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Danny’d known that Steve had kept the key. That one he had given him when he'd gone after the John Doe to see if it was his missing witness from all those years ago. He’d expected Steve to give it back—he was usually pretty conscientious about things like that, despite what Danny might sometimes imply. So Steve having kept the key had felt... meaningful, somehow. He wasn’t really sure what he thought might happen, but Steve being Steve, he’d definitely figured something would come of it. And maybe that was why he hadn’t really been all that surprised when one night, just as he was settling down in bed and about to turn out the light, he heard a key in the lock, the front door open, soft footsteps pad down the hall, his bedroom door slowly creak a tad more than the crack he’d left it open, and Steve appeared in the doorway.
He wasn’t surprised. But he was curious. So he raised an eyebrow, didn’t speak—waiting for Steve to offer some kind of explanation. None came. Instead, Steve kind of absently scratched his head, slipped off his flip flops almost with a shrug, and he ambled slightly awkwardly over to the bed, pulled back the sheets, and climbed in.
Even that didn’t really surprise Danny all that much. They’d shared a bed countless times—sometimes when drunk, sometimes when on a stakeout, sometimes when Danny just couldn’t get comfortable on Steve’s sofa. So he turned off the light, and turned his back to Steve, figuring if the big oaf wanted to explain his presence, he would. But if not, Danny was going to accept it like he did most things with Steve—it simply wasn’t worth the effort to object once Steve had something in his sights. Better to conserve your energy and let him go for it. There was always another thing Danny would want to object to—usually involving Steve throwing himself recklessly and thoughtlessly in the path of danger.
Just before he drifted off, he did whisper “Night, babe,” and received a grunt in return.
By the time he woke in the morning, Steve was gone.
Thinking about it while he showered, Danny decided Steve would probably not mention it, so he wouldn’t either. Maybe it had been... he knew Steve had nightmares. They’d slept in the same bed often enough—heck, slept in the same building often enough—for Danny to know that was the case. Danny did too. So they both understood that sometimes you couldn’t go back to sleep after those, and they’d at some point realized it was easier to cope with the other by his side. Figuring maybe that had been the case, and since they never talked about those nights (or the nightmares), Danny wouldn’t bring it up.
Which isn’t to say that he didn’t think about it.
I mean, it’s one thing to already be there—to hang out, watch a movie, fall asleep on the sofa... or, to have a party and drink too much and tumble into bed at the same time. But to get in your car, drive half way across town, use your key, enter someone’s house, and crawl into bed, all without any kind of an explanation... well, that was something a little bit different.
Still, he tried not to think too much about it.
He kind of sucked at not thinking too much about things, to be honest.
So he was glad when several nights later (having listened for the key in the lock each night), he heard the familiar thud of Steve kicking off his boots in the hall, the clang of his keys on Danny’s coffee table, and caught the whiff of Steve’s shampoo as he settled his still-damp self into bed next to Danny.
After waiting a few minutes to see if Steve would offer some kind of explanation, Danny whispered “Night, babe,” and fell promptly asleep.
Again, the next morning, when Danny awoke, Steve was gone. The only sign he’d been there was the indent in the pillow. Placing his hand softly where Steve’s head had been, Danny allowed himself one moment to think that had been nice, before pulling himself to the reality of the day, and the crazy list of tasks he had to accomplish before the weekend with the kids.
Of course Steve would stay away while the kids were over, but he half expected Steve on Monday night. Telling himself he wasn’t disappointed, and that it had probably been a temporary thing anyway, Danny somehow made it through the next few days without allowing himself to marinate in it.
By Thursday night, though, Danny was getting a little agitated, so he was relieved when he heard the key in the door. And it was then that he knew this was becoming dangerous. He’d begun expecting it. And expectation is never good. Especially when the thing itself is as unexplained as this—whatever this was—was.
Maybe some of that agitation came across in his posture in bed, or maybe Steve had missed him, too—um, I mean... ugh. Yeah. Missed him. In his bed. This was so not going to end well, but Steve must have missed him too, because once he crawled into bed, he moved closer to the middle of the bed, and reached an arm out, placing it almost tentatively over Danny.
Now, they’d shared a bed many times, and yes, a number of those times they’d wound up essentially cuddling at some point in the night. But that’s easy to explain, right? It’s like some kind of natural human impulse, leftover from the days when body heat could save your life, or at the very least make sleeping a whole lot more comfortable. I mean, it’s not like it meant anything. But this... this was different. This was cuddling at the outset. And that definitely meant something.
