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[personal profile] fabala_fic1
Title: Step out of my skin
Fandom: Hawaii 5-0
Pairing: Kono/Steve
Rating: R, for some language, sex, and mild D/s.
Spoilers: none
Word count: 2553
Disclaimer: Absolute and total fiction
Notes: Thanks to [livejournal.com profile] robanybody for being an enabler giving this a first look. It's my first H5-0 fic, so please be gentle with the concrit. (Although, please give it; if I’ve gotten something completely wrong, I’d like to know about it.)

Kono isn’t quite sure how she ended up in this situation. She knows why (Chin’s running things from the van, Danny pitched a fit when it was suggested he go in, and there wasn’t time to call in anyone else) but she still plans on figuring out a way to blame Chin, though; he still owes her for saving his ass out in O’ahu last week, and what use is working with family if not to make good on payback and favours?

It’s not that she’s angry or anything. It’s just that she’s pretty sure that tomorrow morning is going to be very…interesting.

She knows, logically, that Steve most likely owns civilian clothes other than everyday t-shirts, cargoes and boots, but the thought of him owning black leather pants never, ever crossed her mind. The image of Steve—Commander McGarrett, her boss—wearing said leather pants never entered her mind either, but now it’s probably never going to leave. She’s going to have to get fall-down, blindingly drunk if she ever wants this image out of her head, and she thinks that might not even do it.

He also owns (or at least, is in possession of, he could’ve gotten it off Mary for all she knows) a black eyeliner pencil, which he appears to know exactly what to do with; he’s currently sitting in front of a folding mirror propped open on a pile of reports, ringing both eyes heavily, and with an ease that Kono kind of envies. She never really wore makeup when she was growing up (she’s always preferred salt water and sand to hair gel and mascara), but even now, it usually takes her at least five minutes of fretting to make sure the lines are even and where they’re supposed to be.

He notices her staring, and favours her with a crooked grin. He doesn’t look the least bit embarrassed as he says, “It’s not all that different than Navy camouflage paint, and I’ve put that on in my sleep,” so Kono just nods and does her best to ignore the flutter in her belly when Steve checks his eyes in the little mirror again, smudging the thick black line at the corner of his eyelid with his middle finger.

“Well? Think I’ll pass muster?” Steve stands up and tugs down the hem of the t-shirt he’s wearing--both sleeveless and a size too small--which really only serves to draw Kono’s sight line…down, and, yeah. This is officially both the most awkward moment of Kono’s life (including the time her mother set her up with that guy Marcus when she was nineteen, even though he was really hot and turned out to be a fantastic kisser), and also one of the biggest turn-ons. Which, again. Awkward.

Steve misreads her silence (or maybe not) and calls her name gently until she looks him in the eye. “Kono, hey, c’mon, I’m still me under all this,” He smiles as he says it, standing up and running his hands down his thighs (Kono’s going to hell, oh yeah, platinum first class ticket all the way, because oh my god, all that does is call a shitload of attention to his crotch) looking her in the eye and then down, very deliberately, until the work part of her brain snaps to and she gets it, follows his gaze all the way down to his boots.

His boots. His regular, everyday, kick-down-the-doors-and-beat-the-shit-out-of-the-bad-guys boots. They’re a little blacker and a little more polished than normal, but Kono can tell they’re the same ones, because the right one’s got a chunk out of the tops of the toes from a crazy ricochet during the exchange they got into out at Alewa Heights three days ago. Steve hadn’t noticed it until everything was over, and he’d laughed until he choked when Danny started ranting and flipping out at the fact that he got shot in the foot and kept going like nothing was wrong, when in fact what was wrong was that Steve clearly had some kind of screwed-up adrenaline-junkie/superhero-wannabe complex which was obviously warping his body’s pain responses, because shot in the foot. Once he’d gotten his laughter mostly under control, Steve had just shaken his head like he’d known this freakout was coming, and sat down on the hood of the car to calmly take off his boot and wiggle his unbloodied toes in Danny’s face.

“See? Still me,” he says, and settles back down. “And you’re still you. This is just dress-up.”

