"And here is my nana's tiramisu," Danny said, setting a glass dish down on the table. His chest practically puffed with pride. He delicately sliced the dessert and deposited a slice onto Steve's plate.

The SEAL cautiously poked at it with a fork. "Why is the whipped cream lumpy?" he frowned.

"First of all, that's mascarpone. Secondly, it's not lumpy," Danny said firmly. "Just eat it, Steve. We need to decide if we're going to put it on the menu or not."

"I say no," Steve replied, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

"You haven't even tasted it," Danny protested, his cheeks flushing adorably. He placed his palms on the tabletop and leaned into Steve's face. "One bite, Steven."

There was a smudge of cocoa powder on Danny's jaw. Steve wanted to lick it off.

"Make me," he challenged. He wasn't quite sure what he meant, but he wasn't thinking clearly with Danny this close. He wanted the remaining distance between them to evaporate.

Danny straightened abruptly, surprising Steve. Where was he going?

Danny picked up Steve's fork and slid it through the tiramisu. He held the offensive utensil out, crumbled ladyfingers, lumpy mascarpone, and all.

"Open," he demanded.

"Danny, what are you doing?" Steve asked slowly.

"Making you," Danny said simply. The corners of his mouth quirked up.

"That's not –" Steve began, before the rest of his sentence was muffled by tiramisu.

Rolling his eyes, he chewed and swallowed. He would be loath to admit it to Danny, but the tiramisu was actually pretty good. And not lumpy, despite its appearance. "You play dirty."

"Don't be a hypocrite," Danny smirked. "I've had lots of practice from feeding Grace as a baby. I have to say, this wasn't much different."

"You're funny, you know that? Forget opening a restaurant, you should go into comedy."

"Ah, but you'd miss me when I went on tour." Danny's eyes flicked down to Steve's mouth, and he felt his heart kick. Oh God, was Danny going to kiss him? His head felt heavy with blood, and his body locked in anticipation. Nerves and excitement and shock churned in his stomach; he could still taste coffee and sugar on the back of his tongue. Danny reached out with his hand –

And wiped mascarpone off Steve's cheek.

For a second, his brain refused to understand; then his body slumped, and his heart stopped dancing, and he berated himself for being so stupid as to think that Danny would actually kiss him.

When Steve got a firm handle on his disappointment, his eyes focused on Danny's face, which looked . . . thoughtful?

"What did you think of my nana's recipe?" he asked, his voice unreadable.

"Um," Steve said, trying to gather his thoughts. Then the spark of an idea occurred to him, and he had to restrain his grin. "There was something off. I'm not sure what it was . . ."

"What do you mean 'off'?" Danny asked, affronted.

"I don't know. Have you tasted it?" Steve asked, knowing very well that Danny hadn't.

"No," Danny said, already reaching for the fork.

"Hey," Steve interjected, grabbing Danny's wrist. Even this tiny amount of contact sent thrills through him. "Don't I get to feed you?" He tried to keep the leer off his face.

Danny rolled his eyes so hard Steve thought he might hurt himself. "Fine," he said, and sat in the chair next to Steve's.

"Open up, Danno," Steve teased as he held the fork in front of Danny's face. He had to focus on keeping his hand steady. With another eye roll, Danny's mouth closed around the tines of the fork, his lips puckering deliciously. Steve gulped and pulled the fork back, dropping it unceremoniously onto the table.

"It tasted fine to me," Danny said, his forehead already creasing.

"You got a little cream," Steve rasped, tapping his mouth. Before Danny could wipe it away, Steve leaned forward and kissed him.

It was a chaste kiss, but it left Steve desperate for more. He sat back after a heartbeat, looking at Danny's shocked face.

"Got it," Steve smirked.

"What the hell was that?" Danny demanded, throwing his hands up.

"A kiss," Steve said, faking nonchalance. He hadn't planned for the aftermath of his decision, and he was starting to regret it. "I hate to admit it, but that whipped cream isn't bad."

"Mascarpone," Danny immediately interjected.

"I think it would be perfect for the menu," Steve continued.

"Steve," Danny said sternly. "Are we really not going to talk about this?"

"What?" Steve asked, desperately trying to delay the inevitable conversation.

"I don't know, the fact that you kissed me?" he said, in his dramatic Danno way.

Steve blew all the air out of his lungs and gave up. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again. If you want, we can pretend this never happened."

"Steve," Danny said firmly, probably hoping to pull Steve's eyes away from the wall behind his head and back onto his face. Steve listened, though reluctantly.

Danny's forehead was creased slightly, and his eyes uncertain. He was smoothing the leg of his pants over and over, a nervous habit.

"You're, ah – bisexual?" he asked, his voice cracking over the last word. Steve swallowed and nodded.

Danny nodded too, clearly thinking. "Mm. Me too."

Steve froze. His brain replayed those two little words over again: the small voice, the hesitant inflection. Could he have misheard? No, he didn't want to think that. But could it be – could Danny actually be –?

"What?" he croaked.

"I'm . . . bisexual," Danny said. He seemed to realize he'd gotten all the creases out of his pants and his hand stilled. He kept his eyes in his lap.

"Oh," Steve said blankly. His mind was leaping from thought to thought. Did he have a chance with Danny? But he hadn't responded to the kiss. Was he not attracted to Steve?

"Why did you kiss me?" Danny asked quietly, and Steve's mouth dried up. Dozens of answers came to mind, all excuses and safe responses. But he'd never seen Danny like this in all the years Steve had known him, and that scared him into confessing the truth.

"Because I wanted to."

Danny's head snapped up, and his eyes were two blue flames. "No," he gasped, and Steve frowned. "No, you're joking. You? You want . . . me?" His tone was incredulous, and Steve began to understand. The last time Danny had truly been in love was with Rachel, and she hadn't loved him in the way he deserved.

"Yes," Steve said emphatically, sliding forward in his chair and seizing Danny's hands. He could see Danny swallow. "Yes," he said again, deeper-throated this time, and ran his hands up Danny's arms, over those shoulders, to cup his face. "Yes," he whispered, and now his face was only a breath away from Danny's.

The detective closed the gap with a sigh and a supernova went off in Steve's ribcage. Danny felt so right under Steve's hands, under his mouth. All those years of waiting were worth it, for this moment, now.

Steve could feel Danny's hesitation crumbling with every passing heartbeat as he grew more certain Steve wasn't going to move away. Steve's heart was beating in his throat, his pulse rattling in his jaw. The outside world was gone, replaced with Danny, Danny, Danny. Danny's tongue, the soft skin of his neck, his raspy stubble. Steve remembered what he'd wanted to do and licked that fucking cocoa powder off Danny's jaw, prompting a moan from his partner.

Steve would eat tiramisu every day if this was his dessert.