The ranting response suddenly throwing his own words back at him, vehemently pressing the fact there's absolutely nothing happening, only makes him even more certain. That something. Something enough to make Danny snap and sputter whole statements. When Danny is shaking that word, those, like he could drain all the meaning out of it, or beat it at Steve's head.
Only making Steve's expression tighten, jaw clenching at the repetition and denial so thick it's obvious as ten foot spotlight.
Trying desperately to remember anything at all that would have made, given Danny any reason. Going over. When there were hands, and stupid jokes about not getting into bed because it was eight, even though Danny, himself, had drug him up the stairs by that hand, and his own wrist. Hands on his skin, lips pushed warm and firm against his. Stupid pointless joking words about shoes, and jeans, no more than the landing or stairs.
Before suddenly going all Jekyll and Hyde over this one foot space and his jeans suddenly, for no god damn reason Steve can recognize or point at. When he can't feel anything but like everything that is anything lurched five feet to the right without him, making him too tall and his hands too big, and touching, touching just gone to beyond awkward. Like maybe he shouldn't be this close and shouldn't still have his hand past Danny's waist, down his back, even if he isn't dressed and the bed is right there.
"Right, because why leave it as any kind of available option, where you might have to enjoyed yourself?" Steve wasn't sure if the irritant was more with trying to lift his hand, and figure out if he needed to be steps back and away, or the annoyance Danny was sticking to his thin veneer topic, like the floor hadn't suddenly vanished. "You done yet? Or is there more to this sudden about face where your clothes have found some way to offend you from a whole floor away?"
And him. That somehow Steve had. Again. Like always.
Like complimenting them, even admitting something new about Danny drove him crazy, was even more wrong.
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Only making Steve's expression tighten, jaw clenching at the repetition and denial so thick it's obvious as ten foot spotlight.
Trying desperately to remember anything at all that would have made, given Danny any reason. Going over. When there were hands, and stupid jokes about not getting into bed because it was eight, even though Danny, himself, had drug him up the stairs by that hand, and his own wrist. Hands on his skin, lips pushed warm and firm against his. Stupid pointless joking words about shoes, and jeans, no more than the landing or stairs.
Before suddenly going all Jekyll and Hyde over this one foot space and his jeans suddenly, for no god damn reason Steve can recognize or point at. When he can't feel anything but like everything that is anything lurched five feet to the right without him, making him too tall and his hands too big, and touching, touching just gone to beyond awkward. Like maybe he shouldn't be this close and shouldn't still have his hand past Danny's waist, down his back, even if he isn't dressed and the bed is right there.
"Right, because why leave it as any kind of available option, where you might have to enjoyed yourself?" Steve wasn't sure if the irritant was more with trying to lift his hand, and figure out if he needed to be steps back and away, or the annoyance Danny was sticking to his thin veneer topic, like the floor hadn't suddenly vanished. "You done yet? Or is there more to this sudden about face where your clothes have found some way to offend you from a whole floor away?"
And him. That somehow Steve had. Again. Like always.
Like complimenting them, even admitting something new about Danny drove him crazy, was even more wrong.