[ impatience is a virtue ]
by kHo

“Okay, in, in, get in, in the car, Danny, get in,” Steve says, yanking the keys out of Danny’s hands and walking quickly over to the driver’s side, sitting and buckled by the time Danny’s even opened the door. “Danny! Get in!”

“What is your problem today,” Danny grumbles, sliding into the seat and very slowly reaching over to buckle his seatbelt. He goes extra slow when he notices Steve’s pissed off glare. “You are such a little impatient bitch today.”

“What did I tell you about calling me a bitch,” Steve says, glaring a moment longer and then turning on the car, hightailing it out of their parking lot and getting on the road. Going way too fast, and taking the turns way too sharp.

Danny holds onto the Oh Shit handle and grits his teeth. “Seriously, man, what?”

Steve doesn’t answer, his jaw clenching and his fingers gripping the steering wheel hard enough for his knuckles to turn white.

Ten minutes later Steve is forcibly shoving Danny into the house and into the kitchen, turning him around and slamming him into the wall. He kisses him hard and fierce, tongue in Danny’s mouth before Danny can say a thing, knee pressed between Danny’s legs and hands squeezing Danny’s biceps to hold him in place.

When Steve lowers his head to start mouthing Danny’s neck, Danny rolls his eyes and shoves slightly at Steve’s torso. “Hey, listen, not that I don’t love it when you manhandle me-- I mean hey, it’s sexy, your whole He-Man, Navy SEAL, Alpha Dog-ness thing-- but can’t you give a guy time to grab a beer or something maybe?”

“Uh-uh,” Steve says, and then he’s reaching up and yanking Danny’s tie off, probably ripping it in the process, and unbuttoning Danny’s shirt. One of Danny’s buttons definitely doesn’t make it in the process as it’s peeled down and off, thrown to the side in a heap.

By the time Steve makes it to Danny’s pants Danny’s rock hard and panting almost as much as Steve is. “You wanna tell me what this is about?”

“Your ass,” Steve groans into Danny’s neck, jerking Danny’s pants open and shoving them down, shoving Danny’s boxers with them. Danny helps by heel-toeing his shoes off and kicking his legs out of his pants and boxers. “Your ass drives me fucking insane, Danny, you have to stop doing this, I’ve been hard all day.”

Danny laughs, low and husky, eyes closing as Steve’s hands reach around to dig into said ass, rhythmically squeezing. “Sorry babe, kind of attached to my ass. Can’t really leave it at home.”

“Every time you bend over, drop a pen and pick it up, tie your shoes, fuck, just, turn around and point it in my direction,” Steve mumbles, pressing closer and closer to Danny like he’s trying to crawl inside him. Danny is not opposed to this idea. “I just go stupid, Danny, my brain trips and suddenly I can’t fucking think.”

Danny opens his eyes and frowns as Steve starts kissing down his chest. “Okay it’s occurring to me that I am completely buck naked and you are wearing entirely too many clothes,” he says, reaching down to shove his fingers in Steve’s hair, dragging him back up to look him in the eye. “Can we maybe lose some of your clothes too?”

Steve grins-- that big wide grin that makes Danny’s heart swell two sizes bigger like he’s the goddamn Grinch and the Whovillians or what the fuck ever are singing-- and reaches down to pull his t-shirt off, which in turn makes Danny’s brain trip because my God, seriously, my God those abs.

Danny reaches over and starts undoing Steve’s pants but Steve knocks his hands out of the way and just wriggles out of them without bothering to undo them at all, and an impatient Steve is usually an annoying Steve, but apparently impatience due to horniness isn’t annoying at all because it just turns Danny on even more.

Steve sinks to his knees and Danny rests his head against the wall, preparing himself for a really great, sloppy, quick blowjob, because that’s apparently the mood Steve is in right now, only to be unceremoniously grabbed and shoved around to where he’s facing the wall and his ass is in Steve’s hands instead.

“Wow. Sexy. The wall,” he says, hands splaying against the wall as he attempts to twist around to see Steve. “This wallpaper is peeling, did you know that?”

“This ass.” Steve is staring at his ass and Danny would swear that he’s actually drooling, he’d swear it on pain of an ass beating brought to you by yours truly Steve McGarrett. “This is the sexiest, most perfect ass I have ever seen.”

Danny rolls his eyes. “It’s an ass, Steve.”

“It’s not an ass,” Steve says, flicking his eyes up to give Danny a reproachful glare, his hands sliding protectively over Danny’s ass like he’s actually apologizing to Danny’s ass for the lack of Danny’s appreciation. “It’s a work of art, all smooth and hard and perfect and… just…”

“Ow, motherfucker, did you just bite my ass,” Danny yells, trying again to twist around, only to be held in place by unmoving hands. He reaches a hand down to rub at his ass. “That hurt, McGarrett.”