Kono grins. He’s right, and she knew that, but having it said out loud helps. “Remind me again, what’s your safeword?”

“You know,” Kono says a minute later, and she’s going to blame the outfits for her loose tongue, since she can’t blame the fact that she’s drunk, “this look really agrees with you. Are you sure you were just a jock in high school? Because I can definitely see you as the mysterious Goth guy that all the girls whispered about in the halls.”

Steve looks up from the bag he’s digging around in. There’s a funny look in his eye for a split second before he raises an eyebrow at her and comes around to sit on the edge of the table not far from where she’s got the report spread out. “Yeah, you like this?” He grins wolfishly at her, like he knows exactly what she’s thinking, and that her thoughts involve a whole bunch of rough sex, right here in the middle of the office.

Kono feels a blush rise in her cheeks, but the hell with it. She shrugs. “Hey, it’s a clichè because it’s true; girls like bad boys. All you’d need to complete the image now is a Harley, maybe a cigarette.”

“Danny can see us,” Steve says quietly against her ear. He slides a hand over her shoulder and down her back. Kono doesn’t move as he pulls at one of the corset laces, loosening it so she can breathe just that little bit easier. “I think he’s checking you out, and I think he might also be a little jealous.”

Kono doesn’t turn her head; she’s been able to see Danny’s reflection in one of the monitors ever since he walked out of his office and leaned again the wall five minutes ago. “Nah, Boss, I think he’s checking you out.”


They have no trouble getting into the club, thanks to the fact that the security guy working the door is an old buddy of Steve’s. Steve follows half a step behind her, head straight and eyes down. She walks him around the perimeter, ostensibly to show him off (which absolutely works; some of the looks he gets from people…) but really to see if they woman they’re tracking is already here. She is, in one of the small side rooms, talking quietly to another woman with the blondest hair and the fakest tits Kono’s ever seen. There’s a guy kneeling on the floor in front of her, and it kind of breaks Kono’s heart to see that he doesn’t look any more than twenty (which means he’s probably barely seventeen), with the hopeful expression of a puppy who thinks he’ll get a belly rub and a treat if he can just do one more trick.

Luckily, they’re the only people in the room, and it’s the room farthest away from the rest of the club. They’ve been tailing this woman for forty-eight hours, and this is as alone as they’ve ever seen her. They either make their move now, or she goes back to luring lonely young runaways into becoming playtoys for herself and her friends, and then scattering them all along the Diamond Head trail when they get bored and break them.

Kono takes up a place against the opposite wall. Steve hesitates, watching her eyes, gauging her. Her breathing is sped up like it always is when she’s undercover, but he’s just looking at her like he’s waiting for her to decide what flavour of shave ice she wants. She lets him stand there for a second too long and then snaps her fingers, pointing down at the floor without looking. “Where should you be?” she asks sharply, just loudly enough to be heard across the room. Their mark glances over and nods in greeting as Steve drops, tucking his body into a kneeling position on the concrete floor so fast, Kono’s sure he’ll be bruised come morning.

He looks up at her, and it literally takes Kono’s breath away for a moment, because Jesus Christ. In the last three seconds, he’s gone from looking like her boss undercover and dressed up to looking like he wants to devour her, make her scream and beg for more. Kono’s nipples are suddenly, painfully hard, and heat pools between her thighs. (Thank god Chin doesn’t have audio on them, because Kono does not need that kind of hassle in her life.)

There’s a table a few feet away, a big heavy wooden thing with eyebolts in each corner. Kono walks over to it carefully, not trusting her legs if she moves any faster. She pulls herself up so she’s sitting on the edge, and turns to look at Steve. He hasn’t moved a muscle. “Here,” she says, nodding to the space between her parted knees, and ‘tsk’ing when he moves his foot back to stand up. “No, no, baby, I never said you could stand.”

He doesn’t hesitate, just puts his palms on the floor and crawls over, slow and languid like warm honey fresh out of the jar. Kono is really glad she’s sitting, because she can’t feel her knees, or anything below them. He waits at her feet, unmoving and expectant, until she carefully lifts one foot and rests it on his shoulder. She’s not sure what it means that he leans into it a little, bringing his hand up to curl around her ankle. A distant part of her mind is pleased to note that with his hand where it is, it’s covering the gun, so that’s good.

