The kind of ground in exasperation that isn't even exasperation anymore, that is so old and routine that it's more like affection than anything else. Steve is talking him in circles, and Danny digs in his heels, mulish, refusing to keep plodding around in the track laid out for him.
Even if it means acquiescing. This once. Because Steve may have a point, and even if he doesn't, the couch is starting to make itself known in very apparent ways that will soon include fabric creases etched into his skin, not to mention how much less comfortable this thing actually gets, when there are no blankets or pillows and he's also trying to share it with Steve, who simply does not fit, anywhere.
Honestly, there are days Danny's amazed he makes it into the car at all.
And now he's just doing this on purpose. Teasing, prodding, like a little kid with a stick, with that stupid, bright smile washing across his face and painting thick stripes of light in Danny's chest.
It's not enough. Not nearly enough. Steve doesn't smile that way nearly as often as he should, and, yeah, the world is a rough place, vale of tears, and all, but this. Man. This is something else. This is Steve, years dropping away from him. Looking pleased and relaxed and fuzzy-edged. Smiling smug and small, whole giant frame loose and easy, taken apart like his joints have been let out a notch or two.
"I thought you wanted to move, I see no movement happening here, just a lot of you deciding to be a smartass instead."
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The kind of ground in exasperation that isn't even exasperation anymore, that is so old and routine that it's more like affection than anything else. Steve is talking him in circles, and Danny digs in his heels, mulish, refusing to keep plodding around in the track laid out for him.
Even if it means acquiescing. This once. Because Steve may have a point, and even if he doesn't, the couch is starting to make itself known in very apparent ways that will soon include fabric creases etched into his skin, not to mention how much less comfortable this thing actually gets, when there are no blankets or pillows and he's also trying to share it with Steve, who simply does not fit, anywhere.
Honestly, there are days Danny's amazed he makes it into the car at all.
And now he's just doing this on purpose. Teasing, prodding, like a little kid with a stick, with that stupid, bright smile washing across his face and painting thick stripes of light in Danny's chest.
It's not enough. Not nearly enough. Steve doesn't smile that way nearly as often as he should, and, yeah, the world is a rough place, vale of tears, and all, but this. Man. This is something else. This is Steve, years dropping away from him. Looking pleased and relaxed and fuzzy-edged. Smiling smug and small, whole giant frame loose and easy, taken apart like his joints have been let out a notch or two.
"I thought you wanted to move, I see no movement happening here, just a lot of you deciding to be a smartass instead."