Fingers skate down across his ribs and settle on his stomach, causing the muscles to flutter. Tenser where Danny stops again, and then slowly, marginally, looser against Danny rubbing his fingers in. He can't even say when that tensed up. And when did this flip. When did Danny start looking at him like he was the one having a problem with this that needed coaxing, instead of the other way around from Steve tugging at him until he gave.
Which is just a little more frustrating on top of all of it. Because it isn't. He knew. Right? When he kissed Danny. How short this road probably was. Long walk, short pier, and he hadn't cared. Didn't care. Didn't want to. Not when Danny is looking at him the way he is right now. This complex mess of caution and reassurance, resignation and will. Making Steve drag his hands up. From that loose awkward hold on Danny's shoulder, up his neck, wrapping there, two fingers up across his chin, looking at his face.
That was the problem wasn't it. With his face. Everything, everything that meant so much of anything here, was tangled up right here. In knowing Danny always had his back. That Danny would never let anything slide if it shouldn't. That he'd hold his ground, and get in Steve's face. That he was every stop gap and warning system and even every part of every good things Steve had here. Job, and what little of any 'real life' there might be.
"No?" Steve prompted a little, one side of his mouth tugging slightly, ruefully, upward. Almost sardonic.
He considered sliding his thumb against Danny's skin, but didn't move, except to tilt his own head and raise his eyebrows.
"I should get an award for that, shouldn't I?" Stupidly, light and trite, even if his face stays a little more serious than the words or tone should go with it. "That there's something you, and your five thousands words, don't actually want to take apart and talk about until the horse is dead." Until they pressed on the seams of this too hard, and they both had to admit they shouldn't be here. Right here. Naked and wrapped around each other. Closer than breathing.
But weren't going. Were courting a deep disaster than bad taste jokes. For a few more seconds. A few more minutes. Another night.
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Which is just a little more frustrating on top of all of it. Because it isn't. He knew. Right? When he kissed Danny. How short this road probably was. Long walk, short pier, and he hadn't cared. Didn't care. Didn't want to. Not when Danny is looking at him the way he is right now. This complex mess of caution and reassurance, resignation and will. Making Steve drag his hands up. From that loose awkward hold on Danny's shoulder, up his neck, wrapping there, two fingers up across his chin, looking at his face.
That was the problem wasn't it. With his face. Everything, everything that meant so much of anything here, was tangled up right here. In knowing Danny always had his back. That Danny would never let anything slide if it shouldn't. That he'd hold his ground, and get in Steve's face. That he was every stop gap and warning system and even every part of every good things Steve had here. Job, and what little of any 'real life' there might be.
"No?" Steve prompted a little, one side of his mouth tugging slightly, ruefully, upward. Almost sardonic.
He considered sliding his thumb against Danny's skin, but didn't move, except to tilt his own head and raise his eyebrows.
"I should get an award for that, shouldn't I?" Stupidly, light and trite, even if his face stays a little more serious than the words or tone should go with it. "That there's something you, and your five thousands words, don't actually want to take apart and talk about until the horse is dead." Until they pressed on the seams of this too hard, and they both had to admit they shouldn't be here. Right here. Naked and wrapped around each other. Closer than breathing.
But weren't going. Were courting a deep disaster than bad taste jokes. For a few more seconds. A few more minutes. Another night.