It’s also good—scarily, mindblowingly good—when Steve looks up at her through his eyelashes and says, “How would you like me?”

She doesn’t know where she gets the sudden burst of speed or co-ordination, but she does, and then Steve’s the one on the table, knees at the edge, and Kono’s pushing him flat down with a hand on the center of his chest. “Hands at your sides.” He complies, not losing her gaze, and Kono is relieved to see that he’s totally agreeable to this plan, such as it is. “Don’t move.”

He honest-to-god whimpers when Kono runs a tentative hand over the bulge in his pants, and when she leans down to kiss at the corner of his mouth she honestly doesn’t know which of them it surprises more. He makes another little noise when Kono unzips him, and she swallows it as she kisses him again.

Regardless of the delusions Chin still clings to for his cousin, Kono is not a 14-year-old virgin anymore. She knows what she likes and what she’s good at in bed, and one thing that fits nicely into both categories is giving head. So when she braces her hands on the table just below Steve’s and takes his cock in her mouth, she’s pretty certain that the noise he makes is one of ‘oh fuck, that’s amazing’ rather than ‘oh hell, what are you doing, stop that.’ She licks, sucks and twirls her tongue up and down the length of him, taking pleasure in all the little noises he makes, and the way he cants his hips up every time she pulls back, trying to keep contact with her.

His hand covers hers and she twines their fingers together, half a second later, he’s coming, hot and fast into her mouth, while dragging out the syllables in her name, making it sound like a prayer.

Kono swallows, and Steve doesn’t move when she pulls off of him and zips him back into his pants. Her hand rests on the inside of his thigh, and even through the leather, she can feel his pulse hammering. She watches his face, doesn’t take her hand away until she feels it slow back to something approaching normal, and he doesn’t blink until she does. She smiles a little (not too much, still undercover, gotta remember that) as she slides a hand up his forearm and pulls him into a sitting position. She caresses the side of his face, hairline to jaw and back again, and his eyelids flicker. “That’s my good boy.”

He all but slithers to the floor then, hands bracing her hips hard enough that she’s going to have her own set of bruises tomorrow, and it seems he’s going to return the gesture, which Kono can absolutely get on board with. But then she glances to her left and groans in annoyance. Across the room, their mark is roughly tugging on the boy’s collar as she makes him kneel as well. Even from this distance, Kono can see that his neck is red and scratched up, which really pisses Kono off. She doesn’t know a whole lot about this stuff, but isn’t it supposed to be consensual, and all about mutual trust? Kono sucks in a breath and cracks her knuckles, half out of anger and half to signal Steve that the other woman just left, so they should get this show on the road. “Kneel up,” she says to him, and hums appreciatively to herself as the muscles in his back shift and stretch out under the fabric of his t-shirt as he straightens up so that he’s no longer resting on his heels. He brings his hands around from behind his back when she tells him to, resting them lightly on his thighs. Kono can’t see from this angle, but she knows he’s looking at her ankles, concentrating on the holsters she’s got strapped to the inside of each one.


Their plan works out beautifully. They move lightning-fast, no one gets hurt, and they get their mark under control and out of the club without incident. They hand the woman off to HPD, and after they get the kid a hot meal and some warm clean clothes, he’s able to tell them and tell them everything he knows, which, surprisingly, is just about everything they need.

Danny and Chin are taking the kid to a shelter, before heading home. Steve has volunteered to stay late at the office and finish the paperwork; Kono rides back with him, because her street clothes are at the office, and as much as she thinks Steve would appreciate it, showing up for work in the morning dressed as she is now would not be a good idea.

It takes Kono twenty minutes to get to her office and retrieve her clothes, because on the way, Steve decides to pick her up, settle her on the table in the war room, and go down on her with such intensity that she screams and claws at his shoulders when she comes. It’s sometime after her second orgasm that Kono amends her earlier thoughts; tomorrow at work is going to be awesome.

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August 2011


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