He is such an unbelievable idiot, but, Christ, there is no defending against that smile, that chuckle, the way Steve dips his head, like he could possibly hide the way he shines up against the dark. Leaning on Danny just as comfortably as he sprawls across his couch or the deck chair or his bed, easy. Like touching him is the norm, now, and it's everything else that's out of whack.
It makes him want to shove words into the air, find something funny to say, some ridiculous thing to complain about, just to see it happen again, feel the awkward flop and subsequent freefall of his heart, like tripping at the top of a flight of stairs. God, he is -- beautiful, the word doesn't do it justice, but Danny doesn't have a better one, and anyway the more pertinent point is that he's beautiful, and smiling like that because he's laughing at him, all warm and affectionate, and here, and still his, for tonight. Somehow. In some way. Any way he'll offer.
"Look at you, with all the bright ideas," he says, like Steve asked for his opinion, doing his best to fight back, even though it's a losing cause, because he got washed out with this some time back when it first started and he doesn't have a damn leg to stand on, now. Letting go of Steve's side, after sliding his hand to his hip, letting Steve pull him gently forward, weight shifting onto the balls of his feet. "Let's go, look at you, hanging around down here."
The bed sounds great. Comfortable. Relaxing. Minus the spike of unease every time he thinks about how many nights he's spent here, which only presses harder when he thinks about how many of those didn't involve sex at all.
Which means there have been times that he's just been here to sleep next to Steve, and that -- is a line of thought he just can't handle going down, right now, a warm trail melting down into his stomach but freezing on impact.
Pulling back, he shifts, turning towards the stairs, and upstairs.
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It makes him want to shove words into the air, find something funny to say, some ridiculous thing to complain about, just to see it happen again, feel the awkward flop and subsequent freefall of his heart, like tripping at the top of a flight of stairs. God, he is -- beautiful, the word doesn't do it justice, but Danny doesn't have a better one, and anyway the more pertinent point is that he's beautiful, and smiling like that because he's laughing at him, all warm and affectionate, and here, and still his, for tonight. Somehow. In some way. Any way he'll offer.
"Look at you, with all the bright ideas," he says, like Steve asked for his opinion, doing his best to fight back, even though it's a losing cause, because he got washed out with this some time back when it first started and he doesn't have a damn leg to stand on, now. Letting go of Steve's side, after sliding his hand to his hip, letting Steve pull him gently forward, weight shifting onto the balls of his feet. "Let's go, look at you, hanging around down here."
The bed sounds great. Comfortable. Relaxing. Minus the spike of unease every time he thinks about how many nights he's spent here, which only presses harder when he thinks about how many of those didn't involve sex at all.
Which means there have been times that he's just been here to sleep next to Steve, and that -- is a line of thought he just can't handle going down, right now, a warm trail melting down into his stomach but freezing on impact.
Pulling back, he shifts, turning towards the stairs, and upstairs.