Notes: Crossover with the Oceanís Trilogy which I have been watching much too much to see Scott Caanís small bits of screen time. Set after Oceanís Thirteen and before "Palekaiko" (Ep 11).
"Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
"Then go on and give him a big fat one."
That statement shouldnít have surprised Steve, not given that it was spoken by a drag queen dressed as Madonna in her Vogue phase complete with bra cones that jutted out from her body at least a foot.
The six foot four Madonnaís state of dress didnít seem to bother Mary and her new husband Geoff, a lanky guy with a dark flat top and thick-rimmed glasses, as they immediately locked lips with a fervor that had Steve pretending an intense interest in the dťcor of the wedding chapel of the Midas Casino.
The place was old school Vegas; gilt and red velvet that somehow managed to avoid veering into the realm of tacky, something Steve supposed they could thank a good designer for. Of course Madonna was Mary and Geoffís choice and her bra and garters matched the dťcor though he wasnít sure if it was by design or chance. For one brief, bizarre moment, he imagined Frank Sinatra walking up beside the drag queen and the pair of them breaking into song together.
Jesus, this place was getting to him and heíd only been here a day.
Steve blinked, breaking free of his neon and spangle-induced hallucination, and looked down at Mary. She was beaming, appearing happier than he could recall her since their mom was killed. "Congratulations Mare."
"Thanks for coming." Her smile turned slightly wry and she used the tip of her index finger to jab him in the ribs. "I know that you think this is too fast, but its right."
"Just remember, he hurts you and Ė "
"Youíll hurt him, I know." As she spoke, Mary pulled him into a tight hug and whispered. "But he wonít." A peck on his cheek and she was gone, pulled into the whirlwind of their friends who had driven over from LA for the occasion.
Steve stayed through the champagne soaked toasts, but said his farewells before the party really kicked into gear, wanting to avoid booze fueled gropes from Maryís single (and not-so-single) friends. The hotel was a maze, but heíd scouted out the location the day before and easily found the escalator down to the main level, the noise level increasing exponentially as he approached the casino.
Sirens, shouts, flashing lights, it reminded him of some of the firefights heíd been in but with less dire results, that is unless you were the unlucky guy who lost a yearís salary at one of the tables. The thought made him pause at the edge of one of the banks of slot machines and study the gaming tables, taking in the postures of the people crowded around them.
Excitement, nerves, dejection, he could read them all in the playersí body language and he chuckled to himself as he correctly predicted the winner at one of the poker games before skipping over to blackjack where the tuxedo-shirted dealer was starting a new round.
Should quit, good hand, should go home, very good hand. Steve narrowed his eyes, studying the man standing at the end of the table: short, broad shoulders, trim waist, nice Ė yeah, file that thought away. Dark blond hair caught the light as the man tipped his head back and laughed while he shoved a large pile of chips forward then turned his head to the side to speak with the dark haired woman sitting next to him and Steve froze.
Christ, the guy looked like Danny, but Danny had Grace this weekend and he wouldnít give up time with his daughter for a spur of the minute trip to Las Vegas of that he was certain.
He stood there staring at the man for the next few hands, watching his reaction as the pile of chips in front of him grew and shrank in equal measure, all without seeming to cause any distress in him, a reaction Steve knew wasnít part of his partnerís makeup. If anything, the other manís smile seemed to grow when he was down; white, even teeth shining against tanned skin, a network of fine lines radiating out from the corners of his eyes, the creases drawing attention to the pale blue of their color.
The taller man standing to the Danny look-alikeís right nudged him and leaned in to say something and Steve realized just how long heíd been standing there staring at the blond. Turning away from the game, he started walking blindly, ending up in the casinoís piano lounge. The barís dimly lit interior enfolded him as completely as the leather of the burgundy wing-back chair he commandeered, loosening his tie as he stretched his legs out under the low glass-topped table that anchored the seating area.
The waitress, fine, firm, and curved in all the right places under her form-fitting black and gold uniform, delivered his Scotch with a professionally flirtatious smile and casual small talk before easing her way through the seating arrangements to check on her other patrons, leaving Steve to his drink.
Each sip of the Scotch sent mellow heat rolling down his throat and for a while he simply enjoyed the atmosphere. The songs in the piano playerís repertoire were familiar; music that brought to mind his mother singing in the kitchen when he was a kid, the memory bitter-sweet but eased by another sip of his drink.
"This seat free?"
The question broke Steve out of his reverie and he found himself nodding before he even focused on the person asking the question.
"Yeah Ė " the word died a strangled death in his throat as he looked over at the man dropping negligently into the seat next to his and recognized the guy from the casino. This close, he still looked like he could be Dannyís twin and Steve covered his lack of anything else to say by taking another slug of his drink.