“Sorry, did it,” Steve asks, but he’s not sounding sorry at all. That’s okay though because then there’s tongue and teeth and suction on Danny’s ass and it feels really, really good. “I’ll kiss it and make it better.”

“Mnuh,” Danny says, meaning to protest, meaning to bitch more, but it feels too good, the long hot swipes of Steve’s tongue. The way Steve’s fingers curve over his ass, lightly and then rougher, squeezing it, tickling almost, sending shivers up Danny’s spine.

Rachel had once spanked his ass-- okay, way more than once-- but she’d never sucked a hickey onto it, and from the feel of things that’s what Steve’s working on doing.

There’s a sound that happens when Steve’s tongue flickers over Danny’s asshole that Danny will deny ever came out of him for years to come, but it does, unbidden and unconsciously ripping out of him as he slams a hand into the wall and squeezes his eyes shut.

Never in a million years would he have imagined that would feel that good.

Steve’s mouth is suddenly gone, and his hands are gone, and Danny’s head is spinning and he doesn’t know what the hell just happened. “Steve,” he mutters against the wall, unable to move, glued to the spot. “Where… don’t… come back!”

“Have to fuck you now,” Steve says in a rush, opening and slamming cabinet doors, cans and bottles knocking around under the island counter. “Now, now, have to, I have to, right now.”

“Yeah, come on,” Danny says, spreading his legs wider. Fucking up against the wall is his second favorite way to do it, his first being bent over the arm of Steve’s couch, which is actually maybe just because that’s where they were the first time they stopped pretending it wasn’t leading straight towards sex and just gave in.

Actually it’s not the wall or the couch that Danny loves, it’s the way that Steve acts like he just can’t wait one minute longer, the way he’s so desperate to have Danny, right here right now, no matter where here or now actually is. It’s the desperation and the fierce look in Steve’s eyes, the possessiveness of his hands, the hard body pressed up against his from head to toe as his dick slides up and into Danny’s ass in a way that’s both painful and not.

“Aha, yes,” Steve says, and then he’s back, teeth and tongue on Danny’s ass, kissing and sucking, and right there, right there where it makes Danny’s toes curl and his back arch and that sound happen, that stupid fucking sound that’s embarrassing and high-pitched and all too girly.

There’s a crinkling of paper-- or is it plastic?-- happening somewhere beneath Danny and Danny looks down to see Steve’s hands fumbling on… “Is that dressing?”

“Italian,” Steve says, finally getting the plastic from around the top, unscrewing the cap and peeling the safety tab off, screwing the cap back on, shaking it and grinning up at Danny. “Best I could do on short notice. It’ll work. It’s got oil.”

Danny arches an eyebrow at him. “You mean to tell me that my ass turns you on so much you can’t take the thirty seconds it would take to get to your bedroom to get the actual honest to god lube?”

Steve arches an eyebrow back. “You mean to tell me you’re complaining?”

“Not complaining so much as,” Danny says, and then Steve slides a slick finger down the crack of Danny’s ass and up into him without so much as the hint of a ‘you ready?’ Danny hisses. “Oh shit, no, not complaining at all, wow, yeah, that’s oily enough, uhuh.”

Steve’s tongue is there with his finger and that’s a whole new level of hot. “Mmm,” Steve says, and Danny can feel his grin against his ass. “Zesty.”

“Oh my god,” Danny says, half a moan and half an actual complaint, “you dork.”

“Mmm,” Steve hums again, and then it’s two fingers.

Danny’s so hard he’s leaking, dizzy and turned on and starting to get desperate himself, and then it’s three fingers and he can’t take it anymore. “Come on, Steve, Jesus, I’m ready, I’m always ready, just go, go, go.”

“Can’t I just admire your ass a little more,” Steve says, taking a sharp nip out of Danny’s left ass cheek one more time, and this time Danny doesn’t curse because his dick jumps and he’s never really been one for being turned on by pain but there’s something about Steve that makes him do things and like things that he never in a million years would have thought himself capable of doing and liking. “It’s such a nice ass.”

“Yeah, it’s perfect, it’s made of fucking marble, I’m a god damned Adonis, now you, up and at ‘em, fucking me, now.”

Steve rises, mouthing at the base of Danny’s neck. “I love it when you get all demanding, Danno,” he says between kisses and bites, his hand smacking Danny’s ass.

