The increased pressure makes him lean a little more.
Maybe adjust the hold of his head. Maybe lean his neck toward those fingers, sturdy and solid, that he's watched fly through the air as he talked so many times he can't remember them all, unlike the way he still guards nearly every single memory of watching them ride over his skin, any part of it. Every part beyond wrist, chest, shoulder. Normal things.
Even when this is a pattern, it's nowhere near normal. It's still more like an impossible miracle. That Danny is still touching him. Still here. Was ever here. Right here in his bed. Even just doing this. Fingers in his hair, laughter that isn't more than his tone, so leading and promising finding his ears, against it. The friction sending warmth like a flood starting with tiny rivulet of water down the back of his neck.
It feels good, against skin and nerves that are always, always, always tight, and he can feel it trying to loosen up things in his neck, when they're discussing moving, sleeping, or not, still. But really Steve is beginning to wonder how long he drag out Danny not moving. Not stopping touching him. Again. In the newest thousandth way.
Which goes somewhere hand in hand with that low sound that catches in his back of his throat and top of his chest. That really wasn't a response to Danny's words first. Like somehow his fingers have a line on something else in Steve body that's totally going to react and respond first.
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Maybe adjust the hold of his head. Maybe lean his neck toward those fingers, sturdy and solid, that he's watched fly through the air as he talked so many times he can't remember them all, unlike the way he still guards nearly every single memory of watching them ride over his skin, any part of it. Every part beyond wrist, chest, shoulder. Normal things.
Even when this is a pattern, it's nowhere near normal. It's still more like an impossible miracle. That Danny is still touching him. Still here. Was ever here. Right here in his bed. Even just doing this. Fingers in his hair, laughter that isn't more than his tone, so leading and promising finding his ears, against it. The friction sending warmth like a flood starting with tiny rivulet of water down the back of his neck.
It feels good, against skin and nerves that are always, always, always tight, and he can feel it trying to loosen up things in his neck, when they're discussing moving, sleeping, or not, still. But really Steve is beginning to wonder how long he drag out Danny not moving. Not stopping touching him. Again. In the newest thousandth way.
Which goes somewhere hand in hand with that low sound that catches in his back of his throat and top of his chest. That really wasn't a response to Danny's words first. Like somehow his fingers have a line on something else in Steve body that's totally going to react and respond first.