At least Steve gets with the program and gets back in bed. Actually in bed, this time, not just collapsed on the sheets and on top of the blanket, and then he gets even more picky and starts tugging sheets and blankets under and over Danny, until Danny pushes him off and does it himself, grumbling low in his chest, aggravated enough he can pretend he's not relieved directly under it.
That Steve's not going back out to the beach, to lose himself in the waves and the sky and whatever bear-trap thoughts are rattling around in his minefield of a head. That Steve's not shoving him out of his bed, telling him to go home, or go clean up. That Danny's still welcome here.
The rag gets tossed somewhere in the general direction of Steve's clothes from earlier, and he fiddles with the sheets until there's space to slide under them, to drag them up, because the sweat's starting to cool on his skin and even in Hawaii, that means sheets and maybe even a blanket are not only nice, but actually wanted.
Not that they're really needed in a second, because Steve has apparently decided to go full-on octopus mode, one long heavy arm snaking over and across Danny's chest and dragging him backwards, ignoring the disgruntled sound startled out of him, and pressing his long, stupidly warm body up against Danny's back, chest to the flat between his shoulderblades, tucked behind him skin to skin.
"Hey!"
He doesn't know why he bothers protesting. It has never once, in the history of knowing Steve, helped.
But he does it anyway. "You, you have been masquerading as the wrong sea creature this whole time, you're not a SEAL, you're an octopus, what the hell, Steve."
Spat out into the air, tough and snapping, but all the complaints he could pour into the dark room can't hide the way he relaxes, after the first sudden tension of surprise. How his shoulders loosen. How the knot in his gut decides to go ahead and just fall apart into a few lazy loops.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-06-05 11:51 pm (UTC)That Steve's not going back out to the beach, to lose himself in the waves and the sky and whatever bear-trap thoughts are rattling around in his minefield of a head. That Steve's not shoving him out of his bed, telling him to go home, or go clean up. That Danny's still welcome here.
The rag gets tossed somewhere in the general direction of Steve's clothes from earlier, and he fiddles with the sheets until there's space to slide under them, to drag them up, because the sweat's starting to cool on his skin and even in Hawaii, that means sheets and maybe even a blanket are not only nice, but actually wanted.
Not that they're really needed in a second, because Steve has apparently decided to go full-on octopus mode, one long heavy arm snaking over and across Danny's chest and dragging him backwards, ignoring the disgruntled sound startled out of him, and pressing his long, stupidly warm body up against Danny's back, chest to the flat between his shoulderblades, tucked behind him skin to skin.
"Hey!"
He doesn't know why he bothers protesting. It has never once, in the history of knowing Steve, helped.
But he does it anyway. "You, you have been masquerading as the wrong sea creature this whole time, you're not a SEAL, you're an octopus, what the hell, Steve."
Spat out into the air, tough and snapping, but all the complaints he could pour into the dark room can't hide the way he relaxes, after the first sudden tension of surprise. How his shoulders loosen. How the knot in his gut decides to go ahead and just fall apart into a few lazy loops.
Steve wants him here. Still.
Okay. He can work with that.