Danny hesitated for one long minute, but he just wasn’t going to be able to resist. He scooched back towards Steve, and as he felt his partner’s arm wrap more solidly around him, somewhere inside his chest something snapped, something that had been stretching too thin, something that had been a little too close to breaking for a little too long. He quickly swallowed before any tears thought the better of it and tried to escape his eyes, and he tried to force himself to focus on sleeping.
Have you ever tried that? It doesn’t usually work very well, does it.
Shit.
But Steve fell asleep remarkably swiftly, and eventually, lulled by the rhythmic swelling of Steve’s chest against his, Danny drifted into a somewhat restless slumber. He hit deep sleep right at that awkward moment when it’s almost time to get up, so when he woke to a once more empty bed, he felt more upset than he really was. I mean, Danny didn’t tend to operate very well on not-a-full-night’s-sleep. Which, yeah, wasn’t the best characteristic in a cop. Still, he grumped his way into the office, and when he found an extra large coffee from his favorite coffee shop sitting next to a breakfast sandwich (egg and cheese, for protein—always important when you’re not getting enough sleep, as Steve so often told him), it didn’t do funny things to his heart, really, it didn’t.
That afternoon, after a quick and simple and nicely resolved case, the team decided to hang out at Kamekona’s for an early dinner. Eager to get home to their respective loved ones, everyone else left right at five, leaving Steve and Danny lingering.
“Got any plans for the weekend, buddy?” Steve asked, taking a sip of his beer.
Danny hesitated. He’d kind of maybe been hoping Steve would say he wanted to do something. Because, well, honestly, Danny was too chicken to ask. I mean, it’s one thing to say Hey, let’s go surfing... and something altogether different to say, what? Hey, why don’t you come sleep in my bed again?
So he didn’t. “Probably just some chores and relaxing. You?”
A slightly uneasy expression passed through Steve’s eyes. Was it disappointment? Danny hated that he hoped it was. “Yeah, same, probably.”
Soon after that, they both finished their beers, and drawing it out any longer would have been weird, so they said goodbye with a stiff and stilted hug.
Danny listened for the key in the door that night, but eventually gave up and fell asleep. If his bed felt excessively spacious without his hulking partner taking up half of it, well, that was just how it was going to be.
But when he woke in the morning, he smelled coffee and bacon and cinnamon, and his body’s reaction to that wasn’t because he was hungry. Shuffling into the kitchen, he pulled out a bar stool and sat down, not saying a word. Steve, similarly wordless, brought him a mug of coffee, pushed a plate of bacon towards him, and cut two slices of coffee cake. Sitting down on the other side of the counter, he started to eat. Danny drank his coffee, and studied the top of Steve’s head. By the time Steve was done eating, Danny had finished his coffee, and took a bite of bacon. Steve was now staring at him, clearly uncomfortable and not pleased about that.
“More coffee?” He asked, eventually.
“Sure, babe,” Danny replied between mouthfuls of coffeecake.
He was torn between thinking this was getting slightly ridiculous, and kind of wanting to see how it would play out. One of them would break eventually. It seemed now like it was just a case of how long, and who would be the one to do it.
After breakfast, Steve suggested they go surf, and that put them back in familiar territory. They often went surfing on Saturday mornings. Maybe this time there was a vaguely tense energy they weren’t used to, but for a while at least, it was more normal than since before this whole Steve-coming-over-to-sleep thing had started.
When they were exhausted from surfing, they grabbed some food at one of the trucks on the beach, and wound up passing most of the afternoon lazing in the shade, alternating between people watching and nearly napping. And it was nice. It was almost “old them” nice. But somehow, it wasn’t quite... enough.
As it was becoming clear they couldn’t drag it out much longer, Steve moved to get up. “I’d better head home and get some stuff done.” He didn’t sound terribly convincing, and Danny had a feeling he didn’t really mean it.
“I, ah, I was gonna make a bunch of lasagna tonight,” Danny offered. “Freeze some for meals in the week and so on....” He paused, looked up at Steve. “You know, in case you get hungry and want to come over...?”
Steve looked pleased. Really, really pleased. “Yeah, buddy, that sounds great. Seven?”
“Sure,” Danny replied, adding “Bring some wine,” as they parted ways.
Danny had two lasagnas already out of the oven and cooling by seven, and was starting the third, when Steve let himself in. He admired Danny’s handiwork as he poured the wine. They sat at the kitchen island and nibbled on leftover bits of lasagna fixings, drinking too much wine too fast on stomachs that were too empty. Danny knew it, tried to tell himself it was not a good idea, but frankly he wasn’t sure they would ever get past this painfully awkward impasse they seemed to be at any other way.
