No, he didn't say anything. Steve rarely says anything when he's getting Danny started; he doesn't need more than a look, a shift of expression, a lift of eyebrows. It's a skill, really. Rendering entire arguments down to the flicker of one corner of his mouth, or the way he sets his shoulders.
Just like he didn't say anything now. Unnecessary, when that one look, down to Danny's hand and back again, said everything. Really, Danno? mixed in with pleased self-satisfaction, like he's won, somehow, by Danny giving in and spreading fingers wide and proprietary over his chest. Like he doesn't give a damn that Danny's trying to own him. Like that was his plan all along.
And he doesn't say much now, either, smug, gloating, eyes wide and unconvincingly innocent, because he can't possibly not know what Danny's talking about, or not know that he's working Danny over like one of those little wind-up toys that goes trundling into walls, unable to stop once they've started. Like he doesn't know he's irresistible. The definition of bedroom eyes, lazy-lidded and deliberate, voice low and quiet, the kind of intimate that makes Danny shiver just to hear scraping a delicate path into his head and narrowing straight into his chest.
When Steve has got to be a fever dream. There's no way. He shouldn't be real. Shouldn't be this beautiful. Shouldn't be lying under Danny, wanting Danny's hands on him, leaning up to brush the tip of his nose, his cheek, breath soft against Danny's mouth. Shouldn't be saying those words. Two words. Nearly an order. Just hearing them dropped low and meaningful against his mouth makes a low groan start in his chest, and it's like a seatbelt snapping during a crash. The way his fingers sink into Steve's hair. How he can't do anything but obey, find Steve's mouth so close to his, breath irregular and shallow.
None of it should be happening to him. Steve is. Steve is perfect. In so many ways. Maybe the single most beautiful person Danny's ever seen, in a way that is so completely different from Rachel's precise loveliness that he can't even compare the two. Definitely the best. In ways he never sees or considers important. It's who he is: honor, duty, loyalty. Self-sacrificial in a way that drives Danny crazy, sends his blood pressure sky-rocketing, because Steve never sees it. Himself. Everything he is. So much more than the SEAL on the resume, the best they've got.
There's no way to fight those words, so he does. Lets himself be slid up further onto him, hand dropping from chest to sneak under the hem of his shirt, fingers in his hair, heart dizzy and pounding. Kiss him.
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Just like he didn't say anything now. Unnecessary, when that one look, down to Danny's hand and back again, said everything. Really, Danno? mixed in with pleased self-satisfaction, like he's won, somehow, by Danny giving in and spreading fingers wide and proprietary over his chest. Like he doesn't give a damn that Danny's trying to own him. Like that was his plan all along.
And he doesn't say much now, either, smug, gloating, eyes wide and unconvincingly innocent, because he can't possibly not know what Danny's talking about, or not know that he's working Danny over like one of those little wind-up toys that goes trundling into walls, unable to stop once they've started. Like he doesn't know he's irresistible. The definition of bedroom eyes, lazy-lidded and deliberate, voice low and quiet, the kind of intimate that makes Danny shiver just to hear scraping a delicate path into his head and narrowing straight into his chest.
When Steve has got to be a fever dream. There's no way. He shouldn't be real. Shouldn't be this beautiful. Shouldn't be lying under Danny, wanting Danny's hands on him, leaning up to brush the tip of his nose, his cheek, breath soft against Danny's mouth. Shouldn't be saying those words. Two words. Nearly an order. Just hearing them dropped low and meaningful against his mouth makes a low groan start in his chest, and it's like a seatbelt snapping during a crash. The way his fingers sink into Steve's hair. How he can't do anything but obey, find Steve's mouth so close to his, breath irregular and shallow.
None of it should be happening to him. Steve is. Steve is perfect. In so many ways. Maybe the single most beautiful person Danny's ever seen, in a way that is so completely different from Rachel's precise loveliness that he can't even compare the two. Definitely the best. In ways he never sees or considers important. It's who he is: honor, duty, loyalty. Self-sacrificial in a way that drives Danny crazy, sends his blood pressure sky-rocketing, because Steve never sees it. Himself. Everything he is. So much more than the SEAL on the resume, the best they've got.
There's no way to fight those words, so he does. Lets himself be slid up further onto him, hand dropping from chest to sneak under the hem of his shirt, fingers in his hair, heart dizzy and pounding. Kiss him.
Like he could do anything else.