He doesn't know if he shouldn't. Maybe even better he probably doesn't care enough in that second not to. That he laughs under the rush of Danny's words breathing against his lips hard and a little fast. Complaining about there being something wrong with him, in that spastic half pleading half ordering line of words about how he should move the car. But he hasn't missing it. Not at all.
The pressure where Danny's fingers are still in the muscles of his neck and up in his hairline while he says this.
Somehow instructing Steve to keep driving the camaro even when Danny hasn't let go in the slightest.
And, this. This is not the place to do this. Not the place to watch Danny's eyes widen and too many things cross Danny's face in the shadows, too fast and dark. The wrong place to want to draw out and line each one. Tiny seats, and that damnedable center console. When he's still watching for lights out of any part of his vision, not closing his eyes once, like it just became tactically required.
Because it is. Because there's an alarm, with flashing light and flaming signs screaming to stop this now. But Danny's fingers are tangled up in his skin, his hair, and he can still see him lick his lips, and just watching that barely a second movement. Against those lips, swallowing, in the dark, not letting go, is setting fire to the center of Steve in a completely different, completely more dangerous way.
So, maybe, laughing is the only way to go. Because this is insane. Danny telling him to go but not moving, his own skin screaming at him to pull away, at least for five more minutes, which just makes him laugh. When all he does, is tip his head, looking up toward the roof like he's thinking, mouth tugging darkly irreverent as all the warmth flooded fighting against every warning. "Alright. Fine. The blond was pretty distracting."
When Steve only gives Danny the beat of a second or so. Long enough to let the line connect with the bartender he hadn't thought about until now, and wasn't referencing now. Even if the words would fit. Long enough to let Danny think it for a second, but not long enough to let Danny's face fall. Long enough maybe for a freeze, when he's smirking.
Still smirking, sharp and caustic and so pleased with himself when he rolls right on. "Sensitive and mouthy as all hell."
Which were not traits he would have told you he wanted in someone, but he wished tonight had been recorded.
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The pressure where Danny's fingers are still in the muscles of his neck and up in his hairline while he says this.
Somehow instructing Steve to keep driving the camaro even when Danny hasn't let go in the slightest.
And, this. This is not the place to do this. Not the place to watch Danny's eyes widen and too many things cross Danny's face in the shadows, too fast and dark. The wrong place to want to draw out and line each one. Tiny seats, and that damnedable center console. When he's still watching for lights out of any part of his vision, not closing his eyes once, like it just became tactically required.
Because it is. Because there's an alarm, with flashing light and flaming signs screaming to stop this now. But Danny's fingers are tangled up in his skin, his hair, and he can still see him lick his lips, and just watching that barely a second movement. Against those lips, swallowing, in the dark, not letting go, is setting fire to the center of Steve in a completely different, completely more dangerous way.
So, maybe, laughing is the only way to go. Because this is insane. Danny telling him to go but not moving, his own skin screaming at him to pull away, at least for five more minutes, which just makes him laugh. When all he does, is tip his head, looking up toward the roof like he's thinking, mouth tugging darkly irreverent as all the warmth flooded fighting against every warning. "Alright. Fine. The blond was pretty distracting."
When Steve only gives Danny the beat of a second or so. Long enough to let the line connect with the bartender he hadn't thought about until now, and wasn't referencing now. Even if the words would fit. Long enough to let Danny think it for a second, but not long enough to let Danny's face fall. Long enough maybe for a freeze, when he's smirking.
Still smirking, sharp and caustic and so pleased with himself when he rolls right on. "Sensitive and mouthy as all hell."
Which were not traits he would have told you he wanted in someone, but he wished tonight had been recorded.