"It has." Dozens of time. Which the serious honesty is nowhere in Steve's face, when all he does is let the word bull doze out his mouth. Pointed and sharp, like Danny just made his point even more true. He's faced dozens of threats to national security. Years of them. And he'd still choose those over loafers.
He'd probably choose it over nearly anything. He definitely chose it over have 'a normal life' in any location, mediocre or paradise, for decades. But, definitely, there could be no doubt, in that thick, implying, tone. Definitely over loafers.
It being Danny, who when pushed, does almost nothing but push back, getting more and more riled, the more he's pushed. Shoved back, just makes him push himself even more into Steve's space. Pushing his weight down. Standing more firmly without going. Fingers, warm and familiar with Steve's skin, grafting themselves to him. His neck. His arm. Like a threat or a challenge that he can't make Danny. Fall the next few feet. Wouldn't. Couldn't. Hasn't already. More than once.
Like its not instantly distracting Danny is pulling at his neck already. Cutting at the nearly foot of space, with fingers in the muscles there, even if be isn't to dragging Steve forward to eradicate it yet. Danny might hesitate, like he isn't a readable book, isn't considering what could, if it was just given a few more seconds. Solid shoving. More complaining. His face already a clear and obvious and then he'd that Steve can't even resist.
He never was good at remembering to wait.
He's even worse at remembering the idea exists when Danny is looking at him like the.
"It's Sunday. Last I checked, neither Grace or jeans required you to look professional. Or even cared."
Because how the hell is he supposed to resist? That face. Those fingers. Danny ranting like he has any idea really what being perfectly pressed day in and day out from his head down to his shoes even was. His own words making him feel like there were suddenly so few minutes left before work. Work, that he loved, but took this out of his hands, even when Danny at his side all day barely let him forget it for half an hour. Too soon.
All of which together just culminates in skipping forward for Danny, or himself. Shifting forward still, more weight more pressure. Long fingers and large palm wrapping Danny's side, when Steve is leaning down without the direction to. Taking Danny's lips and backing them, both, toward the bed, even as he's kissing him. It's at least one step below tipping them toward it with his weight as a promise it'd happen.
no subject
He'd probably choose it over nearly anything. He definitely chose it over have 'a normal life' in any location, mediocre or paradise, for decades. But, definitely, there could be no doubt, in that thick, implying, tone. Definitely over loafers.
It being Danny, who when pushed, does almost nothing but push back, getting more and more riled, the more he's pushed. Shoved back, just makes him push himself even more into Steve's space. Pushing his weight down. Standing more firmly without going. Fingers, warm and familiar with Steve's skin, grafting themselves to him. His neck. His arm. Like a threat or a challenge that he can't make Danny. Fall the next few feet. Wouldn't. Couldn't. Hasn't already. More than once.
Like its not instantly distracting Danny is pulling at his neck already. Cutting at the nearly foot of space, with fingers in the muscles there, even if be isn't to dragging Steve forward to eradicate it yet. Danny might hesitate, like he isn't a readable book, isn't considering what could, if it was just given a few more seconds. Solid shoving. More complaining. His face already a clear and obvious and then he'd that Steve can't even resist.
He never was good at remembering to wait.
He's even worse at remembering the idea exists when Danny is looking at him like the.
"It's Sunday. Last I checked, neither Grace or jeans required you to look professional. Or even cared."
Because how the hell is he supposed to resist? That face. Those fingers. Danny ranting like he has any idea really what being perfectly pressed day in and day out from his head down to his shoes even was. His own words making him feel like there were suddenly so few minutes left before work. Work, that he loved, but took this out of his hands, even when Danny at his side all day barely let him forget it for half an hour. Too soon.
All of which together just culminates in skipping forward for Danny, or himself. Shifting forward still, more weight more pressure. Long fingers and large palm wrapping Danny's side, when Steve is leaning down without the direction to. Taking Danny's lips and backing them, both, toward the bed, even as he's kissing him. It's at least one step below tipping them toward it with his weight as a promise it'd happen.