He had a point, he knows. Or was going to. Was definitely on the way to making one, but then Steve's eyes dropped to his mouth, and it throws Danny like someone parked a tank in the path of a speeding train.
That Steve can't pay attention, because Steve already wants to kiss him again. Even when the very fact that Steve wants to kiss him is sort of the point he was trying to get at.
Which, at least, sort of gets Steve's attention, but before Danny can figure out where he's going with this, and if he should be letting go of Steve or stepping away (or at least taking a hard look at how his body rebelled, instant and jealous, at even the idea of doing either), Steve's laughing, tossing it back at him, and it's familiar. Sort of. Steve moving him, sarcastic and amused and fond all in equal measure, except Steve's not normally stuck on his mouth and Steve's not usually crammed up against him, with his hand in Danny's hair.
Laughing at him. Or. At them. This. The insanity of it. Steve's not exactly the most stable at the best of times, and Danny himself feels like the floor keeps dipping out from under his feet, the way sanity keeps dipping out from underneath him, avoiding his grasp.
He'll let himself think that's why he laughs, instead of yells. Mouth gone stupid and goofy and bright, and it's splashed all over him like paint, this feeling that he can't even identify until he casts around for a foundation to stand on, realizes he's floating somewhere too far above to care. It's too giddy, too shocked to call happy, but it's the only word he knows to describe this bubble in his chest, that's spilling over into idiotic nonsense in his head, fading out everything but Steve into inconsequential white noise.
He missed something. He missed a lot. Clearly. But Steve hasn't hit him and he's not fired yet and Steve is still stuck to him like a stamp to a letter, so he also can't quite be touched by anything that isn't this incredulous, brilliant giddiness. "Are you seriously laughing at me right now?"
He is. But Danny is, too. Laughing. At. Something. It's not that it's funny. It's just this release, and if he were feeling a little more sane, he might worry about it being hysteria, but it doesn't feel like that. Doesn't feel manic, or unhinged.
Just expansive. Into every breath. When he's already leaning back, because Steve was watching his mouth, and just the brush of Steve's lips is enough to blow his head right off his shoulders. No other words required.
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He had a point, he knows. Or was going to. Was definitely on the way to making one, but then Steve's eyes dropped to his mouth, and it throws Danny like someone parked a tank in the path of a speeding train.
That Steve can't pay attention, because Steve already wants to kiss him again. Even when the very fact that Steve wants to kiss him is sort of the point he was trying to get at.
Which, at least, sort of gets Steve's attention, but before Danny can figure out where he's going with this, and if he should be letting go of Steve or stepping away (or at least taking a hard look at how his body rebelled, instant and jealous, at even the idea of doing either), Steve's laughing, tossing it back at him, and it's familiar. Sort of. Steve moving him, sarcastic and amused and fond all in equal measure, except Steve's not normally stuck on his mouth and Steve's not usually crammed up against him, with his hand in Danny's hair.
Laughing at him. Or. At them. This. The insanity of it. Steve's not exactly the most stable at the best of times, and Danny himself feels like the floor keeps dipping out from under his feet, the way sanity keeps dipping out from underneath him, avoiding his grasp.
He'll let himself think that's why he laughs, instead of yells. Mouth gone stupid and goofy and bright, and it's splashed all over him like paint, this feeling that he can't even identify until he casts around for a foundation to stand on, realizes he's floating somewhere too far above to care. It's too giddy, too shocked to call happy, but it's the only word he knows to describe this bubble in his chest, that's spilling over into idiotic nonsense in his head, fading out everything but Steve into inconsequential white noise.
He missed something. He missed a lot. Clearly. But Steve hasn't hit him and he's not fired yet and Steve is still stuck to him like a stamp to a letter, so he also can't quite be touched by anything that isn't this incredulous, brilliant giddiness. "Are you seriously laughing at me right now?"
He is. But Danny is, too. Laughing. At. Something. It's not that it's funny. It's just this release, and if he were feeling a little more sane, he might worry about it being hysteria, but it doesn't feel like that. Doesn't feel manic, or unhinged.
Just expansive. Into every breath. When he's already leaning back, because Steve was watching his mouth, and just the brush of Steve's lips is enough to blow his head right off his shoulders. No other words required.