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“Buon compleanno, nonna. Mi manchi.”
Steve stopped dead on the lawn, ice cold beers dangling from his fingertips as he stared at the back of his partner’s head, mouth dropping open. The way the words easily rolled off Danny’s tongue, smooth and yet still touched by the Jersey that was Danny, hypnotized Steve and he couldn’t help but silently listen even though he had no idea what was being said. Italian was not one of the languages he’d felt would assist him in the field.
“Come sta il nonno? Si, si. Testardo. Mi mancate entrambi. Grace manda il suo amore. Parleremo di nuovo presto. Ti voglio bene.” Danny hung up and dropped the phone on the old wooden table that sat between the tables, leaning back and drawing up his legs to get comfortable. Only then did Steve snap into motion, crossing the last few steps to set the bottles down, then coming around to place his hands on the arms of Danny’s chair, glaring at him.
“Italian? You speak Italian and you never told me?” he demanded, refusing to budge when Danny pressed his hands against Steve’s arms, trying to clear his personal space. Danny scowled up at him, head tilting up defiantly.
“You didn’t ask and as it was learned at home, not at school or college, it never made it to my transcripts. I don’t know why you act so personally offended when you find out these little details, Steven. It’s not as if Italian has a high rate of use in Hawaii anyway. Russian would come more in handy and I’ve only had to speak it once, once, since I’ve been here…” he scolded him, shaking a finger in Steve’s face.
Irritably, Steve grabbed the offending finger. “And that was how I learned you spoke Russian.”
Unfurling a leg, Danny placed his foot against Steve’s thigh and pushed backwards while trying to tug his finger loose from Steve’s grasp. “Look, you adapt to anything violent like a fish to water. Is it that surprising that someone else has skills of their own? That perhaps, just perhaps, I might have an ear for languages? That maybe I grew up in a household where we speak another language as much as English because a family member may not be American born and wants to keep her culture alive within the generations that follow?” he said, then rolled his eyes. Then slowly, a smug expression crept onto his face. “Baciami.”
Steve felt a light shiver run down his back at the way Danny spoke the word, low and enticing, looking up at him beneath heavy lidded eyes. “What does that mean?”
“You figure it out, you get the prize,” Danny replied, reaching past him to pick up one of the beers. “You have two minutes, commander. Better get to spelling it out.”
Steve snatched his phone off the table, sitting down in his own chair as he reran the word in his head. Baciami. Slowly, he tapped the letters in until he was sure of his own attempt, and hit the enter button. The phone crept too slowly, leaving him tapping his foot impatiently on the ground. It began to load, the address bar popped up, then
Kiss me.
He glanced over at Danny, brow furrowed. His partner stared back lazily, taking another sip, then slowly drawing the bottle away from his mouth. “Say it again.”
“Baciami, animale,” Danny drawled softly, leaning back in the chair. “Something might as well come of you getting angry that my grandmother might know something more about me than you do.”
Steve stilled, frowning. “You were talking to your grandmother? That takes some of the -”
“Voglio fare sesso con te.” His gaze shifted between the phone and Danny, fingers tapping in letters that didn’t even belong in what Danny just threw at him as he tried to make up his mind which was more impor -
The phone ended up on the ground and he grabbed the front of Danny’s t-shirt, some old worn thing advertising a bar in Jersey, and tugged him forward, their lips meeting over the table. Both bottles tumbled over as the table rocked, but Danny’s hand moved to cradle Steve’s face instead of catch them and save the beer. “Even when you’re being passionate, you’re a wrecking ba-”
“Mmm mm,” Steve murmured between kisses. “You want it acknowledged, you say it in a way I can’t understand.”
Danny laughed lightly and got to his feet. “Won’t that just drive you crazy?”
Steve hesitated a moment, admiring the way the waning sunlight in the background framed his partner, blond hair played with lightly by the breeze off the ocean, a genuinely affectionate smile on his face. “You already drive me crazy, Danny. It just depends on the day and what kind of crazy.” Pushing out of his chair, he tackled him to the ground, hovering above him as he pinned his wrists.
“That’s your job, not mine. Every day, I find new gray hairs that are your doing, McGarrett. The only luck in my life is that I’m blond and they blend easier into the background.” Steve cut off the rest of the rant with another well placed kiss, moving his lips lower to Danny’s collarbone, teasing the skin just before it disappeared under the t-shirt collar, enjoying Danny’s sharp intake of breath, his fingers tightening in Steve’s shirt. “Ti amo, babe. Ti amo tanto.”
Steve huffed a laugh against his neck and settled beside him, propping his head up on his hand. His free hand ran over Danny’s chest until his partner caught his hand, fingers sliding between his. “I don’t need a translator for that,” he murmured softly, then leaned down to kiss him gently. “Ti amo you too, Danno.”