Oh, he his. He really is. When Danny's hand tightens on his skin, along with the edged of his eyes and that turn to his mouth. When it's everything in one, eyeing him uncertainty and exasperation again, or still, but definitely not shouting at him to shut up. Not continuing to pretend he knows better than Steve what Steve wants or did or didn't do, or where he wants to to be, with whom, where.

When he's gone from from that first statement straight into the other and moves to that question. Like he can dismiss the subject, dismiss Steve's implication, the whole of everything. Even when his hand is pulling downward, trying to get Steve to lean over again. And he does, but he shifts to the side, dragging Danny closer than a kiss would.

Brushing past by inches. By passing Danny's rather clear request for a kiss like it hadn't happened, because he's going to answer that question if it burns itself straight out through his ribs and skin. When he's right next to Danny's ear, and there's no restraint. Something shamelessly dark in the soft whisper of two very solid words in that big, empty, black-shadowed room that can't keep the brilliant, pleased, scalding fire from his voice. "You do."

Before Steve let his mouth brush against the space across the shell of Danny's ear, drop down to the soft skin beneath it. Because Danny can't deny that. Try as he might. Five hundred, thousand, million words and excuses and insults to how bent his brain were would fall on deaf ears tonight. Because he got to see that in striking clarity for at least an hour.

What Danny definitely didn't want anyone else to get anywhere near having.