“Hey, come on now, no smacking,” Danny says, reaching back and grabbing Steve’s hand, dragging it forward to his so-hard-it-hurts dick. “Come on.”

“Now who’s impatient,” Steve teases, but he’s lining his dick up with Danny’s ass and then pushing in, breathing out a huff of air against Danny’s neck. “God you feel so good.”

Danny can only grunt his agreement, because Steve fits inside him like he’s made to be there, and part of Danny thinks maybe he actually was. Part of Danny feels like maybe Rachel running into his car and their following failed marriage and his subsequently unplanned and unwanted relocation to Hawaii was somehow exactly what fate had in mind so he’d meet Steve and get to feel how motherfucking perfect Steve felt inside of him.

He will never, ever, not in a million years, admit to that thought. Pigs will fly and he still won’t be admitting to it.

Steve’s fingers are slipping all over Danny’s arms, the greasiness of the Italian dressing not allowing his skin any purchase at all, so finally he gives up and plants his hands over Danny’s on the wall and just starts pumping into him, hard and fast and wild, his mouth against Danny’s pulse in his neck, hot little gasps and grunts driving Danny crazy with want and need.

Danny pushes back against him and gives as good as he’s getting, and this isn’t going to last long, never does, because Steve is his kryptonite and Danny must be Steve’s too because they both always come so quickly when they get this worked up, which is almost every single damn time. Danny grabs the side of Steve’s neck and holds on as Steve bites his shoulder so hard Danny knows he’ll have a bruise there.

There are tiny Steve-shaped bruises all over his body, and Danny complains about them all the time but he loves every single one of them. The one on his abdomen, the one on his thigh, the one on the back of his knee, each of the three on his neck. He’s pretty sure he’s going to especially love the one that’s going to show up on his ass tomorrow.

Sometimes in the middle of the day, if he’s feeling pissed off or disconnected or just generally frustrated with his life, he’ll press a finger over one of the bruises and smile, remembering how he’d gotten it.

Sometimes Steve catches him doing it, and by the smile on his face Danny knows he’s remembering too.

When Danny comes, he comes hard, almost slams his head against the wall as he does so but Steve’s hand is there to cushion it, and as Steve hisses in pain Danny breathes through his orgasm and kisses and licks Steve’s palm, tasting Italian dressing and Steve.

He’s pretty sure he’s going to get hard every time he eats a salad now.

When Steve comes he presses his forehead to Danny’s shoulder blades and holds on tight tight tight, like if he doesn’t he’s going to slither to the floor into a puddle of nothingness, and Danny reaches back to hold onto Steve’s hips as they jerk and spasm, Steve’s moans seeping into his skin and making him shiver all over again.

After Steve slips out he presses a final kiss to Danny’s neck and then attempts to step back. He takes one step and promptly slips, falls, lands on his hands which skid over the linoleum and land him flat on his back.

“Ow,” Steve says, blinking dolefully up at Danny, confused.

Danny howls with laughter as he looks at him, naked and sprawled on the floor and probably in pain. “That was the most graceful dismount I’ve ever see, McGarrett.”

“Stupid salad dressing,” Steve grumbles, looking down at his slick hands. He holds his hands up to Danny. “Help?”

Danny carefully steps around Steve and goes over to the sink to grab a washcloth, throwing it at Steve’s head. Steve catches it and frowns at him as he wipes off his hands and dick and feet and the floor around him.

Danny grabs a paper towel and wets it, wiping himself off before bending down to pick up and pull on his pants. “What you get for being impatient,” he says to a still grumbling Steve.

“I didn’t hear you putting the brakes on,” Steve says sourly, reaching up and grabbing Danny’s hand to haul himself up. “What was it you were saying? Come on, you, up and at ‘em, fuck me now?”

Danny shrugs, unashamed. “What can I say, your brand of impatience is contagious.”

Steve grins at him. “And sexy.”

Danny rolls his eyes. “The moment is over, I’m hungry.”

Steve leans in and kisses Danny, tongue winding slowly in his mouth before pulling back and giving him a look filled with something very much like adoration, a look that always melts Danny in ways he doesn’t even want to define.

“I’m in the mood for a salad,” Steve says, reaching around and swatting Danny’s ass as he walks past him towards the refrigerator without bothering to get dressed. “You?”

“Okay,” Danny says, pointing at him. “But you’re not using the ass dressing, I want a clean bottle, or, better yet, French.”

“Hmm,” Steve says, contemplating. “Nah, I think I still want Italian.”

Danny frowns. Steve grins and Danny frowns even harder.

They wind up using the rest of the bottle that night, and not just on their salads.