He really can't help it. Nobody could help it. Right? It's what he tells himself, when Steve's half-sleepy, half-slurred comment comes out, and Steve's hand seeks out Danny's side like an afterthought, fitting over his hip, hand loose and heavy, tightening just slightly with the wave of relaxation that washes over him as Steve lets that breath out. Slumping into into it like a puppet with cut strings. Muscles lax and limbs heavy.
Where, in any of that, is an incentive for Danny to stop?
So he doesn't. Runs fingertips through Steve's hair, traces circles with his nails. It's short and coarse, nothing like Rachel or Gabby's long, silky brunette, but it's no less relaxing to run his fingers through, and Steve --
Well, Steve is moving, but not to get ready for sleep. If anything, he's shifting closer, like a dog trying to get into Danny's lap, despite being too big to fit. Angling closer, turning in towards Danny, like he's an iron filing and Danny's some sort of magnet. "Hey. I thought you wanted to sleep."
Which is not to say Steve couldn't drop off right here and now, because he probably could. He's almost never this relaxed when conscious, except for immediately after, when it's like he's been hit in the temple with a brick, and Danny wants to file it away, lock this information up somewhere safe and sound where no one else can ever get to it. Steve, laid out and lazy, making that noise, with Danny's fingers running over his head. It's absurd, shouldn't be possible, and he wants to frame it, keep it forever, hid away from the rest of the world.
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He really can't help it. Nobody could help it. Right? It's what he tells himself, when Steve's half-sleepy, half-slurred comment comes out, and Steve's hand seeks out Danny's side like an afterthought, fitting over his hip, hand loose and heavy, tightening just slightly with the wave of relaxation that washes over him as Steve lets that breath out. Slumping into into it like a puppet with cut strings. Muscles lax and limbs heavy.
Where, in any of that, is an incentive for Danny to stop?
So he doesn't. Runs fingertips through Steve's hair, traces circles with his nails. It's short and coarse, nothing like Rachel or Gabby's long, silky brunette, but it's no less relaxing to run his fingers through, and Steve --
Well, Steve is moving, but not to get ready for sleep. If anything, he's shifting closer, like a dog trying to get into Danny's lap, despite being too big to fit. Angling closer, turning in towards Danny, like he's an iron filing and Danny's some sort of magnet. "Hey. I thought you wanted to sleep."
Which is not to say Steve couldn't drop off right here and now, because he probably could. He's almost never this relaxed when conscious, except for immediately after, when it's like he's been hit in the temple with a brick, and Danny wants to file it away, lock this information up somewhere safe and sound where no one else can ever get to it. Steve, laid out and lazy, making that noise, with Danny's fingers running over his head. It's absurd, shouldn't be possible, and he wants to frame it, keep it forever, hid away from the rest of the world.