Work Text:
Sunday morning settled over the house like a soft exhale. The kind that only came when the world, for once, wasn’t on fire.
Steve stood at the edge of the kitchen, quietly focused on the task in front of him—ironing one of his t-shirts with the kind of care most people reserved for formalwear. He didn’t notice the way the sunlight caught his profile. The way his brow furrowed ever so slightly when he smoothed the hem. Or maybe he did and just pretended not to.
Danny noticed. From where he sat on the kitchen counter, legs swinging slightly, biting into a crisp green apple, he noticed everything.
And it hit him—out of nowhere, really—how much they’d changed.
How much he’d changed.
He bites into his apple, eyes on Steve—not saying anything at first, just… watching.
And maybe, today, he’s ready to say something he’s held back for way too long.
“I’ve—uh… I’ve got a question for ya, Steve…”
Steve doesn’t even look up. “Yeah, bud?”
Danny swings his legs a little, keeps his tone casual. “If I asked you to pick a base now… what would you pick?”
Silence.
Steve stills. The iron stops mid-motion. He blinks, processes.
Then the confusion gives way to something more serious—sharper. He frowns slightly, grips the iron harder. His eyes flick to Danny, then to the shirt again, as if he can’t quite believe what he just heard. A memory stirring. That conversation. That day.
He sets the iron down with a quiet click. Stares.
And then he moves.
A few short steps and he’s standing in front of Danny, who hasn’t moved, still seated on the counter, apple forgotten in his hand.
Steve studies him. Scans his face for signs of teasing. Doubt. Regret. He finds none. Just Danny, open and steady-eyed.
“…Really?” Steve asks, voice a little too low.
Danny softens. Smiles, just a little. “Yeah.”
Steve breathes in like he’s about to say something else—but doesn’t. His jaw works, eyes intense. Then he steps in even closer.
Danny raises a brow, about to speak, “Okay, you gonna stand there or—”
But that’s as far as he gets.
Because Steve kisses him.
Like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.
Like he’s been waiting years and couldn’t hold back anymore.
One hand cradles Danny’s jaw, the other arm wraps around him tight, like he might disappear if he lets go.
And Danny melts into him, fingers curling in the hem of Steve’s shirt, apple clattering into the sink unnoticed.
When they finally pull back, breathless and stunned in the best way, Steve whispers his name like a vow.
“Danny…”
Danny looks up, eyes shining, lips curved in that crooked, private smile.
“So…”
Steve chuckles, forehead still pressed to Danny’s.
Danny leans in, whispering with mock-seriousness, “Just first, babe?”
Steve laughs softly—then kisses him again.
And again.
Outside, the world spins on.
Inside, they finally catch up.