He'd be ashamed of how winded it comes out, if he could feel anything other than the scattered, sprinting, collapsing rush of his heart, or the way everything in his body contracts at Steve's touch, at the brush of lips and sharp scrape of stubble along the sensitive skin just inside his knee. "That would assume you are not already insane, and we both know that's not true, you are certifiable, you should come with a mandatory wanring to keep at least fifty feet away at all times."
God, it's such a lie. He can't even make it sound like anything but a lie, because his hand is already seeking out Steve's hair, trying to reach down to him, but Steve's too far away without Danny sitting up further than he is, balanced here on one elbow and wondering how the hell he's supposed to breathe when his chest keeps locking up like this.
Or when Steve is sounding like that. Predatory. Low and growled. Eyes so hot on Danny that he thinks they're going to leave marks just like Steve's mouth did, skin prickling at the puff of breath against his skin.
Not even Steve usually pays attention to that spot. A little further up his thigh, maybe, but not the inside of his knee, stupid joints that keep betraying him, threatening surgery and longer recuperation if he screws with them again. Not a part of himself he thinks anyone would find particularly attractive, kissable, needed, but there Steve is, with that tone, that look, pouring boiling molasses in a slow insanity down into Danny's chest, tightening the muscles there, in his core, as he stays where he is, fighting the urge to reach down and just grab, drag him up here, tongue darting to touch his lower lip.
"What, exactly, is it that I'm doing to make you crazy, huh? Crazier, I might add."
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He'd be ashamed of how winded it comes out, if he could feel anything other than the scattered, sprinting, collapsing rush of his heart, or the way everything in his body contracts at Steve's touch, at the brush of lips and sharp scrape of stubble along the sensitive skin just inside his knee. "That would assume you are not already insane, and we both know that's not true, you are certifiable, you should come with a mandatory wanring to keep at least fifty feet away at all times."
God, it's such a lie. He can't even make it sound like anything but a lie, because his hand is already seeking out Steve's hair, trying to reach down to him, but Steve's too far away without Danny sitting up further than he is, balanced here on one elbow and wondering how the hell he's supposed to breathe when his chest keeps locking up like this.
Or when Steve is sounding like that. Predatory. Low and growled. Eyes so hot on Danny that he thinks they're going to leave marks just like Steve's mouth did, skin prickling at the puff of breath against his skin.
Not even Steve usually pays attention to that spot. A little further up his thigh, maybe, but not the inside of his knee, stupid joints that keep betraying him, threatening surgery and longer recuperation if he screws with them again. Not a part of himself he thinks anyone would find particularly attractive, kissable, needed, but there Steve is, with that tone, that look, pouring boiling molasses in a slow insanity down into Danny's chest, tightening the muscles there, in his core, as he stays where he is, fighting the urge to reach down and just grab, drag him up here, tongue darting to touch his lower lip.
"What, exactly, is it that I'm doing to make you crazy, huh? Crazier, I might add."