He could stop that, that rap to the side of his head, as quick as it starts. Snap the hand under his chin up. The muscle doesn't even twitch. But the possible reaction, action, roll from bring touched to incapacitating, flickered into and out existence, at the back of his mind, while he looked drolly unimpressed.

Steve rolls his eyes, which may be what Danny's expecting given his own expression. Gaze going up, when his chin tilts against that back of his head, before turning a shake of his head. Like he can't really expect much better from Danny.

Yet. Without any insult to it. Or any refuting of those words.

When its easier to look blandly insulted by highly amused, just saying, with a raise of his fingertips without lifting his hand or head,"Your game was better with the kissing and groping."

Like this was some objective commentary on Danny's moves. Not that state of the mess Steve kept from his team. Though Danny was blurring so many of those lines. As much shoving his way in, as Steve was, every once in a while, grabbing Danny and dragging him across that line, like he was the last life raft on the planet. In the disjointed sprawl of his world.

Where only Five-0, his team, and Danny made sense. Kept him together.

Where, he was aware, were the only people who knew how bad it might be, were, too.