There's a lightning strike of panic that ricochets down Murphy's spine as Danny's hand closes over his throat, blistering cold through the muggy cloud of arousal. It's gone the moment Danny kisses him again, anchors him back and away from the cinching of a noose, sharp edge of a blade, weight of a collar. Danny's hand is warm and steady and not threatening to kill him. He swallows. His white-knuckle grip on Danny's wrist loosens. He doesn't remember grabbing it.

"Wouldn't know, never done it." Voice dragging rough, answering a question that wasn't really a question just to be saying anything. Just to be moving forward from that record-scratch moment before either of them really noticed it. He wants in a bone-deep way he can't remember feeling this fast before, has a distant consideration of just what the hell was in that crap Danny was smoking, but he doesn't want them to stop, or pause, or even think.

His breath hisses out sharp at the first dry pull of Danny's hand over his cock, free hand coming up to hook around the back of Danny's neck, press full back into the weight of him. "You're gonna have to show me."