He's suddenly intensely aware of all the ways they're pressing against each other, now. Steve's weight blankets him, long legs bracketing the one Danny's still got on the couch, hips pressing bones into the top of his thighs. Stomach, softer than the rest of him, but still firm with heavy muscle. Pillowed warm and complete.
Warring ribcages, that really shouldn't fit, because Danny's have a sharp rise and fall to his stomach, and Steve's not exactly small-boned; he's big and rangy with a large frame that might not be as square as Danny's but is definitely no less solid. There's nothing about any of it that should feel comforting, except maybe that thumb, smoothing back and forth over Danny's stomach, making him aware of his skin as a part of himself, as him, rather than this coating that sometimes burns in the sun and is starting to treacherously wrinkle at the corners of his eyes and mouth. Like maybe somehow that careful thumb is stroking something more than just sensitive skin, is traveling right along nerves sparking and impatient with worry, is slowing thoughts too rapid with uncertainty.
But it is. Comforting. Like Steve's pinning him to Earth, like Steve's weight on top of him is enough to keep anxiety at bay, because he can't fly off the handle when he's sinking into the couch cushions, Steve a warm iron weight anchoring him there.
"Well, I don't know about you, but that sounds like a plus, to me."
He's careful to keep it light, even if this is turning suddenly serious, because he needs Steve to stay right where he is, so that Danny can continue to think about this without tripping into the pit of panic he'd kept stumbling into earlier, tarry fingers wrapping around his ankles, dragging him down. But Steve is looking shifty, at best, and that's got to stop, right now. Is it awkward? Of course it is. But Steve can probably feel his heart beating, can feel the lack of space now available between their hips, can see the way Danny's face is flushed and his hair is in disarray. And it's not like Danny's ever let embarrassment stop him before. "As much as it horrifies me to put any part of my personal comfort in your hands, at least one of us knows what we're doing."
Well. For the physical part, at least. He's really not sure that would apply to any of the rest of it at all.
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Warring ribcages, that really shouldn't fit, because Danny's have a sharp rise and fall to his stomach, and Steve's not exactly small-boned; he's big and rangy with a large frame that might not be as square as Danny's but is definitely no less solid. There's nothing about any of it that should feel comforting, except maybe that thumb, smoothing back and forth over Danny's stomach, making him aware of his skin as a part of himself, as him, rather than this coating that sometimes burns in the sun and is starting to treacherously wrinkle at the corners of his eyes and mouth. Like maybe somehow that careful thumb is stroking something more than just sensitive skin, is traveling right along nerves sparking and impatient with worry, is slowing thoughts too rapid with uncertainty.
But it is. Comforting. Like Steve's pinning him to Earth, like Steve's weight on top of him is enough to keep anxiety at bay, because he can't fly off the handle when he's sinking into the couch cushions, Steve a warm iron weight anchoring him there.
"Well, I don't know about you, but that sounds like a plus, to me."
He's careful to keep it light, even if this is turning suddenly serious, because he needs Steve to stay right where he is, so that Danny can continue to think about this without tripping into the pit of panic he'd kept stumbling into earlier, tarry fingers wrapping around his ankles, dragging him down. But Steve is looking shifty, at best, and that's got to stop, right now. Is it awkward? Of course it is. But Steve can probably feel his heart beating, can feel the lack of space now available between their hips, can see the way Danny's face is flushed and his hair is in disarray. And it's not like Danny's ever let embarrassment stop him before. "As much as it horrifies me to put any part of my personal comfort in your hands, at least one of us knows what we're doing."
Well. For the physical part, at least. He's really not sure that would apply to any of the rest of it at all.