Danny wiggles and, not for the first time, Steve almost moves. It happens a lot of the time. It's an adjustment on the last few years. On the women have been in his bed so much more than nor. Laying there, half on Danny, while the man is curled around his shoulders, in a way Steve wouldn't leave half his weight on a woman. A way that triggers on habit at the movement.

Except that Danny only shifts closer, shifts staying where he is. Like he's looking for the perfect place to leave his shoulders, ribs, hip bones. Places that tuck into each other so much easier than Steve could have believed. Remembers at all, until the moment after he goes still, waiting until Danny settles, waiting to see if he'll need to go. Except Danny's arm never moves, he never pushes him away.

There is no face or five thousand words to it.

Just twisting, getting closer, like a key fiddling in a lock.

Which lets Steve relax, again, in rather unanimous release down his back.

Even when those are the words Danny chooses to be going on about, and Steve could not tell, exactly, all the things he's walked through, touching on even in the last five minutes. When he doesn't think there's a thing in the planet, that isn't Danny Williams mouth already preoccupied, that could keep Him from asking questions and shooting out opinions.

Steve tilted his head, unimpressed by humor ing, without any insult. When he leaned down his head, brushing his mouth down across the spot where Danny's collar bone met the furthest point of his should. "My head's the one that's all wound up now?"