That might be one of his newest favorite things. Danny struggling to speak, shoving all of his words together, still frantic and sure he can, to have have it come crashing down on him like a the roof of a building still on fire at Steve's command. Turning, without warning, into that sound that slides between every inch of Steve's skin and the muscle beneath it, cutting it free, setting it on fire.

Overwhelming Danny and shooting Steve up into the air, like he'd filled with helium, when he makes sure he doesn't.

Shoot up into the air. Pull back. Give any more space. To breathe. To come back down easy yet.

When Danny is catching air and still pushing himself into managing other words. Words, that are insults, like hand rails Danny can cling to. Attacking Steve's head, like normal, like somehow that is normal, he's so crazy that wanting Danny, wanting Danny to such an endless great distraction, that it felt like it could burn off his skin, was just another shade slipping into and out of it.

Steve laughed. This rumble caught somewhere in his chest, more than out loud, on a point he's not about to fight.

Because Danny is gorgeous, falling into him, shifting into him. Throwing out excuses, like he isn't wrapped on Steve right now.

Steve who was barely willing to press it all into the shapes of facts like this, warm and dark and used the same as shoving bright, burning coals under Danny's skin. Barely able to believe it's still happening. Somehow Danny didn't leave, even if he almost did. Especially, then. That Danny is here. Under him, writhing and canting in slow certainty.

The curve of his back, knobs of his spine pressed to the inside of fingers, muscles bunching and releasing there. "What's your excuse then?"

Because Steve isn't sure there aren't words really. To explain how this happened, how it started, what's happening now. But Danny'll try.