"Thanks, itís getting a little crowded in here." An easy smile accompanied the words, one that Steve was more familiar with having directed at kids and crime victims than himself.
"Looks like a popular place."
"Itís Vegas, anywhere with booze and air conditioning is popular," the blond chuckled before turning his smile on the waitress who delivered a drink Steve hadnít seen him order. "Want another?"
A glance at his glass proved it was almost empty and Steve nodded, the gesture sending the waitress off as if it had been a command. "Sounds like the voice of experience; you from here?"
"Utah, actually, I do a lot of work here though."
"Provo; hell of a lot better than Salt Lake." The other man grinned as he raised his glass and took a drink of the amber liquid it contained. "And you are obviously not from Utah or youíd know that."
"Guilty as charged," Steve chuckled. "Iím in from Hawaii."
"Sun and sand, very nice. Which island?" Interest brightened the other manís blue eyes as he asked the question.
"Oíahu. My kid sister got married tonight, by a Madonna look-alike." The last part was added in a chagrined tone.
"But did they enjoy it?"
Steve chuckled at the question. "I think so, it certainly was memorable."
"I hate to tell you but for Vegas, that was pretty run of the mill."
"Good point, guess Iím just not used to that kind of spectacle."
"Most people arenít. Iím Turk, by the way, Turk Malloy."
Relieved that he didnít have to think about the other man as Dannyís twin any longer, Steve reached out to clasp the hand Turk extended, finding his grasp strong and firm. "Steve McGarrett, good to meet you."
Steveís new drink arrived and their conversation turned back to Hawaii. Turk had visited the Big Island and Maui on business and quizzed him on the best local places to eat on Oíahu in case he ever ended up on the island.
As they spoke, Steve found himself studying the other man, cataloging the similarities and differences between Danny and this man who looked so much like him. The first and most obvious was that Turk didnít talk with his hands. With Danny, at times, Steve felt as if he needed to duck to avoid being hit by a flailing hand but to himself he admitted it was sort of cute. Danny was passionate about things and he wasnít afraid of showing it. Turk seemed more controlled though there was a fire lurking beneath his blue gaze that was intriguing.
With Turk he could watch, could study him more closely than with Danny and while part of him felt vaguely guilty for doing it, the emotion didnít stop him from continuing, especially when Turk caught him and grinned before giving him a blatant once-over.
"So, ready to get out of here?"
Apparently heíd left his common sense in Honolulu because Steve found himself nodding as he downed the rest of his drink, his awareness of Turkís gaze on the motion of his throat burning brighter than the Scotch as it ran through him.
"Yours or mine?" As he spoke, Turk stood handing over a casino chip to the cocktail waitress who slipped it into a pocket that shouldnít have existed in her dress, even as she beamed at him.
"Thanks Mr. Malloy. Enjoy the rest of your evening."
"You have a good one as well Katie."
Steve fell in behind Turk, following him out of the bar, dividing his attention between the fit of the other manís black slacks over his ass and the way he seemed to know all the staff.
"You come here a lot?" he finally asked once they were out in the wide, marble-floored concourse that led toward the hotelís elevators.
"I work here, and you never answered my question." Turk glanced up at him, a wry smile curling the corners of his mouth.
"Yours." That made it easier to leave when he wanted and proved to Steve that his brain wasnít totally blinded by lust. "Unless that means we need to take a drive."
"Nah, Iíve got an apartment here; it pays to know the owner." They reached the banks of elevators and Turk led Steve past the crowd to a smaller set of burnished brass doors. He reached into his pocket and slid a key card into the slot, the doors opening immediately, revealing a mirrored compartment.
"Guess it does," Steve mused, the slight disorientation of seeing himself standing next to a man who looked like Danny, but wasnít, passing when he made himself concentrate on the differences and not the similarities. "So since you know the owner, is your job real or just fluff?"
"Oooh, right to the point there," Turk laughed as he slid his card in the reader and punched the button for one of the penthouse floors. "I guess you could call me a troubleshooter; I stop problems before they happen."
"Sounds like my job description," Steve mused, "though weíre called in after the fact."
"Private or government?"
"Government, state task force."
"Interesting, I didnít know Hawaii had a state task force." The bright blue gaze narrowed as Turk chuckled. "Ex-military, right?"
"Should have guessed; Iíve worked with a lot of your type over the years."
"My type?" Steve asked, sounding amused.
"Ex-military," Turk explained as the elevator doors slid open to reveal a wide hallway lined with a much lower number of doors than Steveís floor. A quick count revealed there were eleven, though one end of the hall was much shorter than the other and ended in an ornately carved and gilded set of doors.
Seeing the question in his eyes, Turk shrugged before explaining. "Reubenís place Ė the owner Ė he loves the old Vegas stuff but hell, he lived it."
