fantastic sex Danny had never imagined could possibly exist.
Steve, given his reaction, seemed to agree.
“So,” he whispered into Danny’s hair when they’d cleaned up and put clothes on again, and climbed right back into bed, curling around each other as easily as though it wasn’t something new and untried. Danny wondered, suddenly, if Steve would be a cuddly sleeper now. Neither of them had been, perhaps though some effort, but he thought probably that was about to change. “Where should we go on our first date?”
And maybe Danny should have laughed at that, because really it was kind of ridiculous. But he didn’t. He instead felt his cheeks heat, and he had to bite his lips together to keep from smiling kind of crazily.
“I dunno, babe... where do you take a guy on a first date when you’re already sleeping together, already in love?”
And it hadn’t been angled to shock Steve, it had just come naturally out. But Danny felt the slight gasp. Felt Steve’s breath on his hair as he pressed a kiss to the top of his head.
“I love you, too, buddy. I really do.”
Danny propped himself up on his elbows, looked Steve in the eye. “So, where you gonna take me, huh?”
“Mmm,” Steve purred, eyes twinkling with an idea—a look Danny knew well, thank you. And it usually spelled danger. “I can only think of one place, buddy, that fits this situation perfectly enough.”
He was looking at Danny like he should know the answer, but Danny couldn’t think of a place that really fit. Surely Kamekona’s wasn’t what Steve had in mind. Don’t get him wrong, Danny loved going there, loved the tradition. But surely.... He felt his eyes narrow, leaned a little further back, and waited.
Steve grinned. “Jersey, buddy. I gotta take you to Jersey.”
If you’d have asked Danny, before that night, if he thought it was possible to laugh and cry at the same time, he probably would have said no. But that was exactly his reaction, because, yeah, it was utterly the perfect choice. Completely the right thing to have said, and even more than that—the fact that Steve had known it was perfect, was perfect as well. But it was also completely surprising, and actually kind of hilarious. Totally over the top, and perfectly Steve because of it. Danny had one fleeting moment of panic, of thinking about how he’d break this to his mom, but then his heart caught up to his brain and took over, completely.
“Okay, babe,” he grinned, kissing Steve on the nose. “Okay, Jersey sounds perfect.”