The muscles in his stomach are trying to turn rubbery and trembling under Danny's touch. Tightening and releasing in fast spurts against the friction of that finger. But Steve's hardly letting it slow him down, if anything it just adds to everything. More kindling tossed at a fire begging to be allowed to get out of hand already. When Steve's attack comes in three completely different parts, going two directions, all at once.
His knee under Danny lifts and bends at the crook, at the same time as those fingers in Danny's belt loops are pulling him closer, pulling the jeans tight, down the leg that is becoming a fast incline. Paying some attention, but honestly probably not enough, to where exactly Danny is keeping his knees, near the center of Steve's body. He doesn't really think about a lot of that, a lot of the time, but with Danny even more. He just trusts that it'll work, trusts Danny's got himself as much as he's got Danny.
Both of those happen at the same time as all Steve's stomach muscles roll tight, as he uses Danny's weight on him, and not the belt loops, to roll-pull half-crunch himself up to sitting. Without dislodging Danny, and ending up right a breath from him again now. Eyes dark and heavy with something almost exponentially five worlds larger than cocky and fired beyond the shadow of a single doubt with something that is far more a promise to Danny than a comment about it, when he says, "You have no idea."
Yet. He could say so much worse than a side comment about pants on a floor, if it'll make Danny keep looking giddy like that.
If it could smack that smile right off Danny's face and make the paint peel and Danny's heart race with the sudden heat in the room, just on a few words, an image dropped in his ear. In this, in this he has either none or so few doubts that are almost lost in the shuffle. What he can do, could do, has done, has not ever had complaints about. To whom, or how many. The things he could say to Danny, do to Danny, if he wanted them.
Things Danny has probably not considered existing that fall in Steve's standard operating procedure.
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His knee under Danny lifts and bends at the crook, at the same time as those fingers in Danny's belt loops are pulling him closer, pulling the jeans tight, down the leg that is becoming a fast incline. Paying some attention, but honestly probably not enough, to where exactly Danny is keeping his knees, near the center of Steve's body. He doesn't really think about a lot of that, a lot of the time, but with Danny even more. He just trusts that it'll work, trusts Danny's got himself as much as he's got Danny.
Both of those happen at the same time as all Steve's stomach muscles roll tight, as he uses Danny's weight on him, and not the belt loops, to roll-pull half-crunch himself up to sitting. Without dislodging Danny, and ending up right a breath from him again now. Eyes dark and heavy with something almost exponentially five worlds larger than cocky and fired beyond the shadow of a single doubt with something that is far more a promise to Danny than a comment about it, when he says, "You have no idea."
Yet. He could say so much worse than a side comment about pants on a floor, if it'll make Danny keep looking giddy like that.
If it could smack that smile right off Danny's face and make the paint peel and Danny's heart race with the sudden heat in the room, just on a few words, an image dropped in his ear. In this, in this he has either none or so few doubts that are almost lost in the shuffle. What he can do, could do, has done, has not ever had complaints about. To whom, or how many. The things he could say to Danny, do to Danny, if he wanted them.
Things Danny has probably not considered existing that fall in Steve's standard operating procedure.