That grin, self-satisfied and manic, splits him open like a nut getting cracked, even as he's rolling his eyes at the way Steve wriggles. Tightening one hand on his hip, trying to keep him still enough that he can keep moving the other. Sliding fingertips just along the waist band, when the motion gets to be too much, and this, Steve, is one area where loafers beat out hiking boots by a mile. Easy to get off, without having to worry about hooks and double-tied knots that reach Navy specs of structural integrity.
"While I am generally in favor of this plan, I have to point out that we should probably try to avoid getting hauled in on counts of public indecency. To say nothing of the likely hygienic issues inherent in fucking on a bar pool table, the thing is probably crawling with germs the size of spaniels."
All things he is uncomfortably aware might not actually take root in his willpower the way he hopes they would, because Steve has this way of cracking straight through everything Danny thinks is a bad idea, and making him want it. Or, just, him.
Him. Yeah. Anywhere he can get him. After spending the day with him, working, tripping over this newfound thing when he least expects it, catching Steve's eye and knowing he knows, knowing this is there, always, under everything. Forced to take a back burner, but occasionally blasting through, just to prove it can.
Even while his good humor solidifies into an aggravated sound, like a snort. Fingers tightening against Steve's hip, possessive, like he might, even now, make a break for it. "Cute."
Teeth against the skin of his neck, adding a nip not quite entirely blunted, or affectionate. "Fine. They weren't so bad. But I still would be more than okay with all three of them suddenly moving off the island. For good." Hands moving, gripping Steve's hips. Him pushing in, swiveling, turning them around, aiming for the bed, because fuck that, Steve came back with him, Steve wants him, and he is not going think about them again, or he really can't be held responsible for what he might do.
"Do I look like I want to talk about those girls right now? I am much more interested in getting you out of your stupid cargo pants, seriously, I am this close to looking for scissors."
no subject
"While I am generally in favor of this plan, I have to point out that we should probably try to avoid getting hauled in on counts of public indecency. To say nothing of the likely hygienic issues inherent in fucking on a bar pool table, the thing is probably crawling with germs the size of spaniels."
All things he is uncomfortably aware might not actually take root in his willpower the way he hopes they would, because Steve has this way of cracking straight through everything Danny thinks is a bad idea, and making him want it. Or, just, him.
Him. Yeah. Anywhere he can get him. After spending the day with him, working, tripping over this newfound thing when he least expects it, catching Steve's eye and knowing he knows, knowing this is there, always, under everything. Forced to take a back burner, but occasionally blasting through, just to prove it can.
Even while his good humor solidifies into an aggravated sound, like a snort. Fingers tightening against Steve's hip, possessive, like he might, even now, make a break for it. "Cute."
Teeth against the skin of his neck, adding a nip not quite entirely blunted, or affectionate. "Fine. They weren't so bad. But I still would be more than okay with all three of them suddenly moving off the island. For good." Hands moving, gripping Steve's hips. Him pushing in, swiveling, turning them around, aiming for the bed, because fuck that, Steve came back with him, Steve wants him, and he is not going think about them again, or he really can't be held responsible for what he might do.
"Do I look like I want to talk about those girls right now? I am much more interested in getting you out of your stupid cargo pants, seriously, I am this close to looking for scissors."