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Steve's a lot of things, but subtle has never been one of them. From "Maybe you're not as alone as you think," to "Since you're looking so good," he's been telegraphing his intentions like a novice learning to throw his first punch. So when Danny hears Steve sneak down the stairs and freeze in the doorway at the sight of him, sleep-mussed and still mostly naked in Steve's kitchen, Danny's hardly surprised.
"It was always going to end this way, you know," he says.
Steve's silent for a long moment, hands jammed firmly in the pockets of his cargos. He's dressed for work, for battle, like it's not nine o'clock on a Saturday morning, like the fact that he slept this late and skipped his morning swim isn't testament to the fact that Danny got him right last night.
"Yeah?" he asks after a long silence, looking somewhere over Danny's shoulder and refusing to meet his eyes.
"You, me," he gestures with his mug, "a second-rate Mr. Coffee, the morning after, your little whatever-this-is -- it was pretty much inevitable right from the start."
"My whatever-this-is?"
"Would you like some synonyms? Tension, agitation, confusion, bewilderment, turmoil, uncertainty, wariness, perturbation--"
"Perturbation?"
"Perturbed: Nervousness, uncertainty, a general uncomfortable feeling."
Steve frowns. "Yeah, I know what it means."
Danny grins. "It's okay, babe," he says. "I didn't expect you to make this easy. Actually, I'd probably have been a little disappointed if you did."
Steve's frown is making its way toward I-Have-a-Grenade-in-the-Trunk face, and it's sped along by Danny's laughter. Danny can't help it; Steve is a ridiculous mess, in so many highly-trained and potentially lethal ways, but he's Danny's ridiculous mess and that makes even his nasty-tasting coffee okay. "So let me make this easy and lay it out for you: You stole me -- forcibly, I might add -- from HPD and refused to return me so you could embark upon a journey of wooing me with better health insurance and faster cars and dolphins for my daughter. And that was just the first week. You were shameless, Steven, and not at all subtle. You all but took out an ad in the paper that says 'Steve loves Danny' and then you had the temerity, the audacity, the pure cheek--"
"What, did you get a thesaurus for Christmas and I missed it?"
"Hey, I'm talking, do you see me talking here? -- to pretend like you had no idea what I was saying when I called you on it. It was kind of cute, really. Dumb, but cute. So I let you take me home and we got into some Al Green and it was good -- and I'm a man who knows from good, I know you know that now -- and we're going to get back into some more as soon as I finish what passes for crimes against coffee and you finish your little whatever-it-is."
Steve's silent for another long moment, the impending doom of his grenade face slowly giving way to an expression Danny's seen a lot of, but hasn't named -- something soft and a little fond, comfortably familiar. Danny face, maybe. "Are you always like this in the morning?"
"Keep me here tonight and find out tomorrow."
Steve hesitates, but Danny knows this decision was made long ago. He doesn't have to wait long before Steve crosses the room and hooks a finger into the top of Danny's boxers, tension leaving his body like a slowly cresting wave. "This isn't exactly the world's greatest idea," he says, sweeping lightly at the bare skin under his fingers.
"It's colossally stupid," Danny agrees, "but it's you and me, babe. Couldn't end any other way."
"You're smug when you're right," Steve says. "Insufferable, I believe, would be a good synonym."
"By 'insufferable' I know you mean 'awesome,'" Danny corrects, and Steve's smile is lost in the press of his lips against Danny's shoulder.