What he should say, of course, is that he isn't. Easy. Not to get into bed, not to deal with, not to live with, work with, be with. He's a trying person at the best of times, and easy has never been a descriptor anyone has ever tried to pin on him.
Especially not with this.
Just getting coffee with Gabby was like girding his loins for battle, right? He remembers it just fine: the anxiety, the pessimism, the utter certainty that it was all going to blow up in his face anyway, so what was the point of even trying? He was anything but easy, then, drawing out dates over weeks and months before she ever stayed over, or he ever stayed at her place. Steve ought to know. It's Steve's fault he even dated Gabby to begin with, and, tangentially, Steve's fault that he ever dated Amber. (Melissa. Not that it matters now.)
It's not that he's never had one-night stands; now and then, a chance meeting that turned physical. It's not an alien concept to him.
But not like this. Not ever when it means something, and this means so much more than Gabby ever did or could, because it's not just him, right, it's his job, and Steve's trust, and Grace, and Hawaii. Everything here is tied up with Steve, and if he was thinking, if he thought at all, he would have slowed them down after that very first kiss.
Maybe even before it. He has the sneaking suspicion that just allowing Steve to kiss him to begin with was the tipping domino setting all the rest in motion.
Easy. He's not. Shouldn't be. Should stop and think about this, talk about it, try to work it out. Put together some kind of contingency plan. Figure out what this means, to him, to Steve, to both of them. Everything he should know before he goes headlong off this cliff and never comes back out again --
Except Steve's already jumped, and dragged Danny with him, and Danny couldn't stop them now even if he wanted to, when Steve's rolling his hips and making Danny dig his head back into the mattress, blinded, and Steve knows everything Danny would warn him about, because Steve has known Danny better than anyone for years, now, and Danny might not trust love or sex or promises or blind optimism, but he trusts Steve.
Hands slipping down to fit over Steve's hips, while Danny's still trying to push back further onto the bed, shaking his head, laughing and insulting on the burned-out remains of his breath. "You call any of this easy?"
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What he should say, of course, is that he isn't. Easy. Not to get into bed, not to deal with, not to live with, work with, be with. He's a trying person at the best of times, and easy has never been a descriptor anyone has ever tried to pin on him.
Especially not with this.
Just getting coffee with Gabby was like girding his loins for battle, right? He remembers it just fine: the anxiety, the pessimism, the utter certainty that it was all going to blow up in his face anyway, so what was the point of even trying? He was anything but easy, then, drawing out dates over weeks and months before she ever stayed over, or he ever stayed at her place. Steve ought to know. It's Steve's fault he even dated Gabby to begin with, and, tangentially, Steve's fault that he ever dated Amber. (Melissa. Not that it matters now.)
It's not that he's never had one-night stands; now and then, a chance meeting that turned physical. It's not an alien concept to him.
But not like this. Not ever when it means something, and this means so much more than Gabby ever did or could, because it's not just him, right, it's his job, and Steve's trust, and Grace, and Hawaii. Everything here is tied up with Steve, and if he was thinking, if he thought at all, he would have slowed them down after that very first kiss.
Maybe even before it. He has the sneaking suspicion that just allowing Steve to kiss him to begin with was the tipping domino setting all the rest in motion.
Easy. He's not. Shouldn't be. Should stop and think about this, talk about it, try to work it out. Put together some kind of contingency plan. Figure out what this means, to him, to Steve, to both of them. Everything he should know before he goes headlong off this cliff and never comes back out again --
Except Steve's already jumped, and dragged Danny with him, and Danny couldn't stop them now even if he wanted to, when Steve's rolling his hips and making Danny dig his head back into the mattress, blinded, and Steve knows everything Danny would warn him about, because Steve has known Danny better than anyone for years, now, and Danny might not trust love or sex or promises or blind optimism, but he trusts Steve.
Hands slipping down to fit over Steve's hips, while Danny's still trying to push back further onto the bed, shaking his head, laughing and insulting on the burned-out remains of his breath. "You call any of this easy?"