Title: Ties, Aneurysm Faces And, God Forbid, Feelings

Author: thewhiterose3

Pairing: Danny/Steve, slash

Disclaimer: Not mine. I only wish they were.

Rating: T, for language

A/N: Apologies for the long wait. This, my first fanfic endeavor, is finally wrapped up. I will probably have corresponding one shots in this universe, but this is the end of the story. Thanks to everyone who has kept up and waited and been patient with me and also to my lovely sister for beta-ing.

Also, remember when I said I was a giant hopeless romantic, the warning still applies.

When Steve surfaces from the first uninterrupted sleep he's had in what feels like years, the first thing he notices is the warmth. Danny is a fucking furnace curled into Steve's chest. The second is that it isn't anywhere close to dawn yet. Considering the fact that he and Danny fell into bed at around seven last night, he's not exactly surprised.

What is both surprising and not and wonderful all at the same time is that Danny Williams is a cuddler. He and Danny are on their sides facing one another, curled into each other like interlocking pieces of a puzzle. The thought causes a renewed burst of affection to blossom in Steve's chest and he flounders for a way to express it until he realizes that he is unconsciously scratching blunt nails into Danny's furred chest. And his partner is slowly waking up, smiling and stretching and purring. Yes, gruff, words for everything Danny is reacting to a chest and belly rub in eerily the same way as Chin's cat.

"Fuck you, it feels good," Danny grumbles with no real heat, sleep complacent and loose, eyes still closed.

Steve grins. "I didn't say a word."

"You don't need to, I'm that good, babe," Danny smiles through his quip, opening his eyes and gracing Steve with his baby blues. Danny just looks happy, content. And Steve, Steve is honestly surprised to realize that he feels the same way.

"It looks good on you," Danny mumbles into Steve's neck as he's nosing up his body, placing lazy open mouthed kisses.

"Hmmmm?" Steve asks, almost a purr himself.

Danny has reached his destination of Steve's face and whispers, "Joy. It's a good look, babe" before kissing Steve slow and soft and sure. Danny kisses Steve like he has all the time in the world and nowhere else he'd rather be. And after hearing endless diatribes about how he'd rather be anywhere than here, that's a heady feeling. Something inside Steve's chest that he didn't even know was tight, suddenly loosens and joyful of all words, is suddenly one that Steve would use to describe how he's feeling in this moment.

"Yeah, just like that," Danny says, exiting the kiss. He doesn't go far, just takes up residence, face to face, mostly on top of Steve's prone form. "No more of last night, not that most of last night wasn't amazing, but don't think I didn't notice your not so subtle maybe if I distract Danny with orgasms, he won't realize I'm fucked up and leave plan."

Danny pauses, apparently to take in Steve's sheepish expression. Steve would avert his eyes or avoid this line of questioning entirely, but he can't really move both due to the fact that Danny is weighing him down and the totally subconscious urge to soak up as much of Danny's softer, gentler morning voice as possible that is paralyzing his limbs.

"First, if that line of thinking worked, I'd still be married to Rachel. Regular sex does not a happy, productive relationship make." A sudden wave of jealousy and possession surges through Steve at the thought of Danny and Rachel still married. Of Rachel never leaving, remarrying, taking Grace to Hawaii. Of Danny never following her. But before Steve's thoughts can spiral even more, Danny continues.

"Second, I know you. I was there, oh yesterday, when the mere idea of feelings made you hyperventilate in a way that bombs, car chases pursuing drug dealers with bombs, and chasing gun-runners who probably also have bombs through dense mountainous jungle never has. And don't think we're done with that subject, just because I'm making a point right now doesn't mean I won't mock later." Danny smirks, falling into their usual banter.

"My point is that I know you're fucked up. I realize that your almighty SEAL training prepared you how to survive being dropped out of helicopter into the middle of the ocean while hog-tied and being shot at, but not how to navigate a shopping mall. I realize that you know how to think and plan and react to tactical emergencies involving threats to international security and fucking nuclear weapons but the intricacies of chicken noodle soup not from a can astound you. I know you, freak, I already spend a good fourteen hours a day with you and now I'm signing up for the rest. What I'm saying is that I realize that this is kind of new to you, so I'm willing to go slow."

"I'm not the blushing bride here," Steve interjects, pouting.

Danny looks at Steve with the ever-familiar glare that expresses his utter distaste that Steve has somehow missed the entire point of the last twenty minutes that Danny has been talking. He gets that look a lot. "I'm not talking about sex, idiot. I'm talking about relationships. Actual functioning relationships. Because I don't know if you've noticed, McGarrett, but I'm not a casual sex kinda guy."

And there's not a whole lot Steve can say to that because, fuck, its true.

"So surprise, surprise, this is me saying that now that I've got you, I'm not going anywhere. No more Catherine or picking up women in bars or accepting numbers from the multitudes that hit on you on a daily basis. You're mine, moron, and I want you, all of you."

A burst of warmth, contentment, and possession burst through him at Danny's assertion. And Steve reacts in a way that is so much better than damn words, flipping Danny and claiming his mouth.

"Mine," Steve declares between scorching kisses and Danny meets him every time. Danny's right there, just like he's always been, meeting him halfway, making up for everything Steve lacks, filling in the cracks that Steve had barely been aware were there before Danny filled them. But now, right now, Steve feels confident and whole and at peace for the first time since his mother died. Steve gentles the kiss, leaning back, but still resting his forehead against Danny's.

"Yours," Danny whispers, inches from Steve's lips. And what can he do, Steve has to kiss him. Has to let out how goddamn grateful he feels for that fact. Because hey, they've got time and if Danny's half as creative as his vocabulary implies, this is shaping up to be a fucking fantastic morning.