"I'm not opening the door to throw you through it. Then I'd just be throwing you through a doorway."
Steve frowned, absently, like Danny, Mr. Dictionary, needed a lessen in definitions. No, he implied 'the door' and he meant 'the door.' If only because for a moment the concept had some great symmetry. Because it would hurt like a bitch, but Danny probably still wouldn't honestly go through the door and out of the house.
Which wasn't at all because that hand is moving, and it is definitely a hand now.
He can feel it when Danny's palm settles. He can feeling when Danny's fingers stretch wide.
When he can't tell if every part of him is waiting or straining to snap soon. Just from the last, he doesn't even know. It can't have even been a half hour, since he was laughing with Cath on the couch and honestly making it through Sunday evening, when he hadn't known how to handle sleeping on Friday night.
"Good." Steve said, pushing a breath out of his nose and letting go of his snagged grip on Danny's wrist. "Because I'm getting tired of your crap." Getting tired of being told every single impulse in his head is wrong. He's going to get that from Cath soon enough, deservedly. He doesn't want it from Danny, or to think Danny believes it. He wants to remember that he pulled away, and stopped himself, and he actually said it was really good. In the dust and debris of half a dozen epic disasters.
He wants to forget there's any reasons in Danny's head he shouldn't be doing this. Raising that hand up, instead of letting it fall down, catching Danny's chin and tugging him up and closer in to kiss him, before Danny can find the words to respond his overbearing insult when Danny was finally giving a little, like there isn't any world, anywhere, that Steve hasn't been waiting every second since he saw Danny walk in, and every other minute since Steve watched him walk out yesterday, wanting to do this.
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Steve frowned, absently, like Danny, Mr. Dictionary, needed a lessen in definitions. No, he implied 'the door' and he meant 'the door.' If only because for a moment the concept had some great symmetry. Because it would hurt like a bitch, but Danny probably still wouldn't honestly go through the door and out of the house.
Which wasn't at all because that hand is moving, and it is definitely a hand now.
He can feel it when Danny's palm settles. He can feeling when Danny's fingers stretch wide.
When he can't tell if every part of him is waiting or straining to snap soon. Just from the last, he doesn't even know. It can't have even been a half hour, since he was laughing with Cath on the couch and honestly making it through Sunday evening, when he hadn't known how to handle sleeping on Friday night.
"Good." Steve said, pushing a breath out of his nose and letting go of his snagged grip on Danny's wrist. "Because I'm getting tired of your crap." Getting tired of being told every single impulse in his head is wrong. He's going to get that from Cath soon enough, deservedly. He doesn't want it from Danny, or to think Danny believes it. He wants to remember that he pulled away, and stopped himself, and he actually said it was really good. In the dust and debris of half a dozen epic disasters.
He wants to forget there's any reasons in Danny's head he shouldn't be doing this. Raising that hand up, instead of letting it fall down, catching Danny's chin and tugging him up and closer in to kiss him, before Danny can find the words to respond his overbearing insult when Danny was finally giving a little, like there isn't any world, anywhere, that Steve hasn't been waiting every second since he saw Danny walk in, and every other minute since Steve watched him walk out yesterday, wanting to do this.