"Nope," he says. There's a laugh that gets stuck in his throat. "Wrong, that's a lie. You, one hundred percent, meant for this."
It's amazing, what a month can do for the powers of perception. For example, before a month ago, he wouldn't have noticed if Steve looked at him any differently or any more intently at certain times, definitely wouldn't have caught whether or not Steve was snagged on something as tiny as Danny tugging as his own collar. Like he had, earlier, resulting in a look from Steve that should have been able to light a fire twenty feet away.
Granted. Those looks probably didn't exist, before, because the other thing a month does, sleeping with someone, spending even more time than all day with them, is that looks like that start happening. When everyone involved knows what's going to happen; isn't imagining it, isn't going back unhappy and frustrated to an empty bed or a cold shower. That look was outright anticipation, and there wasn't any missing it.
Just like there's no missing the determination in the way Steve attacks his buttons, working efficiently, like he's found the cleanest angle of attack over the multiple efforts, and has got it down to a methodical science, one he doesn't even have to think about. Certainly he's quick; fingers nimble, sliding buttons loose, working their way down. Fingertips brushing skin, making Danny shiver, eyes sliding half-lidded as a shaky breath punches out.
A month means Steve knows that drives him crazy, the low voice near his ear, thousands of nerves lighting against the brush of lips and breath. When he can barely, but still has to, because that's how they work, as he loosens Steve's belt, slides the zipper down, turning his hand to palm him through boxers, around now loose pants. "You wanted this since the bar, you liar."
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It's amazing, what a month can do for the powers of perception. For example, before a month ago, he wouldn't have noticed if Steve looked at him any differently or any more intently at certain times, definitely wouldn't have caught whether or not Steve was snagged on something as tiny as Danny tugging as his own collar. Like he had, earlier, resulting in a look from Steve that should have been able to light a fire twenty feet away.
Granted. Those looks probably didn't exist, before, because the other thing a month does, sleeping with someone, spending even more time than all day with them, is that looks like that start happening. When everyone involved knows what's going to happen; isn't imagining it, isn't going back unhappy and frustrated to an empty bed or a cold shower. That look was outright anticipation, and there wasn't any missing it.
Just like there's no missing the determination in the way Steve attacks his buttons, working efficiently, like he's found the cleanest angle of attack over the multiple efforts, and has got it down to a methodical science, one he doesn't even have to think about. Certainly he's quick; fingers nimble, sliding buttons loose, working their way down. Fingertips brushing skin, making Danny shiver, eyes sliding half-lidded as a shaky breath punches out.
A month means Steve knows that drives him crazy, the low voice near his ear, thousands of nerves lighting against the brush of lips and breath. When he can barely, but still has to, because that's how they work, as he loosens Steve's belt, slides the zipper down, turning his hand to palm him through boxers, around now loose pants. "You wanted this since the bar, you liar."