Danny comes up, catching his clothes and punching back on the reference with his own dig about whether should leave. Waving the pants in his hand like they are supposed to be some kind of red flag being flung in front of him. It might help more if Danny looked even slightly like he was considering the option. But he isn't. He's still undressed and completely undone.
Not looking like he's focused any of his attention on alleviating either of those issues at any point relatively soon.
"Yeah, Danny," Steve said, expression smoothing long and blandly amused, on a rise of his brow that went pretty much with his forehead. And this tasteless flat sort of playing along, where his voice completely gave away the fact he wasn't agreeing in the slightest. "Because that's exactly what I've been saying all night."
Leave. Go home. Get out of here. Be anywhere else. With anyone else. He hadn't let him leave. He had vehemently hated the automatic assumption Danny had. He was so much closer, only minutes ago, to knowing the truth was still the same as it had felt for over a year. Not that he didn't want something, but that he wanted absolutely everything he had and absolutely everything he didn't on top of that.
Everything that was Danny. That was what he wanted, even if he couldn't put it into words. Details. Sense.
When he reached out a hand, finding Danny's shoulder, and dragging his fingers up it. Grazing a faint red circle already coloring on it. Up to his neck, finger tips tightening a little at his neck, against the shell of his ear and the hair behind it. When the position is more like he could drag from there forward, but instead he leans in, towers down toward Danny.
"Do you really need a written invitation still?" That part is soft, almost unwavering intense, not looking away from Danny's face or tossing it away like the joke it was brought out as. Like somehow he could pack the last hour, or two, or whatever it is, every minute, all of this since he came in. Every bit of it. Into that last word. Still.
But his mouth slides just enough toward teasing, when his head tilts. "I'm sure there's paper in the desk somewhere if it'd help."
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Not looking like he's focused any of his attention on alleviating either of those issues at any point relatively soon.
"Yeah, Danny," Steve said, expression smoothing long and blandly amused, on a rise of his brow that went pretty much with his forehead. And this tasteless flat sort of playing along, where his voice completely gave away the fact he wasn't agreeing in the slightest. "Because that's exactly what I've been saying all night."
Leave. Go home. Get out of here. Be anywhere else. With anyone else. He hadn't let him leave. He had vehemently hated the automatic assumption Danny had. He was so much closer, only minutes ago, to knowing the truth was still the same as it had felt for over a year. Not that he didn't want something, but that he wanted absolutely everything he had and absolutely everything he didn't on top of that.
Everything that was Danny. That was what he wanted, even if he couldn't put it into words. Details. Sense.
When he reached out a hand, finding Danny's shoulder, and dragging his fingers up it. Grazing a faint red circle already coloring on it. Up to his neck, finger tips tightening a little at his neck, against the shell of his ear and the hair behind it. When the position is more like he could drag from there forward, but instead he leans in, towers down toward Danny.
"Do you really need a written invitation still?" That part is soft, almost unwavering intense, not looking away from Danny's face or tossing it away like the joke it was brought out as. Like somehow he could pack the last hour, or two, or whatever it is, every minute, all of this since he came in. Every bit of it. Into that last word. Still.
But his mouth slides just enough toward teasing, when his head tilts. "I'm sure there's paper in the desk somewhere if it'd help."