Steve can't help that it holds over, either piece, when Danny is being a goof now. On purpose. Making Steve roll his eyes, when he drops one arm, and slides the other more toward somewhere at the center of Danny's back, giving a better shove this time, even as he's walking with him.

"I wouldn't be if someone weren't holding up the train."

When it's easy -- okay, semi-easy only -- to let his fingers fall, hand still warm from Danny's skin and tingling from, oh right, the friction of stubble only maybe a minute ago now. When somehow a second from touching Danny it feels too long, making him snort and glance upward. At the ceiling and the second floor, like he isn't watching himself act like an idiot at all.

Especially after making it through most of the evening, and a whole day at work, pretty generally not touching him.

Though he does think about it. There in those. Touching Danny at least half the time as much from thinking about Not Touching Danny Too Often. When he can skip a few stairs, jump one or two, without it really even being a stretch, leaving the whole concept of light -- or even getting to locking his front door -- behind him. Downstairs, in any part of the rest of the world.