Danny is talking. He's aware. Beyond his closed eyelids. Beyond the warmth pouring slowly out from five different spots on his head. The semi-circles of nails and the blunt, deeper focused, pressure of finger tips. The warmth and they way it shouldn't really, only being pressure against nerves and skull, seriously make him feel like Danny's found a second way, in less than half an hour, to pour his brain out the back of his head.
It's drags up a quiet, low content noise, in the back of his throat, that he can't stop. Or doesn't. Maybe doesn't even care to consider doing so. It's not like that statement needed a response, right? And he didn't always throw words back at Danny. Though usually that was during the day, feet apart. Not when he's got this warm, fluid urge, to just shift even closer.
When his chin is somewhere braced against a shoulder again, and he can feel which muscles it requires him to tighten and use, up his neck, just to top his head and look toward Danny's new words, the ones down his temple. But the tension and tightness involved with just looking toward the place where Danny's voice is, not even getting to opening his eyes, had him reluctant to do so.
Causing him tug Danny's hip, like it would get him closer. Like somehow that would help, when they're already like this and the stupid pillows are not at all near him, them. When he's following the nice earlier sound up now with one of consternation and a face, even in the dark, "I didn't say that."
No, he didn't say he wanted to. He asked if Danny wanted to. He didn't want to move at all.
Well, maybe to pull Danny somehow closer. Flush with him. Somewhere, something, solid against the fading day.
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It's drags up a quiet, low content noise, in the back of his throat, that he can't stop. Or doesn't. Maybe doesn't even care to consider doing so. It's not like that statement needed a response, right? And he didn't always throw words back at Danny. Though usually that was during the day, feet apart. Not when he's got this warm, fluid urge, to just shift even closer.
When his chin is somewhere braced against a shoulder again, and he can feel which muscles it requires him to tighten and use, up his neck, just to top his head and look toward Danny's new words, the ones down his temple. But the tension and tightness involved with just looking toward the place where Danny's voice is, not even getting to opening his eyes, had him reluctant to do so.
Causing him tug Danny's hip, like it would get him closer. Like somehow that would help, when they're already like this and the stupid pillows are not at all near him, them. When he's following the nice earlier sound up now with one of consternation and a face, even in the dark, "I didn't say that."
No, he didn't say he wanted to. He asked if Danny wanted to. He didn't want to move at all.
Well, maybe to pull Danny somehow closer. Flush with him. Somewhere, something, solid against the fading day.