He pulls back enough to give Steve an exasperated look, though his hands don't leave his skin, and he's shifting to allow that one long leg to slide between his so he's just as tangled up in Steve's arms and legs as he is on a far more metaphorical level. After leaning up to meet that kiss, anyway, letting Steve push him back and just dragging him down, too.
"Although if you're admitting to only using grenades when they might be absolutely necessary -- no, you know what? They are never absolutely necessary. I'm sure that for legal purposes I should never know the extent of the weaponry and incendiaries you have in this house -- considering the number you keep in my car, without my express permission. One time you needed grenades here, once. That's it. Please stop thinking of children's playthings in terms of the amount of damage they can do. Your brain is a terrible place."
The worst. And yet Danny hasn't stopped, can't, won't. Is wrapping one hand around the back of Steve's neck, fingers brushing into short dark hair. Body tipping towards Steve, leg sliding over Steve's calf.
Like there's nothing for it except to be as wrapped up as possible. Pull him closer, shift to find the spaces he fits, while Steve is on the way to blanketing him entirely. He could cover every part of Danny, crowd him into the bed, into the pillow, and Danny would let him. He might put up a fight, go down wrestling, but not right now, not when he still feels peeled and raw from the words Steve coaxed out of him, that he hadn't wanted to say.
Forgotten, now, in the press of Steve's mouth, the low, full of humor tone of his voice. The way he's looking down at Danny smug and arrogant and so pleased with himself, like this is what he'd wanted all along. Panic that's drifted away on the sounds of the air conditioner, the breeze outside, the curve of Steve's stupid smile.
no subject
He pulls back enough to give Steve an exasperated look, though his hands don't leave his skin, and he's shifting to allow that one long leg to slide between his so he's just as tangled up in Steve's arms and legs as he is on a far more metaphorical level. After leaning up to meet that kiss, anyway, letting Steve push him back and just dragging him down, too.
"Although if you're admitting to only using grenades when they might be absolutely necessary -- no, you know what? They are never absolutely necessary. I'm sure that for legal purposes I should never know the extent of the weaponry and incendiaries you have in this house -- considering the number you keep in my car, without my express permission. One time you needed grenades here, once. That's it. Please stop thinking of children's playthings in terms of the amount of damage they can do. Your brain is a terrible place."
The worst. And yet Danny hasn't stopped, can't, won't. Is wrapping one hand around the back of Steve's neck, fingers brushing into short dark hair. Body tipping towards Steve, leg sliding over Steve's calf.
Like there's nothing for it except to be as wrapped up as possible. Pull him closer, shift to find the spaces he fits, while Steve is on the way to blanketing him entirely. He could cover every part of Danny, crowd him into the bed, into the pillow, and Danny would let him. He might put up a fight, go down wrestling, but not right now, not when he still feels peeled and raw from the words Steve coaxed out of him, that he hadn't wanted to say.
Forgotten, now, in the press of Steve's mouth, the low, full of humor tone of his voice. The way he's looking down at Danny smug and arrogant and so pleased with himself, like this is what he'd wanted all along. Panic that's drifted away on the sounds of the air conditioner, the breeze outside, the curve of Steve's stupid smile.