By the time the lasagna was ready, he’d put the others in the freezer, and they were well into bottle number two (Steve had brought three, ostensibly so Danny could pick which would go better with the food, but he wasn’t so sure he believed that). They ate at the dining room table, not on the sofa. He didn’t know how that had happened, he thought maybe Steve had decided it. The weirdo even made salad—which was usually Danny’s thing, Steve being more concerned with protein than vegetables. And the candles that hadn’t been lit for a very long time were flickering. Danny was pretty sure he hadn’t suggested that. Still, it was nice. And conversation was nice, if slightly odd. It felt just the littlest bit like a date. Which is maybe why he offered coffee after, which he never did with Steve, and Steve (who Danny had never known to drink coffee after a meal) accepted, which made the whole thing even weirder. They went out on Danny’s back deck, which they also never did, and they talked well into the night. Which was nice, but Danny kind of regretted it, because in the end, Steve wound up sober enough to drive home, and Danny found he was more than a little disappointed by that.
“Thanks for a lovely evening, Danny,” Steve said, as they stood at the door. Shit, this really did feel like a date. He didn’t have the slightest idea how to respond to that. While he was trying to think of something, Steve leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “Night, Danny.” And he drove off.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
Danny sank down on the sofa, pressing his palms to his head as if that might somehow help him to figure out what to do. This was just. No, there was just no way he was leaving it like this.
The answer came to him suddenly, in one of those flashes of clarity that feels like a scene from a movie. The bold, dramatic gesture—the kind of thing that doesn’t actually happen in real life. Thing is, Danny had a key to Steve’s place. Somehow, he hadn’t even thought of that this whole time, but it had come to him on a spark of inspiration. He got a little giddy thinking about it, and then he kind of crashed, doubting himself.
Shower first. If it still seems like a good idea, then maybe....
Seemed reasonable. Allow some time for things to clear. And so he got in the shower. And maybe he spent too much time in there, going back and forth—one minute convinced it was the best idea ever, the next convinced he’d never had a worse idea in the history of Danny’s ideas. He finally turned off the shower when the hot water ran out, and as he walked, still dripping wet and totally naked, from the steamed up room to his arctic-by-comparison bedroom, he stopped in his tracks.
There, in the soft lamp light, still fully dressed but in bare feet, sitting on the bed, and staring—openly, admiringly, heatedly, and slightly uncertainly—was Steve.
“I was just...” Danny started. But a smile was spreading across his face that was making it hard for him to talk. “The clean towels are over there—” he pointed to the laundry basket by the closet.
Steve didn’t look away, he kept staring at Danny.
“I’m just gonna...” he walked towards the basket. “I’m gonna dry off....” Steve hadn’t turned to watch him when he moved, so Danny took the chance to dry off, and then, with the towel wrapped around his waist, he walked back over to where Steve was facing.
Steve looked slightly disappointed that Danny was covered now, but then he closed his eyes as though he were gathering himself for something. “I didn’t want to sleep alone. I don’t really like sleeping alone.” He took a deep breath. “I like sleeping with you.”
“Yeah?” Danny asked, unsure his voice would work.
Steve gave him a look Danny swore he must have learned from him. That kind of don’t be a fucking idiot look at which Danny excelled. He’d not realized Steve could make the same look.
“Alright, I like it too.” He smiled. “I miss it when you don’t come over.” Steve’s eyebrows went up, the expression moved more towards the typical Steve, self-satisfied-grin. “Oh my god, don’t get cocky.”
“Come here.”
“I’m still wet.” It was a feeble protest at best.
“I really don’t care at all, Daniel, now come here.”
Danny started to sit down on the bed, but Steve pulled him onto his lap, and proceeded to kiss him more thoroughly than he’d ever been kissed by anyone before.
“I was going to use my key to your place,” Danny panted once Steve finally let him go. “I was going to come over and crawl into your bed tonight.”
There was that damn grin again. “Yeah?”
A sigh, and a smack on the head. “Yes, you goof. You absolute idiot.”
“Good.”
Danny laughed and shook his head, but Steve attempted to drown him with another kiss even more thorough than the last, and there wasn’t a whole lot of talking after that.
There also wasn’t a whole lot of sleeping. Good thing they had the whole next day to recover, and good thing, too, Danny thought—as Steve rounded on him for another go—really good thing Danny had a full carton of eggs, because they were going to need protein in the morning. Or whenever they decided to finally get up. Although, maybe they’d skip that and stay in bed all day.... They’d spent a lot of time in bed together over the years, but this was a whole new ball game, and maybe he should have been nervous about all the ways it might play out, but somehow none of it worried him at all, and that was at one and the same time totally weird and absolutely fitting. They’d figure it out as they went, as they always had. Just about the last coherent thought Danny had for quite some time was that he was glad he’d given Steve that key, and really glad that Steve had finally figured out how to use it.