"You obviously have some control left, if you can keep talking."
Jesus fucking Christ on a pogo stick, he really is the most aggravating person Danny's ever met, makes Danny want to snap at him even now, even when he's pushing into Steve's hands and rolling closer, wanting Steve pressed flush against him, all lean long six feet of him, every infuriating inch that Danny alternately wants to burn down or shut in a corner so Steve can think about what he's done.
Because Danny was fine before he met Steve. In that way where fine meant he hated everything and everyone, never got close to a single person other than Gracie and, eventually, Meka. Hating Hawaii, and Rachel, and HPD, and not knowing the language and digging in his heels to make sure he never did. Hating Steve more than any of it, all of it. Until one day he wasn't hating Steve anymore, one day Steve was his best friend and the person Danny trusts most in the world and now --
And now Steve is teasing him with fingers and mouth and stupid, smug words, pointing out the fact that Danny clearly lost it long ago, and, okay, he probably has a point, but Danny's certainly not going to give it to him that easily.
He's gone crazy. Steve makes him crazy. Making him want to rip those rules to shreds, the ones that say they shouldn't, can't, be here. That they both know exist. And he should listen to them, but all that thought does is spark a sudden, deeply horrified thought that maybe Steve will listen to them, that maybe that's how this is going to go, cut off even before they get anywhere, which is insane, which only goes to show that, yes, he has actually lost his mind.
He doesn't care. It makes him press up into this kiss, palm sliding heavy up the back of Steve's neck to his hair, down again, arm wrapping around Steve's waist and tugging him bodily closer. Steve's a big guy, but Danny can move him around, always has, has got zero issue with getting in Steve's way and putting him exactly where Danny thinks he should be, which is usually further from some poor scared sucker of a witness than Steve likes.
Hauling him further onto him, and, yeah. Okay? Yeah. Words dark and muttered low into Steve's mouth.
"Oh yeah? You know what I want, huh, Steve?"
He's idiotic. He's giddy. It's gone straight to his head like thirty year old Scotch, and he's pretty sure Steve could answer that question, challenge, dare, with just about anything, and it would be right, because it would be Steve, Steve, Steve. Name tight and winded, pressed into the single drowning breath before he kisses him, again.
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Jesus fucking Christ on a pogo stick, he really is the most aggravating person Danny's ever met, makes Danny want to snap at him even now, even when he's pushing into Steve's hands and rolling closer, wanting Steve pressed flush against him, all lean long six feet of him, every infuriating inch that Danny alternately wants to burn down or shut in a corner so Steve can think about what he's done.
Because Danny was fine before he met Steve. In that way where fine meant he hated everything and everyone, never got close to a single person other than Gracie and, eventually, Meka. Hating Hawaii, and Rachel, and HPD, and not knowing the language and digging in his heels to make sure he never did. Hating Steve more than any of it, all of it. Until one day he wasn't hating Steve anymore, one day Steve was his best friend and the person Danny trusts most in the world and now --
And now Steve is teasing him with fingers and mouth and stupid, smug words, pointing out the fact that Danny clearly lost it long ago, and, okay, he probably has a point, but Danny's certainly not going to give it to him that easily.
He's gone crazy. Steve makes him crazy. Making him want to rip those rules to shreds, the ones that say they shouldn't, can't, be here. That they both know exist. And he should listen to them, but all that thought does is spark a sudden, deeply horrified thought that maybe Steve will listen to them, that maybe that's how this is going to go, cut off even before they get anywhere, which is insane, which only goes to show that, yes, he has actually lost his mind.
He doesn't care. It makes him press up into this kiss, palm sliding heavy up the back of Steve's neck to his hair, down again, arm wrapping around Steve's waist and tugging him bodily closer. Steve's a big guy, but Danny can move him around, always has, has got zero issue with getting in Steve's way and putting him exactly where Danny thinks he should be, which is usually further from some poor scared sucker of a witness than Steve likes.
Hauling him further onto him, and, yeah. Okay? Yeah. Words dark and muttered low into Steve's mouth.
"Oh yeah? You know what I want, huh, Steve?"
He's idiotic. He's giddy. It's gone straight to his head like thirty year old Scotch, and he's pretty sure Steve could answer that question, challenge, dare, with just about anything, and it would be right, because it would be Steve, Steve, Steve. Name tight and winded, pressed into the single drowning breath before he kisses him, again.