"Better than dancing pirates and gondolas," Steve agreed, following Turk down the lushly carpeted hallway to the third door on the right which opened with another swipe of the keycard.
"I like those fountains at the Bellagio though," Turk said as he pushed the door open, holding it for Steve who walked through, side-stepping to the left as he took in the room and kept Turk in his line of sight.
It wasnít what he expected after all the glitz and old-style glamour. The furniture was heavy and rustic, the floor smooth-grained pine and the view the hills beyond the city. He turned a questioning glance at Turk, who shrugged negligently.
"We all got to decorate our places; I wanted something that reminded me of home." Turk turned fully toward him at that and paced toward him, his compact body moving with an almost animal-like grace that had Steve swallowing to wet his suddenly dry mouth.
"But I donít think we came up here to discuss furniture, right?" There was no chance for an answer as suddenly Steve was pulled down and Turkís mouth was on his, demanding entrance with practiced finesse that turned into boiling heat when his tongue slid against Steveís.
A deep groan wrenched its way out of Steveís throat and he scrabbled for handholds on the shorter manís body, finding one on his hip and the other in his hair, tangling the strands around his fingers. There was a tugging at his waist, and cool air hit his chest seconds before warm, broad hands began an exploration of his skin.
Lust tinged with a hint of guilt and regret raced through him and Steve leaned into the touch, his nerves firing as Turk mapped his torso with his hands, tugging the rest of his shirt free of his pants as he reached around to Steveís back. The move brought their lower bodies into contact and drew a hissed out curse from Steveís lips as his cock bumped against Turkís hip and he felt the solid length of the other manís erection against his thigh.
Turkís lips curved against his and he pulled back, licking his lower lip as if he could taste Steve on it. "Come on," he said, pulling back out of the embrace, Steveís fingers dragging over the smooth fabric of his shirt and pants as he moved, "bedroomís this way."
A deep breath released none of the tension that coiled within Steve and he stalked after the other man, watching the bunch and flex of his shoulders as Turk worked at the buttons of his own shirt, undoing the cuffs first before moving to the line of black discs that bisected the firm expanse of his chest, exposing the tanned flesh beneath the fabric.
Turk reached the doorway to the bedroom and tossed his shirt to the side. Steve was distracted by what appeared to be a healed bullet wound in his left shoulder and he raised his eyebrows in a silent question.
"Hazard of the job," Turk said easily, still walking backward as he started to work on his belt, "thatís why I got into the hotel business." He paused then, and smirked, his tongue ghosting over his lower lip again. "You planning on standing there all night or do I need to help?"
As he pulled off his suit jacket and set it on the arm of the wide-armed navy leather chair that was just inside the bedroom door and toed off his shoes, Steve shook his head, smiling slightly as he did so. "If you get done before me, feel free to help."
The rest of their clothes came off in more or less a tie and they ended up in a tangle of limbs on the gold and cream comforter that covered the wide expanse of the bed, eating at each othersí mouths as they explored newly bared skin.
"How Ďbout we take the edge off first," Turk murmured against Steveís jaw, the muted vibrations of the words drawing a shudder from his sensitized skin, a shudder that returned in force when the shorter man closed his hand around their cocks, pressing Steveís length against his own un-cut shaft. Steveís hand closed on Turkís hip as he bucked forward in response, bending his neck so he could nip at the other manís ear, hearing as well as feeling Turkís groan as his tongue swiped over the small injury.
It had been months since heíd been with anyone and the need built within Steve, driving out rational thought and leaving only the morass of lust and desire that exploded between them, coating both of their stomachs and Turkís hand, leaving Steve gasping. He finally pulled back, grinning in response to Turkís tight smile and the feel of his straining erection against his now softening flesh.
"You planning on standing there all night or do I need to help?" he asked, echoing the other manís earlier words and causing Turk to break into raucous laughter as he flopped to his back, bringing Steve with him.
The sun was just rising as they collapsed on the bed hours later, exhaustion and satiation having sent Steve into a pleasant fugue state somewhere in the middle of their last round though he knew heíd come with Turkís taste on his tongue and his own cock in the other manís mouth, breathing words he couldnít recall against Turkís hip.
He must have dozed, because the buzzing of a cell phone on vibrate woke him, instinct causing him to reach for his own cell before remembering where he was and just what had happened the night before. Turk glanced over at him and grinned as he answered the phone and Steve stretched, feeling the nightís exertions in his sore muscles. Theyíd done everything but fuck; Turk had muttered something about a promise to someone and he hadnít pushed it, especially since theyíd both proven their creativity in other ways.
