He can not ever get enough of that. The way Danny keeps talking, because Danny will fall off a cliff before Danny will stop talking, but his tone changes. It clenches like the muscles in Danny's throat where his lips brushed. The muscles in his neck, down through the tops of his shoulders. As unable to keep his reaction to himself as he is to keep his words from being thrown out, even as they shatter in the air.
It moves like a ripple all its own, which makes Steve never wants to let go of Danny's jeans or his hips. A ripple of something that isn't quite a shiver, but still all the muscles tighten rolling down. Down Danny's spine, felt across his chest, into his muscles above his hips, where Steve feels it against his thumbs, fingers. He smiles, stupidly bright, heady with some great relief that he still can.
"They're very versatile," he said back. A snipe, but one laced with so much obvious amusement over Danny's own word problems.
Steve's glee almost to gloating, bright in his dark blue eyes, when Danny's hands are suddenly spreading wide, firm and proprietary, causing Steve to look up at him. Then to those hands, and back up to Danny's eyes, like he's calling him on it. Thick, solid, dependable on any gun, open across his shirt, across his shirt. Something he's starting to find on him more often, or at least as often as on any gun, Five-0 computer. Like they are right now. Like Danny knows this.
Like he knows he can. But, also, like he's not even thinking about. He's just claiming even more of Steve than he always had. Not content with a shoulder or wrist or arm. Catching him everywhere now. Sides of his face seconds ago, and now this, too. Not a thought. Just there, just because he can and wants to or needs to. Making it shove at Steve. The urge to turn them over, trace Danny's skin. Owning it, again. Prove he can, again.
Dive in. Trace the place Danny's heart is stuttering, the lower circle collar of his shirt, the spot of the very first bruise.
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It moves like a ripple all its own, which makes Steve never wants to let go of Danny's jeans or his hips. A ripple of something that isn't quite a shiver, but still all the muscles tighten rolling down. Down Danny's spine, felt across his chest, into his muscles above his hips, where Steve feels it against his thumbs, fingers. He smiles, stupidly bright, heady with some great relief that he still can.
"They're very versatile," he said back. A snipe, but one laced with so much obvious amusement over Danny's own word problems.
Steve's glee almost to gloating, bright in his dark blue eyes, when Danny's hands are suddenly spreading wide, firm and proprietary, causing Steve to look up at him. Then to those hands, and back up to Danny's eyes, like he's calling him on it. Thick, solid, dependable on any gun, open across his shirt, across his shirt. Something he's starting to find on him more often, or at least as often as on any gun, Five-0 computer. Like they are right now. Like Danny knows this.
Like he knows he can. But, also, like he's not even thinking about. He's just claiming even more of Steve than he always had. Not content with a shoulder or wrist or arm. Catching him everywhere now. Sides of his face seconds ago, and now this, too. Not a thought. Just there, just because he can and wants to or needs to. Making it shove at Steve. The urge to turn them over, trace Danny's skin. Owning it, again. Prove he can, again.
Dive in. Trace the place Danny's heart is stuttering, the lower circle collar of his shirt, the spot of the very first bruise.