Better. Better. Almost all the way back to good, but he knows all it'll take is seconds. That they'll shoot past good and barrel into delirious like a train jumping tracks into a warehouse full of dynamite. Not far now, when Steve's heart is a jackrabbit under Danny's chest, the pulse a frantic beat against his tongue, and, yes, like that, Steve's shoulders unfolding, stretching out for him.

Before fingers knot into his hair, drag him up, and Steve's talking, warm breath brushing over Danny's skin before his mouth is demanded. Taken. As Steve is pushing at his shoulder, rolling them over, and Danny finds himself landing against the mattress, one hand reaching for the back of Steve's neck, the other gripping his hip.

A laugh pushes its way out, against the sandpaper resistance of breath. "You're such a control freak, babe."

Hey. He's amazed Steve lets him take control at all, sometimes, but he's no pushover, no fragile wilting flower, and he can give as good as he takes. Can push back, be the one pulling groans from Steve's throat, his name from Steve's mouth, reflexive, gorgeous.

But he's glad for it now, for the way Steve shoves at him, pushes up above him. Not going anywhere, even without Danny holding him down. Kissing him deep and hard until a low sound gets dragged out of Danny, wanting, an ache starting under his sternum and spooling up his chest. Fingers carding into hair, logic evaporating in the face of this, like a puddle before a wildfire.