Deciding to give the other man a little privacy in his conversation with someone named Linus, Steve climbed out of the bed and headed for the bathroom to clean up somewhat. When he emerged from the bathroom about five minutes later, Turk was off the phone and leaning back against a pile of pillows, a pleased expression on his face, though it sharpened somewhat when Steve walked over to the bed.
"So," he asked, his eyebrows arching upward, "who is Danny?"
Steve actually felt the blood drain from his face at the question and he blinked before raising a hand to rub at the back of his neck, watching Turk catalog each reaction and file them away. "Heís Ė itís not like that."
"Hey, Iím just curious is all, itís not a big thing. Youíre not the only one involved if thatís what it is. He travels a lot, thatís why we have the rule that we can mess around, but we donít fuck anyone else."
"Itís not like that," Steve repeated more forcefully than he intended, "heís my work partner. You just... look like him."
"Well that would explain it," Turk mused, not sounding in the least offended, much to Steveís surprise. "You said anything to him about it yet?"
"God no! Heís my friend, he was married, he has a kid!" Steve walked over to the bed as he spoke and sat down, flopping back against the pillows and just managing not to drag one over his face.
"So? Any chance he might be interested too?"
Steve stared at Turk at that, wondering when his world had gone so off-kilter and deciding it had to have happened at the wedding. "I donít know. Maybe."
"He think youíre straight?"
Steve nodded at that before frowning. "What, does hotel troubleshooter mean that youíre Dear Abby as well?"
Turk snickered at that and crossed his arms behind his head. "Nah, but I will tell you that Linus and I started as friends. I wanted him, I thought that he might be attracted, but neither of us did anything about it, then we did a job together, I got shot, and it all came out while I was bleeding out on the floor of a bank vault. Word of advice; donít wait until one of you gets shot to start with the heartfelt confessions."
"We both were shot within twenty-four hours of meeting each other," Steve muttered, not wanting to admit that Turk had a point.
"Fine, then donít wait until itís a life or death situation."
"Iíll... think about it."
"You do that, and as much as Iíd like to give you something else to think about, I need to get cleaned up and downstairs; that was Linus on the phone and he just got into McCarran so he should be here in an hour or so."
"Jesus! Iíd better get out of here." Steve was out of the bed and heading for his clothes as he spoke, pausing and looking back over his shoulder when Turk started laughing again.
"I told you, Steve, its fine. Hell, he asked if you wanted to have breakfast."
"You told him?!"
"Gotta be honest about some things," Turk shrugged, standing as well. "Remember that."
"Yeah, I will." Steve said after he had pulled on his pants, grabbing his shirt and staring at it for a moment before looking over at the other man. "Thanks, for last night and earlier. Iíll think about it."
"Do that," Turk waited for Steve to be fully dressed before he walked around the bed, caught him by the belt loops, and pulled him in for a firm, dry kiss. "And it was fun for me too."
"Never could have guessed," Steve said dryly, Turkís laughter following him out into the hallway as the other man let him out of the apartment. The sound stayed with him as he returned to his room, showered and packed in preparation for his flight at noon, causing him to remember the other manís parting words and to wonder if perhaps he was right.
Checkout proved easier than he had planned because he found his whole bill taken care of by Mr. Malloy and a limo waiting at the entrance to take him to the airport. He fell asleep before the flight took off and woke up as the captain was announcing the descent into Honolulu, not remembering if heíd dreamed at all.
After collecting his car from the lot, Steve drove home, dumping his clothes out on the bed and sorting through them, frowning when he felt something in his pantsí pocket. Reaching in, he drew it out, he shook his head and chuckled, seeing that the item was a thousand dollar chip with the words ĎDo it!í written in heavy marker on the face.
Steve looked from the chip to the bedside clock, noting the time. It was after five; Danny would be in a bad mood because Grace had gone back to Rachel and Stanís. What the hell, heíd bring over food and beer and then they could have a talk that hopefully wouldnít end up with Dannyís fist in his face.
Less than an hour later, he was knocking on the door of Dannyís crappy apartment and was greeted by a very annoyed looking Danny Williams.
"What?" the shorter man asked, his waving hand almost knocking the six pack of beer in Steveís hand against the doorframe. "You lose your house while you were in Vegas and need somewhere to stay?"
"Nope," Steve grinned fondly at the other man, realizing that there was no comparison between Danny and Turk, at least not in his mind. "The wedding was interesting by the way, thanks for asking. Iíve got food and beer; planning on letting me in?"
Dannyí expression turned almost embarrassed at forgetting Maryís wedding and he stepped back away from the door. "Yeah, come on in and tell me about the trip Ė if thereís anything you can tell."
Holding out the beer, Steve waited until Danny took the cardboard holder before following him inside, studying the other man the whole while. Scruffier, surlier, but also warmer and simply more genuine, there was no comparison, none at all.
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