It's ridiculous. No, really. Steve being the one to talk him down.
Except Steve is always the one to talk him down. When he decides not to be a dick about things, he can actually hit the nail right on the head. Does things like turns his face into Danny's hair, which just makes any fight left at all evaporate right out of his muscles. Pausing. Before making the conscious decision to let it go. To stop pressing kisses to Steve's skin, and instead bury his face there, nose nudging against Steve's neck, eyes closing. Breathing in deep, getting cotton and detergent and Steve. Warm and rich and the most addicting, the most compelling thing that's out there.
Breathe. And talk to him. He can do that. Right? When Steve is asking so quietly. When Steve's hand is cradling the back of his head, and Danny feels protected. Comforted. When Steve is pointing out what should be obvious: that it's only them, that it's okay. Reminding Danny of the one truth he knows is constant, aside from his love for Grace.
That he trusts Steve. With his life. With his daughter.
And now he needs to trust him with this, too. We're in this together. Meaning Danny can't have secrets. Meaning Danny can't brush things off, because they belong to Steve now, too, just like Steve's problems belong to Danny. They're partners, best friends, and. Whatever this is. Together. No one else. Not Cath. Not Kaila. Not the ghost of Rachel or the reality of Gabby.
Which means Danny doesn't need to deal with these things haunting his head, alone. Right? Is that what Steve is saying?
It's just us. And they have taken on so much. He can tell Steve anything. Has always told Steve everything. Will listen to whatever comes out of Steve's mouth, when he might choose to open it.
But he's still glad that he doesn't have to look at him for this.
Hand finding Steve's side again, slipping up to cup the back of his shoulder. A grip that would be hard to get away from, possessive and this edge of desperate, softened into something that might pass as affectionate, or, at the most, faintly skittish.
"We are just so far past a cup of coffee already. You know? How did that happen? It's been zero to a hundred and sixty in no time."
It is an answer. It is. Even if it might not seem that way. It's bringing it back to a conversation that started. A year ago. When Steve was talking him down from the same ledge, without any idea that one day Danny would have the same reaction to him. Everything there is. Everything he can lose.
Voice low, and still rough at the edges. Because, what the hell. This matters. It all matters. Steve matters. And Danny doesn't want to lose him.
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Except Steve is always the one to talk him down. When he decides not to be a dick about things, he can actually hit the nail right on the head. Does things like turns his face into Danny's hair, which just makes any fight left at all evaporate right out of his muscles. Pausing. Before making the conscious decision to let it go. To stop pressing kisses to Steve's skin, and instead bury his face there, nose nudging against Steve's neck, eyes closing. Breathing in deep, getting cotton and detergent and Steve. Warm and rich and the most addicting, the most compelling thing that's out there.
Breathe. And talk to him. He can do that. Right? When Steve is asking so quietly. When Steve's hand is cradling the back of his head, and Danny feels protected. Comforted. When Steve is pointing out what should be obvious: that it's only them, that it's okay. Reminding Danny of the one truth he knows is constant, aside from his love for Grace.
That he trusts Steve. With his life. With his daughter.
And now he needs to trust him with this, too. We're in this together. Meaning Danny can't have secrets. Meaning Danny can't brush things off, because they belong to Steve now, too, just like Steve's problems belong to Danny. They're partners, best friends, and. Whatever this is. Together. No one else. Not Cath. Not Kaila. Not the ghost of Rachel or the reality of Gabby.
Which means Danny doesn't need to deal with these things haunting his head, alone. Right? Is that what Steve is saying?
It's just us. And they have taken on so much. He can tell Steve anything. Has always told Steve everything. Will listen to whatever comes out of Steve's mouth, when he might choose to open it.
But he's still glad that he doesn't have to look at him for this.
Hand finding Steve's side again, slipping up to cup the back of his shoulder. A grip that would be hard to get away from, possessive and this edge of desperate, softened into something that might pass as affectionate, or, at the most, faintly skittish.
"We are just so far past a cup of coffee already. You know? How did that happen? It's been zero to a hundred and sixty in no time."
It is an answer. It is. Even if it might not seem that way. It's bringing it back to a conversation that started. A year ago. When Steve was talking him down from the same ledge, without any idea that one day Danny would have the same reaction to him. Everything there is. Everything he can lose.
Voice low, and still rough at the edges. Because, what the hell. This matters. It all matters. Steve matters. And Danny doesn't want to lose him.
It's what it boils down to, maybe.