Everything. Everything that Danny is. Everything that Danny does. The way he smiles, and laughs. The way the air in his tone sounds like he's fighting for it suddenly. Like the night and the room and the bed and Steve just caught up with him, again, or finally. The tremble under his skin. The way Steve can differentiate the faintest pulls of his muscles.

The faintest tension that is surprise. The small jolt of tightening and releasing, that almost looks, feels, like a rock toward him, that the rest of Danny's body isn't following through on yet. When Danny is throwing out words like they're on high heat summer sale now. Almost hoarse insults, goading Steve's head, while he lets very little less than a grin against Danny's leg pass, as he keeps going.

Pushing Danny's leg a little more away, from himself, from the way Danny had been laying, half-sitting, lounging, whatever. Whatever it was he was shifting, even though his mouth doesn't leave Danny's skin. Let's his mouth skate, glid, rubbing his lips and his cheeks against Danny's skin, with a rough chuckle an inch or two up his thigh, breathing words into Danny's skin, and trying not breath in his skin just as much.

"You're not doing so well at that yourself." His other hand is landing on Danny's other thigh smoothing down the broad fim muscle toward his knee. "Unless you're admitting I've knocked out your ability to tell distance. Because this-" Steve punctuated that smugly with sucking a spot half way up Danny's thigh, light but lightening fast, against his teeth. Running his tongue over it, sweat and the spike of salt as his hand, before he finished. "-is nowhere near fifty feet."

Which Danny would never get, because Steve was done honestly with clothes, and lights, and even one foot of space.