Deacon's breath catches in his throat as Danse replies, not expecting those words to be so impactful. He's spent decades pretending to be anyone but himself, to the point where he isn't even certain that he knows who that is anymore, but Danse's vocalized desire for the real Deacon feels like Danse has excavated layers of defenses and dug his fingers into the soft tissue of his heart. There's a painful realization to come to terms with about himself as much as there is a deep ache of emotion and longing; touched and falling fast in a way that feels too vulnerable or dangerous and yet he can't stop and wouldn't want to.

"You never need to ask," he breathes, his shivering soothed by the way Danse's hands work to warm him up. His legs still tingle slightly, feeling returning and still cold to the bone, but he can move them, squeezing around Danse's sides as his lips are on his lower belly and making the rest of his body melt beneath them.

"I'm yours-" he gasps, a hand carding into Danse's hair, his cock filling out between them, "All of me."